all that week kendall had wished that there were two of him that he might both follow football practice and pursue the tantalizing intricacies of golf and the friendship of ned tooker. he had attended football practice only twice, on tuesday and thursday, and practice was getting very interesting and exciting now, for there was a scrimmage every afternoon between the first and second teams, and, since it was now the height of the season, those scrimmages were no love-feast. every player was animated either by the stern determination to hold his place at all costs—if he was a first-string man—or to wrest someone else’s place from him—if he was a substitute. and so it was nip and tuck between many good friends. there was an exciting contest on between norton, the regular right end, and sayer, a younger fellow who was the first choice substitute. and arthur thompson had created a mild sensation by beating out both green and fayette and standing an excellent show of playing for a[161] time at least in the remaining games as a substitute to stearns. the rivalry for the position of quarter-back was less intense just for the reason that it was payson’s policy to use both simms and holmes to about the same extent. hammel, simms, ridge and norton had been receiving special instruction in punting and drop-kicking every day for a week past, but simms and norton were the only ones who it seemed had profited much. simms was getting off better punts and norton was gradually developing into a fair drop-kicker. it was this dawning ability that might insure him his position and defeat sayer’s ambition.
on saturday the team left early in the forenoon for east point to play carrel’s school, and with the team went fully half the student body, almost all, in fact, who could obtain permission and enough money to meet the expenses of the trip. kendall, of course, was barred from going by his probation. and he gathered comfort from the thought that even if he had not been on probation he still would have been forced to remain at home, since in purchasing that suit of clothes he had virtually bankrupted himself. however, fate provided him with a fairly satisfactory substitute for the football game in the golf match that afternoon between yardley and broadwood. the broadwood representatives were on hand early;[162] seven of them in all. they were a nice-looking lot of boys; kendall mentally called them “swells,” but in no derogatory sense, since, now that he was the possessor of a new suit of clothes and had discovered a blue necktie among his belongings, he secretly considered entering that class himself!
when kendall reached the course, the drawings had been made and the first two competitors, kirk of yardley and osgood of broadwood, were just starting off. ned was busily talking with a group of boys and so kendall joined the small gallery of stay-at-homes. kirk had the best of the first drive and the two boys strode off. presently wainwright and a tall youth named linton drove, and they too took their departure. a third couple followed them, morgan of yardley and carter of broadwood. kendall let them go, although a few of the onlookers had dribbled away at the heels of the various pairs. kendall meant to go around with ned. the latter had loaned him a book of rules and a book of instruction—very interesting, the latter, with many pictures and much puzzling advice—and kendall had been absorbing them both in his leisure moments. at least, he had managed to obtain a fair idea of the general principles of the game, although a great deal of it was still greek to him.
ned and his rival, who turned out to be frost,[163] broadwood’s best player, started next, leaving simpson, yardley, and sawyer, broadwood, to follow. kendall remembered that ned had termed frost broadwood’s crack exponent of the game and wondered whether ned had met his match. most of the onlookers, like kendall, had been waiting for this contest and now gathered around the tee. ned caught sight of kendall while frost, whose honor it was, was fixing his tee.
“hello, curt!” he said, “how are you to-day? and where are those new clothes we got yesterday? didn’t they send them?”
“oh, yes, but i thought i wouldn’t wear them to-day. they’re—they’re sort of best, don’t you see.”
ned stared for a moment and then a grin spread over his face and he began to chuckle. kendall viewed him with surprise.
“what’s the matter?” he asked.
“nothing, nothing at all,” laughed ned. “just a joke i happened to think of, a joke on yours truly. i’m glad i did think of it, too, for i just needed a good laugh to start this match on.”
“are you going to beat him?” asked kendall, lowering his voice. ned, watching frost prepare to drive, shook his head:
“i don’t know, curt. i think so, but we’ll sait and wee. if i have luck and do beat him we’ll[164] probably win the match. wasn’t it luck that i drew frost? kirk ought to win his game from osgood without much trouble and jim morgan’s sure to beat his man. that would give us our three out of five. well, coming around? good! see you later.” ned walked toward the tee. “that was a peach, frost,” he said, as his opponent’s ball went arching away across the bunker.
ned’s own drive was a few yards shorter but left him on the right side of the hazard, and players and gallery started off. kendall knew one or two of the fellows to speak to, notably teller sanford who had come out to watch his roommate play. sanford ran across kendall presently and seemed quite cordial in his rather stiff way. they kept together more or less during the match and, since neither of them knew much golf, asked each other many questions and gave what answers they could. they both were anxious that ned should win, however, and that was a bond between them. the first hole, 230 yards, was reached in 4 by both players. four, teller explained, was bogey. ned looked wise and nodded, secretly determining to find out what “bogey” might mean.
