But on the morning before the day, Clarence, after watching his parent top and slice and foozle through a whole round without intermission, became less sanguine.
"I tell you what it is, Guv'nor," he said, frankly, "the Marshal's been shaping a bit better these last few days, and it's my belief he can give you a stroke a hole and win easy."
"After all," said the King, "I'm not sure there isn't a certain loss of dignity—playing with my own subject, don't you know."
"It won't do to let him lick you, certainly," agreed Clarence.
"Quite so, my boy, quite so. I was thinking—I might be prevented by sudden business—I could go and sit with the Council, you know."
"He'd only want you to fix another day for playing him. It's no use, Guv'nor, you can't get out of it now. Perhaps you'd do better if you played with a different sort of ball. I must see if I can't get you one or two."
And that evening he brought his father half a dozen. "They're specially marked," he said, "so you can't make a mistake over them, and I fancy you'll find they travel better than any of the Marshal's."
"You've got those golf balls I gave you?" he asked the King at breakfast next morning. "Mind you don't forget to take 'em."
"I shan't forget, my boy. But what I'm most troubled about is my swing—there's something wrong with it, only I can't find out what."
"I think it a great pity myself," said Queen Selina, "that you ever agreed to play this match at all. If you are beaten it will certainly lower your prestige. But I am sure the dear Marshal has too much tact not to let you win."