"We have played a snappy seven hundred and eleven." I said.
Ralph exulted openly. Rupert Bailey made no comment. He was too busy
with 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 had
been 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 stick
to your post. Besides, what could be nicer than a pleasant morning
ramble?"
"Pleasant morning ramble my number nine foot!" he replied, peevishly.
"I want to get back to civilization and set an excavating party with
pickaxes 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 stick
Ralph Bingham much longer."
"You have found him trying?"
"Trying! Why, after I had fallen into that ditch and was coming up for
the third time, all the man did was simply to call to me to admire an
infernal iron shot he had just made. No sympathy, mind you! Wrapped up
in himself. Why don't you make your man give up the match? He can't
win."
"I refuse to admit it. Much may happen between here and Royal Square."
I have seldom known a prophecy more swiftly fulfilled. At this moment
the doors of the Woodfield Garage opened and a small car rolled out
with a grimy young man in a sweater at the wheel. He brought the
machine out into the road, and alighted and went back into the garage,
where we heard him shouting unintelligibly to someone in the rear
premises. The car remained puffing and panting against the kerb.
Engaged in conversation with Rupert Bailey, I was paying little
attention to this evidence of an awakening world, when suddenly I heard
a hoarse, triumphant cry from Arthur Jukes, and, turned, I perceived
his 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 the
morning had been originally, but nothing could have been more obliging
than the ready way in which he consented to revise them at a moment's
notice. I dare say you have noticed that the sturdy peasantry of our
beloved 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 to
get the ball out of the car when you reach Royal Square?"
"Certainly," replied Arthur. "You will observe on the side of the
vehicle a convenient handle which, when turned, opens the door. The
door 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. His
mildness seemed to me suspicious. He had the air of a man who has
something up his sleeve. I was still musing on this when Arthur called
to me impatiently to get in. I did so, and we drove off. Arthur was in
great spirits. He had ascertained from the young man at the wheel that
there was no chance of the opposition being able to hire another car at
the garage. This machine was his own property, and the only other one
at present in the shop was suffering from complicated trouble of the
oiling-system and would not be able to be moved for at least another
day.
I, however, shook my head when he pointed out the advantages of his
position. 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 complaints
on all sides."
"I mean, when you told him how you intended to get the ball out of the
car."
"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. No
wonder he didn't object to your opening the door and chipping the ball
out. By doing so you would forfeit the match."
"Nonsense! Why?"
"Because," I said, "it is against the rules to tamper with a hazard. If
you had got into a sand-bunker, would you smooth away the sand? If you
had put your shot under a tree, could your caddie hold up the branches
to give you a clear shot? Obviously you would disqualify yourself if
you 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 begun
to 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, as
it were, and close again? You wouldn't think it necessary to mention
the 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 a
statement to the effect that I hooked it out with my----?"