"Anything you'd like me to do with my ears?" he asked bitterly. "If you'd come and take some mud out for me, instead of talking rot—"
I approached with my handkerchief and examined the eye carefully.
"See anything?" asked Thomas.
"My dear Thomas, it's FULL of turf. We mustn't forget to replace this if we can get it out. What the Secretary would say—There! How's that?"
"Worse than ever."
"Try not to think about it. Keep the OTHER eye on the ball as much as possible. This is my hole by the way. Your ball is lost."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it losing itself. It went into the bad place I told you about. It's gone to join the Secretary. Oh, no, we got him out, of course; I keep forgetting. Anyhow, it's my hole."
"I think I shall turn my trousers up again," said Thomas, bending down to do so. "Is there a local rule about it?"
"No; it is left entirely to the discretion and good taste of the members. Naturally a little extra licence is allowed on a very muddy day. Of course, if—Oh, I see. You meant a local rule about losing your ball in the mud? No, I don't know of one—unless it comes under the heading of casual land. Be a sportsman, Thomas, and don't begrudge me the hole."