"Another considerate golfer, eh?" he snapped. "Now, gentlemen, under the rules governing tournament play I demand for my opponent and myself the right to go through. There are open holes ahead; you are not holding your place on the course——"
"Drive, Jim," interposed Watlington in that quiet way of his. "Don't pay any attention to him. Drive."
"But how can I drive while he's hopping up and down behind me? He puts me all off my swing!"
"I'm glad my protest has some effect on you," said Wally. "Now I understand that some of you are members of the Greens Committee of this club. As a member of the said club, I wish to make a formal request that we be allowed to pass."
"Denied," said Watlington. "Drive, Jim."
"Do you mean to say that you refuse us our rights—that you won't let us through?"
"Absolutely," murmured old Peebles. "Absolutely."
"But why—why? On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that you're too fresh," said Colonel Peck. "On the grounds that we don't want you to go through. Sit down and cool off."
"Drive, Jim," said Watlington. "You talk too much, young man."