7
_The Long Hole_
The young man, as he sat filling his pipe in the club-housesmoking-room, was inclined to be bitter.
"If there's one thing that gives me a pain squarely in the centre ofthe gizzard," he burst out, breaking a silence that had lasted for someminutes, "it's a golf-lawyer. They oughtn't to be allowed on thelinks."
The Oldest Member, who had been meditatively putting himself outside acup of tea and a slice of seed-cake, raised his white eyebrows.
"The Law," he said, "is an honourable profession. Why should itspractitioners be restrained from indulgence in the game of games?"
"I don't mean actual lawyers," said the young man, his acerbitymellowing a trifle under the influence of tobacco. "I mean theblighters whose best club is the book of rules. You know the sort ofexcrescences. Every time you think you've won a hole, they dig out Ruleeight hundred and fifty-three, section two, sub-section four, to provethat you've disqualified yourself by having an ingrowing toe-nail.Well, take my case." The young man's voice was high and plaintive. "Igo out with that man Hemmingway to play an ordinary friendlyround--nothing depending on it except a measly ball--and on the seventhhe pulls me up and claims the hole simply because I happened to drop myniblick in the bunker. Oh, well, a tick's a tick, and there's nothingmore to say, I suppose."
The Sage shook his head.
"Rules are rules, my boy, and must be kept. It is odd that you shouldhave brought up this subject, for only a moment before you came in Iwas thinking of a somewhat curious match which ultimately turned upon aquestion of the rule-book. It is true that, as far as the actual prizewas concerned, it made little difference. But perhaps I had better tellyou the whole story from the beginning."
The young man shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Well, you know, I've had a pretty rotten time this afternoonalready----"
"I will call my story," said the Sage, tranquilly, "'The Long Hole',for it involved the playing of what I am inclined to think must be thelongest hole in the history of golf. In its beginnings the story mayremind you of one I once told you about Peter Willard and James Todd,but you will find that it develops in quite a different manner. RalphBingham...."
"I half promised to go and see a man----"
"But I will begin at the beginning," said the Sage. "I see that you areall impatience to hear the full details."
* * * * *
Ralph Bingham and Arthur Jukes (said the Oldest Member) had never beenfriends--their rivalry was too keen to admit of that--but it was nottill Amanda Trivett came to stay here that a smouldering distaste foreach other burst out into the flames of actual enmity. It is ever so.One of the poets, whose name I cannot recall, has a passage, which I amunable at the moment to remember, in one of his works, which for thetime being has slipped my mind, which hits off admirably this age-oldsituation. The gist of his remarks is that lovely woman rarely fails tostart something. In the weeks that followed her arrival, being in thesame room with the two men was like dropping in on a reunion ofCapulets and Montagues.
You see, Ralph and Arthur were so exactly equal in their skill on thelinks that life for them had for some time past resolved itself into asilent, bitter struggle in which first one, then the other, gained someslight advantage. If Ralph won the May medal by a stroke, Arthur wouldbe one ahead in the June competition, only to be nosed out again inJuly. It was a state of affairs which, had they been men of a moregenerous stamp, would have bred a mutual respect, esteem, and evenlove. But I am sorry to say that, apart from their golf, which was in aclass of its own as far as this neighbourhood was concerned, RalphBingham and Arthur Jukes were a sorry pair--and yet, mark you, far fromlacking in mere superficial good looks. They were handsome fellows,both of them, and well aware of the fact; and when Amanda Trivett cameto stay they simply straightened their ties, twirled their moustaches,and expected her to do the rest.
But there they were disappointed. Perfectly friendly though she was toboth of them, the lovelight was conspicuously absent from her beautifuleyes. And it was not long before each had come independently to asolution of this mystery. It was plain to them that the whole troublelay in the fact that each neutralized the other's attractions. Arthurfelt that, if he could only have a clear field, all would be overexcept the sending out of the wedding invitations; and Ralph was of theopinion that, if he could just call on the girl one evening withoutfinding the place all littered up with Arthur, his natural charms wouldswiftly bring home the bacon. And, indeed, it was true that they had norivals except themselves. It happened at the moment that Woodhaven wasvery short of eligible bachelors. We marry young in this delightfulspot, and all the likely men were already paired off. It seemed that,if Amanda Trivett intended to get married, she would have to selecteither Ralph Bingham or Arthur Jukes. A dreadful choice.
