"If you drive into 'em without their permission you lose," stipulated Ben.
"Right!" said Wally.
"Got you for a dozen balls!" said Ben.
"Anybody else want some of it?" asked Wally.
Before he got off the tee he stood to lose six dozen balls; but his nerve was unshaken and he slammed out another tremendous drive. I sliced into a ditch and away we went, leaving a great deal of promiscuous kidding behind us. It took me two shots to get out at all, and Wally picked up another hole on me.
Two down—murder!
On the sixth tee we ran into another mass meeting of malcontents. Old Man Martin, our prize grouch, grumbled a bit when we called attention to our red flags.
"What's the use?" said he. "You're on your way, but you ain't going anywhere. Might just as well sit down and take it easy. Watlington has got a lost ball, and the others have gone on to the green so's nobody can get through. Won't do you a bit of good to drive, Wally. There's two foursomes hung up over the hill now, and they'll be right there till Watlington finds that ball. Sit down and be sociable."
"What'll you bet that we don't get through?" demanded Wally, who was beginning to show signs of irritation.
"Whatever you got the most of, sonny—provided you make the bet this way: they got to let you through. Of course you might drive into 'em or walk through 'em, but that ain't being done—much."