whoever the sweater was for would have to wear it. And, as it was a
vivid pink and would probably not fit by a mile, their hearts quailed
at the prospect.
In all affairs of human tension there must come a breaking point. It
came one night as the two men were walking home.
'Peter,' said James, stopping in mid-stride. He mopped his forehead.
His manner had been feverish all the evening.
'Yes?' said Peter.
'I can't stand this any longer. I haven't had a good night's rest for
weeks. We must find out definitely which of us is to have that
sweater.'
'Let's go back and ask her,' said Peter.
So they turned back and rang the bell and went into the house and
presented themselves before Miss Forrester.
'Lovely evening,' said James, to break the ice.
'Superb,' said Peter.
'Delightful,' said Miss Forrester, looking a little surprised at
finding the troupe playing a return date without having booked it in
advance.
'To settle a bet,' said James, 'will you please tell us who--I should
say, whom--you are knitting that sweater for?'
'It is not a sweater,' replied Miss Forrester, with a womanly candour
that well became her. 'It is a sock. And it is for my cousin Juliet's
youngest son, Willie.'
'Good night,' said James.
'Good night,' said Peter.
'Good night,' said Grace Forrester.
It was during the long hours of the night, when ideas so often come to
wakeful men, that James was struck by an admirable solution of his and
Peter's difficulty. It seemed to him that, were one or the other to
leave Woodhaven, the survivor would find himself in a position to
conduct his wooing as wooing should be conducted. Hitherto, as I have
indicated, neither had allowed the other to be more than a few minutes
alone with the girl. They watched each other like hawks. When James
called, Peter called. When Peter dropped in, James invariably popped
round. The thing had resolved itself into a stalemate.
The idea which now came to James was that he and Peter should settle
their rivalry by an eighteen-hole match on the links. He thought very
highly of the idea before he finally went to sleep, and in the morning
the scheme looked just as good to him as it had done overnight.
James was breakfasting next morning, preparatory to going round to
disclose his plan to Peter, when Peter walked in, looking happier than
he had done for days.
''Morning,' said James.
''Morning,' said Peter.
Peter sat down and toyed absently with a slice of bacon.
'I've got an idea,' he said.
'One isn't many,' said James, bringing his knife down with a jerk-shot
on a fried egg. 'What is your idea?'
'Got it last night as I was lying awake. It struck me that, if either
