At any
rate there came a pause, and a small Basque boy in a blue
_beret_ began to descend the slope very cautiously, searching
for lost balls in the scree. At the foot of the gully, where it
funnelled to a sheer drop, I stepped from under my shelter and
met the youngster, holding out a golf-ball. 'Here is one more,'
said I--'Where are the two gentlemen gone?' He told me that
they had gone back to the Club House. 'Then here is a franc for
you,' said I, 'and here is a card which you will take with the
ball and my compliments to the gentleman who cannot play golf so
well as the other gentleman.'
"The lad grinned. We climbed the cliff together, and I saw him
speed off to the Club House."
"I had thus left two cards on Farrell, and it was now his turn to
call: which he duly did, and next day; not, however, at the
Grand Hotel, but at a far more romantic place of entertainment.
"If you don't know this place--and I do not commend it to you for
entertainment towards the close of the English season--let me
tell you that, walking south from the town by paths that lead
around the curves of the foreshore, you quickly lose Biarritz
and find yourself in a deserted and melancholy country,--a sort
of blasted heath that belongs to a fairy-tale.
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