Fired by his father’s example, Lionel made an excellent shot. When they reached the green the Squire’s ball lay below the hole. Lionel’s was above. The odds, therefore, were at least two to one against Lionel and his partner. Joyce had to putt downhill upon a slippery surface.
Lionel wondered whether her nerve would fail her. A fairy’s touch was needed. If the ball overran the hole it must trickle on down the slope. Joyce, however, did exactly the right thing at the right time.
“It’s a halved match,” said the Squire, “and one of the best I’ve ever played.”
Margot had the easiest of approach putts, but her blunder at the seventeenth lay heavy on her mind. She was terrified of overrunning the mark. She putted feebly; the ball quivered upon the crest of the slope, and rolled back. When it stopped it was further from the hole than before.
“Um!” said the Squire. “An inch more and you’d have done it. Cheer up!”
She was biting her lip with vexation.
The Squire putted for the hole and missed it.
“I’ve this for the match,” said Lionel.
The ball lay some twenty inches from the hole. Lionel popped it in, and turned to Joyce.
“I could hug you, Joyce,” he said gaily.