"Simple enough," said his son, "pretend not to notice anything and play it out."
"I suppose I must, my boy, I suppose I must. But I know I shan't play so well after this—it's quite put me off my game!"
"No, it hasn't, Guv'nor. You'll play up all right, at least if Xuriel knows his job."
Xuriel apparently did know his job, for the King's ball continued to be as foozle-proof as the Marshal's mashie.
It would be tedious to describe any further holes. When a bewitched mashie is pitted against an enchanted ball, there can obviously be none of the alternations and vicissitudes of Fortune which constitute the charm of Golf.
When they were at the turn, having halved every hole up to the ninth, the Marshal had had enough of it. "We are too well matched, Sire," he said, "and to proceed would only be to waste your Majesty's time, which is of far more value than my own."
"H'm, well, perhaps we'd better call it a draw and have done with it," said the King.
The Court had witnessed the game without excitement or astonishment. They saw no particular reason why the balls should fail to reach the hole in one stroke, and did not care in the least whether they failed or not. The only impressions they received were that Golf was too monotonous and too easy a pastime to have any attractions for them, and that nothing should induce them to indulge in it against such invincible champions as his Majesty and the Ex-Regent.
"I must say, my boy," said the King to his son, as they walked back to the Palace together, "I wish you hadn't gone to that magician fellow. It makes it so very awkward for me."
"It would have been a jolly sight more awkward if I hadn't. Just think of the licking you'd have had, what?"