“Willingly,” laughed Aurora.
There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of course, and both men realized it, but any joke in which Aurora North had a part was the joke for them. A week passed before Patricia completed her plans and in the meanwhile everybody had forgotten all about her amazing proposition. It was, therefore, with surprise and not a little amusement that McLemore and Ventnor received the dainty notice in Patricia’s handwriting, which advised them that the Cross Country Match would be played off on the following Thursday afternoon, at two o’clock. Jimmy McLemore smiled at a photograph on the desk in his library, but later in the day after a talk over the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie, and a heavy mid-iron from his bag and went out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve Ventnor in his office in the city turned the note over in his fingers and frowned. Thursday was his busiest day, but he realized that he had given his promise and that if McLemore played he must. It was a very silly business. Several things mystified him, however. What did Patricia mean, for instance, by the absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation? “Aurora will caddy for you; and don’t wear a crimson vest—there’s nothing to be gained by it.”
On a slip of paper enclosed were the local rules:
(1) The first ball and every fourth ball thereafter may be played from a rubber tee.
(2) A ball in “casual” water may be lifted and dropped without penalty.
(3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences, etc., are natural hazards, and must be played over as such.
(4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke, but not of distance. A ball may be dropped within twenty-five yards of the spot where ball disappeared.
(5) The match must be finished within four hours. The competitor who for any reason fails to finish loses the match.
Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in spite of his golf sense, which is like no other sense in the world, felt himself gently warming to the project. He would go of course—for Aurora was to caddy for him.