One evening, as I was sitting in my garden, Alexander
Paterson was announced. A glance at his face told me that he had come
to ask my advice. Rightly or wrongly, he regarded me as one capable of
giving advice. It was I who had changed the whole current of his life
by counselling him to leave the wood in his bag and take a driving-iron
off the tee; and in one or two other matters, like the choice of a
putter (so much more important than the choice of a wife), I had been
of assistance to him.
Alexander sat down and fanned himself with his hat, for the evening was
warm. Perplexity was written upon his fine face.
"I don't know what to do," he said.
"Keep the head still--slow back--don't press," I said, gravely. There
is no better rule for a happy and successful life.
"It's nothing to do with golf this time," he said. "It's about the
treasurership of my company. Old Smithers retires next week, and I've
got to find a man to fill his place."
"That should be easy. You have simply to select the most deserving from
among your other employees.
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