"Don't you worry, Mater," said Clarence. "The Guv'nor's going to win on his own, hands down!"
"I sincerely hope so. It will be a sad blow to the Throne if he does not."
These remarks did not help much to steady King Sidney's nerves when he met the Marshal on the links, where, as Monarch, he naturally had the honour. A large crowd of onlookers from the Court had collected, and the players had decided to dispense with caddies under the circumstances.
The first hole was only about a hundred and sixty yards; a deep gully lay between, and on either side of the approach were beds of tall rushes.
King Sidney addressed his ball for some time in agonising indecision before he finally drove off. A cloud of sand rose; the ball was nowhere to be seen, and, taught by experience, he looked behind for it.
"Jolly good shot!" cried Clarence. "Right on the green!"
"Is it, my boy?" said the King. "I can't see it there myself."
"No more can I," Clarence owned, "but I bet you what you like you're on the pretty, anyway. Your drive, Marshal."
The Marshal smote a mighty blow, and his ball likewise vanished. Clarence was of opinion that it had gone over the boundary, but the Marshal was so certain that it was on the green that he declined to search for it.
"Funny," said Clarence disappointedly, as they neared the pin, "I don't see your ball anywhere, Pater. Nor yet the Marshal's."