the course at yardley is fairly level, and, save for the seventh, none of the holes are very difficult. the distance for the nine holes is 2170 yards[165] and the bogey is 35 strokes. (ned had once done it in 38, equaling the school record.) it was stroke competition to-day and the match was to go to the side winning three out of five games of eighteen holes. the second was reached by both ned and frost in 4, one over bogey. so far their cards were even at 8 strokes. but on the next hole ned had a piece of bad luck, slicing his drive so that it took him an extra stroke to cross the bunker and frost took the hole in 5 to ned’s 6. by that time it was apparent even to kendall that the broadwood player was superior to ned with his driver. frost’s drives were quite remarkable. they had both length and direction. ned drove a slightly shorter ball and was more uncertain as to direction. (kendall overheard one knowing spectator observe that “tooker tees too high; that’s the trouble with him.”) but with the iron ned was better than his opponent. he seemed able to place his ball just where he wanted it on approach shots and more than once so far he had gained the hole with only one putt. when it came to the use of the putter there appeared little choice between the two boys. each seemed possessed of a deadly certainty with that implement in hand. the fourth hole was halved and at the fifth ned had evened the score. each made the sixth in 5 and the seventh in 6. that was the one difficult[166] hole of the course. it was 375 yards long and combined a “bowl” and a bunker in such a way that a perfect approach to the green was an impossibility. the bogey was 5, and in doing it in 6 each of the players won applause. ned took the lead at the next hole by an eight-foot putt that was a marvel of precision and finished the first round by another 3 to his opponent’s 4, leaving him two strokes to the good. ned came over to where kendall and teller sanford were standing and talked a minute before the next round began.
“what do you think of kirk?” he asked in disgust. “he’s four under osgood at the ninth! i thought that for once he meant to win his match.”
“how are you feeling?” asked kendall anxiously.
“dine and fandy,” replied ned flippantly. “say, can’t that fellow drive, though? he’s a lot better than he was in the spring. has anybody heard how jack simpson is getting on?”
kendall and teller shook their heads.
“morgan was four to the good at the ninth, i heard. i guess he’s safe. well, here goes.”
the first hole was halved again, as in the first round, at four each. at the second frost made a remarkable drive that left him well up. an iron[167] shot laid the ball within four feet of the hole and he went out in 3, which was bogey. ned’s drive was twenty yards shorter than his adversary’s and his iron shot left him on the edge of the green. he holed out in 4. the third and fourth holes were taken by each in 5 and 6 respectively. at the fifth ned again got the worst of it, overrunning a short putt, and on the sixth foozled a short approach shot. the score then for the round was, ned 29, frost 26; for the two rounds, ned 68, frost 67. broadwood was one stroke ahead and there were three holes to play.
on the way to the seventh tee ned sought kendall and drew him to one side. “i’m one stroke behind, curt,” he said, “but i think i can win the match if you make it worth my while.”
“‘i think i can win the match if you make it worth my while.’”
“me!” exclaimed kendall. “why, what can i do?”
“i’ll tell you. i’ll make a bargain with you. if you’ll promise to wear your new suit every day i’ll win the game. what do you say?”
“why, i don’t see—”
“oh, just a fancy of mine, curt. i’m such a whimsical cut-up! what do you say?”
“wear my new suit every day?”
“well, i’ll let you off sometimes. let me see; i have it; you may wear your old clothes on the thirty-first of the month.”
[168]
kendall smiled. “i suppose it’s some sort of a joke,” he said, “but i don’t see it.”
“never mind. it’s a go, eh?”
“why, yes, i’ll wear my new clothes if you like, only i don’t see—”
“i know you don’t. it’s a mystery. all right, then. here’s where i win the game. wish me luck, curt.”
“of course. and, ned, i heard a fellow say a while ago that he thought you teed too high. i don’t know just what he meant, but—”
“he was right. i’ve always known it, though. it’s a fault i can’t correct, curt. i hate to be stingy with the sand. so long!”
bogey for the seventh hole was 5, but no one in the history of the links had ever done it in that. the tee was on the edge of the hill in a space cleared of trees and the hole was 375 yards away in a line with the boathouse. from the tee the ground sloped abruptly to a hollow called the bowl. then came a rise to a bunker, a further rise beyond that to the summit of the knoll and then, out of sight from the approach, lay the green. an average drive laid the ball on the side of the hill, just short of the bowl. a long drive took you into the hollow. in either case it meant two strokes with lofter or mashie to get over the bunker. from there to the hole had always been[169] a matter of two at the least. there was a “longer way round,” however, generally affected by the poorer players. by this route the bowl was entirely avoided, the player driving along the edge of the slope and crossing to the hole past the end of the bunker. this, however, usually meant an 8 for the hole; possibly a 9.
it was frost’s honor and he teed his ball very carefully, using the merest pinch of sand. conversation had dwindled away of late. much depended on these last three holes and both contestants were saving their breath and thinking instead of talking. the gallery whispered amongst themselves, but very generally respected the players’ desire for silence. frost took his stance, weighed his driver, looked at the slope beyond the bowl a moment and swung. back came the club until it hung for an instant behind his left hip. then up it went, slowly at first, then faster, the head traveling a wide arc ere it swooped down upon the ball. there was a hard, crisp click and away sped the guttie, a white speck in the sunlight, straight in line with the distant hole and at just the right height. there was a little spurt of gravel on the slope beyond the hollow where the grass was thin, the ball leaped into the air, came down again several yards beyond and then nestled to earth. it was the longest drive frost[170] had made that day, and probably the longest ever made from the seventh tee, and a murmur of applause came from the gallery. frost stepped aside, an expression of pleasure showing in spite of his efforts.
ned smiled. “some drive, that, frost,” he said as he dipped his hand in the sand box. “as pretty as i ever saw.”
