"Yes," said Archie, "but that was baseball. This is golf. There's a difference."
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, "when you are through with your discussion, I would really like to drive."
III
I played with Small all the afternoon without yielding to an impulse to slay him with a niblick, which speaks volumes for my good disposition. It was a harrowing experience. Small proceeded on the usual theory of the beginner, which is to hit the ball as hard as possible and trust to luck. The most I can say for his day's play is that I never expect to see golf balls hit any harder. His wooden club shots hooked and sliced into the woods on either side of the course—he bought a dozen balls to begin with and was borrowing from us at the finish—he dug up great patches of turf on the fair greens, he nearly destroyed three bunkers and after every shot he yelled like a Comanche.
We caught up with Colonel Jimmy at the eighteenth tee. The Colonel was in a better humour and was offering to give the chinless boy a stroke and play him double or quits on the last hole—sure proof that he had him badly licked. The chinless boy took the bet.
"Now, there's some sense to that!" said Small. "I never could play any game for fun. Make it worth while, that's what I say! Archie, I'll bet you a hundred that I beat you this hole!"
Colonel Jimmy was picking up a handful of sand from a tee. He dropped it and began to clean his ball.
"I'd be ashamed to take the money," said Archie. "You wouldn't have a chance."
"You mean you're afraid to take one. Be a sport!"
"I am a sport. That's why I won't bet on a cinch."