* * * * *
It had not occurred to me at the outset that my position in the affairwould be anything closer than that of a detached and mildly interestedspectator. Yet it was to me that Ralph came in his hour of need. When Ireturned home one evening, I found that my man had brought him in andlaid him on the mat in my sitting-room.
I offered him a chair and a cigar, and he came to the point withcommendable rapidity.
"Leigh," he said, directly he had lighted his cigar, "is too small forArthur Jukes and myself."
"Ah, you have been talking it over and decided to move?" I said,delighted. "I think you are perfectly right. Leigh _is_ over-built.Men like you and Jukes need a lot of space. Where do you think ofgoing?"
"I'm not going."
"But I thought you said----"
"What I meant was that the time has come when one of us must leave."
"Oh, only one of you?" It was something, of course, but I confess I wasdisappointed, and I think my disappointment must have shown in myvoice; for he looked at me, surprised.
"Surely you wouldn't mind Jukes going?" he said.
"Why, certainly not. He really is going, is he?"
A look of saturnine determination came into Ralph's face.
"He is. He thinks he isn't, but he is."
I failed to understand him, and said so. He looked cautiously about theroom, as if to reassure himself that he could not be overheard.
"I suppose you've noticed," he said, "the disgusting way that man Jukeshas been hanging round Miss Trivett, boring her to death?"
"I have seen them together sometimes."
"I love Amanda Trivett!" said Ralph.
"Poor girl!" I sighed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Poor girl!" I said. "I mean, to have Arthur Jukes hanging round her."
"That's just what I think," said Ralph Bingham. "And that's why we'regoing to play this match."
"What match?"
"This match we've decided to play. I want you to act as one of thejudges, to go along with Jukes and see that he doesn't play any of histricks. You know what he is! And in a vital match like this----"
"How much are you playing for?"
"The whole world!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The whole world. It amounts to that. The loser is to leave Leigh forgood, and the winner stays on and marries Amanda Trivett. We havearranged all the details. Rupert Bailey will accompany me, acting asthe other judge."
"And you want me to go round with Jukes?"
"Not round," said Ralph Bingham. "Along."
"What is the distinction?"
"We are not going to play a round. Only one hole."
"Sudden death, eh?"
"Not so very sudden. It's a longish hole. We start on the first teehere and hole out in the town in the doorway of the Majestic Hotel inRoyal Square. A distance, I imagine, of about sixteen miles."
I was revolted. About that time a perfect epidemic of freak matches hadbroken out in the club, and I had strongly opposed them from the start.George Willis had begun it by playing a medal round with the pro.,George's first nine against
the pro.'s complete eighteen. After thatcame the contest between Herbert Widgeon and Montague Brown, thelatter, a twenty-four handicap man, being entitled to shout "Boo!"three times during the round at moments selected by himself. There hadbeen many more of these degrading travesties on the sacred game, and Ihad writhed to see them. Playing freak golf-matches is to my mind likeragging a great classical melody. But of the whole collection this one,considering the sentimental interest and the magnitude of the stakes,seemed to me the most terrible. My face, I imagine, betrayed mydisgust, for Bingham attempted extenuation.
"It's the only way," he said. "You know how Jukes and I are on thelinks. We are as level as two men can be. This, of course is due to hisextraordinary luck. Everybody knows that he is the world's championfluker. I, on the other hand, invariably have the worst luck. Theconsequence is that in an ordinary round it is always a toss-up whichof us wins. The test we propose will eliminate luck. After sixteenmiles of give-and-take play, I am certain--that is to say, the betterman is certain to be ahead. That is what I meant when I said thatArthur Jukes would shortly be leaving Leigh. Well, may I take it thatyou will consent to act as one of the judges?"
I considered. After all, the match was likely to be historic, and onealways feels tempted to hand one's name down to posterity.
"Very well," I said.
"Excellent. You will have to keep a sharp eye on Jukes, I need scarcelyremind you. You will, of course, carry a book of the rules in yourpocket and refer to them when you wish to refresh your memory. We startat daybreak, for, if we put it off till later, the course at the otherend might be somewhat congested when we reached it. We want to avoidpublicity as far as possible. If I took a full iron and hit apoliceman, it would excite a remark."
"It would. I can tell you the exact remark which it would excite."
"We will take bicycles with us, to minimize the fatigue of covering thedistance. Well, I am glad that we have your co-operation. At daybreaktomorrow on the first tee, and don't forget to bring your rule-book."
* * * * *
The atmosphere brooding over the first tee when I reached it on thefollowing morning, somewhat resembled that of a duelling-ground in thedays when these affairs were sealed with rapiers or pistols. RupertBailey, an old friend of mine, was the only cheerful member of theparty. I am never at my best in the early morning, and the two rivalsglared at each other with silent sneers. I had never supposed till thatmoment that men ever really sneered at one another outside the movies,but these two were indisputably doing so. They were in the mood whenmen say "Pshaw!"
They tossed for the honour, and Arthur Jukes, having won, drove offwith a fine ball that landed well down the course. Ralph Bingham,having teed up, turned to Rupert Bailey.
"Go down on to the fairway of the seventeenth," he said. "I want you tomark my ball."
Rupert stared.
"The seventeenth!"
"I am going to take that direction," said Ralph, pointing over thetrees.
"But that will land your second or third shot in the lake."
"I have provided for that. I have a fiat-bottomed boat moored close bythe sixteenth green. I shall use a mashie-niblick and chip my ballaboard, row across to the other side, chip it ashore, and carry on. Ipropose to go across country as far as Woodfield. I think it will saveme a stroke or two."
I gasped. I had never before realized the man's devilish cunning. Histactics gave him a flying start. Arthur, who had driven straight downthe course, had as his objective the high road, which adjoins the wasteground beyond the first green. Once there, he would play the orthodoxgame by driving his ball along till he reached the bridge. While Arthurwas winding along the high road, Ralph would have cut off practicallytwo sides of a triangle. And it was hopeless for Arthur to imitate hisenemy's tactics now. From where his ball lay he would have to cross awide tract of marsh in order to reach the seventeenth fairway--animpossible feat. And, even if it had been feasible, he had no boat totake him across the water.
He uttered a violent protest. He was an unpleasant young man,almost--it seems absurd to say so, but almost as unpleasant as RalphBingham; yet at the moment I am bound to say I sympathized with him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. "You can't play fast and loose withthe rules like that."
"To what rule do you refer?" said Ralph, coldly.
"Well, that bally boat of yours is a hazard, isn't it? And you can'trow a hazard about all over the place."
"Why not?"
The simple question seemed to take Arthur Jukes aback.
"Why not?" he repeated. "Why not? Well, you can't. That's why."
"There is nothing in the rules," said Ralph Bingham, "against moving ahazard. If a hazard can be moved without disturbing the ball, you areat liberty, I gather, to move it wherever you please. Besides, what isall this about moving hazards? I have a perfect right to go for amorning row, haven't I? If I were to ask my doctor, he would probablyactually recommend it. I am going to row my boat across the sound. Ifit happens to have my ball on board, that is not my affair. I shall notdisturb my ball, and I shall play it from where it lies. Am I right insaying that the rules enact that the ball shall be played from where itlies?"
We admitted that it was.
"Very well, then," said Ralph Bingham. "Don't let us waste any moretime. We will wait for you at Woodfield."
He addressed his ball, and drove a beauty over the trees. It flashedout of sight in the direction of the seventeenth tee. Arthur and I madeour way down the hill to play our second.
* * * * *
It is a curious trait of the human mind that, however little personalinterest one may have in the result, it is impossible to preventoneself taking sides in any event of a competitive nature. I hadembarked on this affair in a purely neutral spirit, not caring which ofthe two won and only sorry that both could not lose. Yet, as themorning wore on, I found myself almost unconsciously becomingdistinctly pro-Jukes. I did not like the man. I objected to his face,his manners, and the colour of his tie. Yet there was something in thedogged way in which he struggled against adversity which touched me andwon my grudging support. Many men, I felt, having been so outmanoeuvredat the start, would have given up the contest in despair; but ArthurJukes, for all his defects, had the soul of a true golfer. He declinedto give up. In grim silence he hacked his ball through the rough tillhe reached the high road; and then, having played twenty-seven, sethimself resolutely to propel it on its long journey.
It was a lovely morning, and, as I bicycled along, keeping a fatherlyeye on Arthur's activities, I realized for the first time in my lifethe full meaning of that exquisite phrase of Coleridge:
_"Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn,"_
for in the pellucid air everything seemed weirdly beautiful, evenArthur Jukes' heather-mixture knickerbockers, of which hitherto I hadnever approved. The sun gleamed on their seat, as he bent to make hisshots, in a cheerful and almost a poetic way. The birds were singinggaily in the hedgerows, and such was my uplifted state that I, too,burst into song, until Arthur petulantly desired me to refrain, on theplea that, though he yielded to no man in his enjoyment of farmyardimitations in their proper place, I put him off his stroke. And so wepassed through Bayside in silence and started to cover that longstretch of road which ends in the railway bridge and the gentle descentinto Woodfield.
Arthur was not doing badly. He was at least keeping them straight. Andin the circumstances straightness was to be preferred to distance. Soonafter leaving Little Hadley he had become ambitious and had used hisbrassey with disastrous results, slicing his fifty-third into the roughon the right of the road. It had taken him ten with the niblick to getback on to the car tracks, and this had taught him prudence.
He was now using his putter for every shot, and, except when he gottrapped in the cross-lines at the top of the hill just before reachingBayside, he had been in no serious difficulties. He was playing a niceea
sy game, getting the full face of the putter on to each shot.
At the top of the slope that drops down into Woodfield High Street hepaused.
"I think I might try my brassey again here," he said. "I have a nicelie."
"Is it wise?" I said.
He looked down the hill.
"What I was thinking," he said, "was that with it I might wing that manBingham. I see he is standing right out in the middle of the fairway."
I followed his gaze. It was perfectly true. Ralph Bingham was leaningon his bicycle in the roadway, smoking a cigarette. Even at thisdistance one could detect the man's disgustingly complacent expression.Rupert Bailey was sitting with his back against the door of theWoodfield Garage, looking rather used up. He was a man who liked tokeep himself clean and tidy, and it was plain that the cross-countrytrip had done him no good. He seemed to be scraping mud off his face. Ilearned later that he had had the misfortune to fall into a ditch justbeyond Bayside.
"No," said Arthur. "On second thoughts, the safe game is the one toplay. I'll stick to the putter."
We dropped down the hill, and presently came up with the opposition. Ihad not been mistaken in thinking that Ralph Bingham looked complacent.The man was smirking.
"Playing three hundred and ninety-six," he said, as we drew near. "Howare you?"
I consulted my score-card.
"We have played a snappy seven hundred and eleven." I said.
Ralph exulted openly. Rupert Bailey made no comment. He was too busywith the alluvial deposits on his person.
"Perhaps you would like to give up the match?" said Ralph to Arthur.
"Tchah!" said Arthur.
"Might just as well."
"Pah!" said Arthur.
"You can't win now."
"Pshaw!" said Arthur.
I am aware that Arthur's dialogue might have been brighter, but he hadbeen through a trying time.
Rupert Bailey sidled up to me.
"I'm going home," he said.
"Nonsense!" I replied. "You are in an official capacity. You must stickto your post. Besides, what could be nicer than a pleasant morningramble?"
"Pleasant morning ramble my number nine foot!" he replied, peevishly."I want to get back to civilization and set an excavating party withpickaxes to work on me."
"You take too gloomy a view of the matter. You are a little dusty.Nothing more."
"And it's not only the being buried alive that I mind. I cannot stickRalph Bingham much longer."
"You have found him trying?"
"Trying! Why, after I had fallen into that ditch and was coming up forthe third time, all the man did was simply to call to me to admire aninfernal iron shot he had just made. No sympathy, mind you! Wrapped upin himself. Why don't you make your man give up the match? He can'twin."
"I refuse to admit it. Much may happen between here and Royal Square."
I have seldom known a prophecy more swiftly fulfilled. At this momentthe doors of the Woodfield Garage opened and a small car rolled outwith a grimy young man in a sweater at the wheel. He brought themachine out into the road, and alighted and went back into the garage,where we heard him shouting unintelligibly to someone in the rearpremises. The car remained puffing and panting against the kerb.
Engaged in conversation with Rupert Bailey, I was paying littleattention to this evidence of an awakening world, when suddenly I hearda hoarse, triumphant cry from Arthur Jukes, and, turned, I perceivedhis ball dropping neatly into the car's interior. Arthur himself,brandishing a niblick, was dancing about in the fairway.
"Now what about your moving hazards?" he cried.
At this moment the man in the sweater returned, carrying a spanner.Arthur Jukes sprang towards him.
"I'll give you five pounds to drive me to Royal Square," he said.
I do not know what the sweater-clad young man's engagements for themorning had been originally, but nothing could have been more obligingthan the ready way in which he consented to revise them at a moment'snotice. I dare say you have noticed that the sturdy peasantry of ourbeloved land respond to an offer of five pounds as to a bugle-call.
"You're on," said the youth.
"Good!" said Arthur Jukes.
"You think you're darned clever," said Ralph Bingham.
"I know it," said Arthur.
"Well, then," said Ralph, "perhaps you will tell us how you propose toget the ball out of the car when you reach Royal Square?"
"Certainly," replied Arthur. "You will observe on the side of thevehicle a convenient handle which, when turned, opens the door. Thedoor thus opened, I shall chip my ball out!"
"I see," said Ralph. "Yes, I never thought of that."
There was something in the way the man spoke that I did not like. Hismildness seemed to me suspicious. He had the air of a man who hassomething up his sleeve. I was still musing on this when Arthur calledto me impatiently to get in. I did so, and we drove off. Arthur was ingreat spirits. He had ascertained from the young man at the wheel thatthere was no chance of the opposition being able to hire another car atthe garage. This machine was his own property, and the only other oneat present in the shop was suffering from complicated trouble of theoiling-system and would not be able to be moved for at least anotherday.
I, however, shook my head when he pointed out the advantages of hisposition. I was still wondering about Ralph.
"I don't like it," I said.
"Don't like what?"
"Ralph Bingham's manner."
"Of course not," said Arthur. "Nobody does. There have been complaintson all sides."
"I mean, when you told him how you intended to get the ball out of thecar."
"What was the matter with him?"
"He was too--ha!"
"How do you mean he was too--ha?"
"I have it!"
"What?"
"I see the trap he was laying for you. It has just dawned on me. Nowonder he didn't object to your opening the door and chipping the ballout. By doing so you would forfeit the match."
"Nonsense! Why?"
"Because," I said, "it is against the rules to tamper with a hazard. Ifyou had got into a sand-bunker, would you smooth away the sand? If youhad put your shot under a tree, could your caddie hold up the branchesto give you a clear shot? Obviously you would disqualify yourself ifyou touched that door."
Arthur's jaw dropped.
"What! Then how the deuce am I to get it out?"
"That," I said, gravely, "is a question between you and your Maker."
It was here that Arthur Jukes forfeited the sympathy which I had begunto feel for him. A crafty, sinister look came into his eyes.
"Listen!" he said. "It'll take them an hour to catch up with us.Suppose, during that time, that door happened to open accidentally, asit were, and close again? You wouldn't think it necessary to mentionthe fact, eh? You would be a good fellow and keep your mouth shut, yes?You might even see your way to go so far as to back me up in astatement to the effect that I hooked it out with my----?"