“not so bad,” replied frost modestly.
“i should say not!” ned walked to the far corner of the tee and placed his little pinch of sand on the ground, carefully shaping it between his fingers. then he put his ball on it. but he took it up the next moment and flicked away a half inch from the top of the little cone. when he faced the ball the gallery saw with surprise that he was going to play the “longest way round.” the surprise became audible and some of the older boys frowned their neighbors into silence. ned lost no time in preliminaries. back came his club and then up in a wide sweep and down again. off went the ball, low and hard. a dead leaf fluttered down from a branch, showing where the guttie had just escaped coming to grief against an out-reaching limb. straight along the edge of the hill it sped, ten feet or so above the ground at the top of its arc, and struck, bounded and rolled. it was a good drive, a remarkably[171] good one for ned, and the gallery’s approval was loud and continued, even while they failed to see ned’s reason for driving in that direction. he had put his ball almost as far from the tee as frost’s, but it lay much farther from the hole. the players parted company and the gallery split up into two groups, more than half of them choosing to follow ned’s fortunes.
“it doesn’t seem to me,” ventured kendall, “that he gained anything by putting his ball up there.”
“it doesn’t look so,” replied teller, “but it’s all right. ned will win now. he’s laughing. he always laughs when he’s at his best. i’ve seen it lots of times.”
“i hope so,” murmured kendall as he followed the others along the edge of the woods. when ned reached his ball he looked at it for several moments. then he studied the course ahead. below him at the right lay the bowl. between him and the little red flag at the hole lay a hollow, with a corner of the bunker elbowing into line. one advantage was with him. he was now only a scant yard or two below the level of the bunker, whereas frost must work uphill all the way to the green. ned’s ball lay on a slight slope, so that he had to stand several inches above it. but it was not cupped. it lay nestled in a little tuft[172] of dry grass, with a tiny twig holding it from rolling further down the slope. ned thoughtfully picked out his lofter. then he as thoughtfully slipped it back into the bag and drew forth a brassie. several of the knowing ones shook their heads. it seemed a bad lie for a brassie shot, they thought. but ned faced the hole, swung the club and had luck with him. the ball struck the opposite hillside, bounded high in the air and fell dead only four yards from the bunker! a yell of astonishment and delight went up from the watchers.
“what did i tell you?” demanded teller with a pleased smile on his face.
“but—but he oughtn’t to have used that brass club, then,” objected kendall. “the book says so!”
“i guess the book was wrong.” teller nodded at the distant ball. “there’s the answer to that.”
below them frost was making his second stroke. up the hill went the ball, landed, jumped a foot or two into the air, came down and trickled back a yard before it found lodgment.
“he will be lucky if he gets over from there in one,” kendall heard one of the gallery remark. “he’s thirty yards from the bunker and way below it.”
[173]
but he did get over, making a very pretty shot with a niblick and just grazing the top of the bunker. ned went over neatly and the ball bounded out of sight toward the green. frost’s fourth stroke took him well onto the green, but at the left of the hole. it was apparent that ned, playing 4, could at least tie the hole in 6. but when his ball was found it lay only twenty yards or so from the hole and visions of a bogey score floated before the eyes of the excited audience. smilingly and, as it looked, almost carelessly, ned took his mashie, cast one short glance at the flag and hit the ball. up and away it went in a short arching flight.
“too hard,” someone groaned behind kendall. but kendall, his heart in his mouth, saw the ball drop, make one feeble effort to bound, and then lie dead within a yard of the flag!
something that was like a hushed cheer went up from the gallery which had now reunited and had drawn aside at the edge of the green. ned slipped his mashie back into his bag with a fine unconcern and took out his putter. frost at the side of the green was looking rather serious as he bent over his ball. his fifth stroke left him within a scant two feet of the hole. the audience literally held their breath as ned brushed aside an invisible obstacle in his path to the goal,[174] measured the distance and direction with his eye and swung his putter back gently. tap! forward rolled the ball, straight for the hole, but oh, so slowly! three inches away from the edge it seemed about to stop, but it changed its mind and trickled on—on—and then, pop, it was out of sight!
a breath of relief went up from the watchers, but it was not until frost had holed out that the applause came. then a dozen fellows pressed around ned to slap him on the back and shake his hand. “five, tooker! that bogey! it’s never been done before! oh, you ned tooker!” frost shook hands with him, too, hiding his discomfiture as best he could. as they took up the journey to the eighth tee the score for the two rounds stood at 73 each, and the match depended on the next two holes.
