Wallace appeared half an hour ahead of the appointed time, and I introduced him to Kirkaldy. The latter studied him intently as they chatted, but asked no questions concerning his identity with their native Scotland. Wallace looked over an array of clubs, selected some which suited him, but retained my cleek and mashie. It was agreed I should act as caddy for Wallace, Chilvers for Kirkaldy, and that Carter should referee. LaHume declined to act in any capacity.
All games were postponed to watch this strange contest, and the "gallery" clustered at the first tee numbered fully one hundred. It was agreed that the contest should be at medal play, the match score also to be taken into consideration.
Mr. Harding called me aside before the match started.
"What do you think about this game, Smith?" he asked. "You've seen both of them play, and I hav'n't. This young fellow, LaHume, is bluffing around offering to bet any part of five hundred dollars Kirkaldy will beat this Wallace seven strokes. I don't mind losing the money, but I hate to make a foolish bet and be laughed at."
"Take LaHume up, and I'll stand half the bet," I said, after considering the matter for a moment. "Wallace is a stranger to the course, but I doubt if Kirkaldy or anyone living can beat him seven strokes."
Harding covered LaHume's money, and the latter placed several hundred dollars more at the same odds. Miss Lawrence heard he was betting against Wallace, and her eyes blazed with indignation.
"You go to Mr. LaHume," she said to Marshall, "and ask him what odds he will give that Mr. Wallace does not win the game. Do not tell him who wishes to know."
"What odds Wallace does not win the game?" sneered LaHume, when Marshall sounded him. "Five to one, up to a thousand dollars!"
Just before they teed off, Marshall put a crisp one-hundred-dollar note belonging to Miss Lawrence in Harding's hands as stakeholder, and LaHume promptly covered it with five bills of the same denomination. There were scores of smaller wagers with no such animus back of them.
Wallace won the toss and took the honour. I doubt if there be any greater mental or nervous strain than that of making the initial stroke in an important golf contest. The player realises that all eyes are on him, and unless he has nerves of steel and an absolute mental poise he is likely to fall the victim of a wave which surges against him as he grasps the shaft of his club.