"They 'a'an't a bin clained for months," said the caddy, who was vigorously rubbing them with emery paper.
Captain Trevanion won the toss, and took the honour. He was a tall, athletic fellow, and showed by his practice swing that he was master of his tools. He hit his ball straight and clean, and it fell a few yards behind the great grass mound which guards the first green. