"Perfectly great!" I said, with enthusiasm, for it did seem marvellous. "But I don't think I can do it. You win, of course."
"Not at all," said Jupiter. "If you hit the bull's-eye, as I did, you win."
"And you lose in spite of that splendid—er—stroke?" I asked.
"Oh no—not at all," said Jupiter. "We both win."
Again the bell rang, and the winds blew, and the cannon shot, but my ball, under the excitement of the moment of aiming, was directed not towards the bull's-eye—or the hole—but at the skitomobile. It hit it fairly and hard, and it smashed the engine by which the machine was propelled, much to the consternation of Jason and Phaeton.
"Unfortunate," said Jupiter. "Very. But never mind. We don't have to walk home."
"I'm awfully sorry," said I. "I—er—"
"Never mind," said Jupiter. "It is easily repaired, but we cannot go on with the game. The next hole is eight thousand miles long. Twice around the planet, and we couldn't possibly walk it, so we'll have to quit. We've got all we can manage trudging back to the club-house. Here, caddies, take our clubs back to the club-house, and tell 'em to have two nectar high-balls ready at six-thirty. Phaeton, you and Jason will have to get back the best way you can. I've told you a half-dozen times to bring two machines with you, but you never seem to understand. Come along, Higgins, we'll go back. Shut your eyes."
I closed my optics, as ordered, although my name is not Higgins, and I didn't like to have even Jupiter so dub me.
"Now open them again," was the sharp order.