"His goat is loose already!" said he in a stage whisper. "He can't stand the gaff!"
Adolphus got out of the tall grass on his third shot, but dropped his fourth into a deep sand pit short of the green.
"With a lot of luck," said Windy, reaching for his brassy, "you may get an 8—but I doubt it. Pretty soft for me, pretty soft!" And with the sole of his club he patted the turf behind his ball, smoothing it down—three gentle little pats. "Pret-ty soft!" murmured Windy, and sent the ball whistling straight on to the green for a sure 4. Then he turned to Kitts. "D'you give up?" said he. "Might just as well; you haven't got a burglar's chance!"
"I claim the hole," said Adolphus calmly, fishing out the book of rules.
"You—what?"
"Rule No. 10," said Kitts, beginning to read. "'In playing through the green, irregularities of surface which could in any way affect the player's stroke shall not be removed nor pressed down by the player——' You patted the grass behind your ball and improved the lie by smoothing it down. I claim the hole."
Windy went about the colour of a nice ripe Satsuma plum. His neck swelled so much that his ears moved outward. "You don't mean to say that you're goin' to call a thing like that on me when you're already licked for the hole?" He spoke slowly, as if he found it hard to believe that the situation was real.
"I claim it," repeated Adolphus monotonously. "You can appeal to Mr. Cutts, as chairman of the greens committee."
"Hey, Fatty! All I did was pat the grass a few times with my club, and this—this gentleman here says he claims the hole."
"You violated the rule," shortly answered Cupid, who may be fat but does not like to be reminded of it so publicly.