I was revolted.
"I am a golfer," I said, coldly, "and I obey the rules."
"Yes, but----"
"Those rules were drawn up by----"--I bared my head reverently--"by theCommittee of the Royal and Ancient at St. Andrews. I have alwaysrespected them, and I shall not deviate on this occasion from thepolicy of a lifetime."
Arthur Jukes relapsed into a moody silence. He broke it once, crossingthe West Street Bridge, to observe that he would like to know if Icalled myself a friend of his--a question which I was able to answerwith a whole-hearted negative. After that he did not speak till the cardrew up in front of the Majestic Hotel in Royal Square.
Early as the hour was, a certain bustle and animation already prevailedin that centre of the city, and the spectacle of a man in a golf-coatand plus-four knickerbockers hacking with a niblick at the floor of acar was not long in collecting a crowd of some dimensions. Threemessenger-boys, four typists, and a gentleman in full evening-dress,who obviously possessed or
was friendly with someone who possessed alarge cellar, formed the nucleus of it; and they were joined about thetime when Arthur addressed the ball in order to play his nine hundredand fifteenth by six news-boys, eleven charladies, and perhaps a dozenassorted loafers, all speculating with the liveliest interest as towhich particular asylum had had the honour of sheltering Arthur beforehe had contrived to elude the vigilance of his custodians.
Arthur had prepared for some such contingency. He suspended hisactivities with the niblick, and drew from his pocket a large poster,which he proceeded to hang over the side of the car. It read:
COME TO McCLURG AND MACDONALD, 18, WEST STREET, FOR ALL GOLFING SUPPLIES.
His knowledge of psychology had not misled him. Directly they gatheredthat he was advertising something, the crowd declined to look at it;they melted away, and Arthur returned to his work in solitude.
He was taking a well-earned rest after playing his eleven hundred andfifth, a nice niblick shot with lots of wrist behind it, when out ofBridle Street there trickled a weary-looking golf-ball, followed in theorder named by Ralph Bingham, resolute but going a trifle at the knees,and Rupert Bailey on a bicycle. The latter, on whose face and limbs themud had dried, made an arresting spectacle.
"What are you playing?" I inquired.
"Eleven hundred," said Rupert. "We got into a casual dog."
"A casual dog?"
"Yes, just before the bridge. We were coming along nicely, when a straydog grabbed our nine hundred and ninety-eighth and took it nearly backto Woodfield, and we had to start all over again. How are you gettingon?"
"We have just played our eleven hundred and fifth. A nice even game." Ilooked at Ralph's ball, which was lying close to the kerb. "You arefarther from the hole, I think. Your shot, Bingham."
Rupert Bailey suggested breakfast. He was a man who was altogether toofond of creature comforts. He had not the true golfing spirit.
"Breakfast!" I exclaimed.
"Breakfast," said Rupert, firmly. "If you don't know what it is, I canteach you in half a minute. You play it with a pot of coffee, a knifeand fork, and about a hundred-weight of scrambled eggs. Try it. It's apastime that grows on you."
I was surprised when Ralph Bingham supported the suggestion. He was sonear holing out that I should have supposed that nothing would havekept him from finishing the match. But he agreed heartily.
"Breakfast," he said, "is an excellent idea. You go along in. I'llfollow in a moment. I want to buy a paper."
We went into the hotel, and a few minutes later he joined us. Now thatwe were actually at the table, I confess that the idea of breakfast wasby no means repugnant to me. The keen air and the exercise had given mean appetite, and it was some little time before I was able to assurethe waiter definitely that he could cease bringing orders of scrambledeggs. The others having finished also, I suggested a move. I wasanxious to get the match over and be free to go home.
We filed out of the hotel, Arthur Jukes leading. When I had passedthrough the swing-doors, I found him gazing perplexedly up and down thestreet.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"It's gone!"
"What has gone?"
"The car!"
"Oh, the car?" said Ralph Bingham. "That's all right. Didn't I tell youabout that? I bought it just now and engaged the driver as mychauffeur, I've been meaning to buy a car for a long time. A man oughtto have a car."
"Where is it?" said Arthur, blankly. The man seemed dazed.
"I couldn't tell you to a mile or two," replied Ralph. "I told the manto drive to Glasgow. Why? Had you any message for him?"
"But my ball was inside it!"
"Now that," said Ralph, "is really unfortunate! Do you mean to tell meyou hadn't managed to get it out yet? Yes, that is a little awkward foryou. I'm afraid it means that you lose the match."
"Lose the match?"
"Certainly. The rules are perfectly definite on that point. A period offive minutes is allowed for each stroke. The player who fails to makehis stroke within that time loses the hole. Unfortunate, but there itis!"
Arthur Jukes sank down on the path and buried his face in his hands. Hehad the appearance of a broken man. Once more, I am bound to say, Ifelt a certain pity for him. He had certainly struggled gamely, and itwas hard to be beaten like this on the post.
"Playing eleven hundred and one," said Ralph Bingham, in his odiouslyself-satisfied voice, as he addressed his ball. He laughed jovially. Amessenger-boy had paused close by and was watching the proceedingsgravely. Ralph Bingham patted him on the head.
"Well, sonny," he said, "what club would _you_ use here?"
"I claim the match!" cried Arthur Jukes, springing up. Ralph Binghamregarded him coldly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I claim the match!" repeated Arthur Jukes. "The rules say that aplayer who asks advice from any person other than his caddie shall losethe hole."
"This is absurd!" said Ralph, but I noticed that he had turned pale.
"I appeal to the judges."
"We sustain the appeal," I said, after a brief consultation with RupertBailey. "The rule is perfectly clear."
"But you had lost the match already by not playing within fiveminutes," said Ralph, vehemently.
"It was not my turn to play. You were farther from the pin."
"Well, play now. Go on! Let's see you make your shot."
"There is no necessity," said Arthur, frigidly. "Why should I play whenyou have already disqualified yourself?"
"I claim a draw!"
"I deny the claim."
"I appeal to the judges."
"Very well. We will leave it to the judges."
I consulted with Rupert Bailey. It seemed to me that Arthur Jukes wasentitled to the verdict. Rupert, who, though an amiable and delightfulcompanion, had always been one of Nature's fat-heads, could not see it.We had to go back to our principals and announce that we had beenunable to agree.
"This is ridiculous," said Ralph Bingham. "We ought to have had a thirdjudge."
At this moment, who should come out of the hotel but Amanda Trivett! Averitable goddess from the machine.
"It seems to me," I said, "that you would both be well advised to leavethe decision to Miss Trivett. You could have no better referee."
"I'm game," said Arthur Jukes.
"Suits _me_," said Ralph Bingham.
"Why, whatever are you all doing here with your golf-clubs?" asked thegirl, wonderingly.
"These two gentlemen," I explained, "have been playing a match, and apoint has arisen on which the judges do not find themselves inagreement. We need an unbiased outside opinion, and we should like toput it up to you. The facts are as follows:..."
Amanda Trivett listened attentively, but, when I had finished, sheshook her head.
"I'm afraid I don't know enough about the game to be able to decide aquestion like that," she said.
"Then we must consult St. Andrews," said Rupert Bailey.
"I'll tell you who might know," said Amanda Trivett, after a moment'sthought.
"Who is that?" I asked.
"My _fiance_. He has just come back from a golfing holiday. That'swhy I'm in town this morning. I've been to meet him. He is very good atgolf. He won a medal at Little-Mudbury-in-the-Wold the day before heleft."
There was a tense silence. I had the delicacy not to look at Ralph orArthur. Then the silence was broken by a sharp crack. Ralph Bingham hadbroken his mashie-niblick across his knee. From the direction whereArthur Jukes was standing there came a muffled gulp.
"Shall I ask him?" said Amanda Trivett.
"Don't bother," said Ralph Bingham.
"It doesn't matter," said Arthur Jukes.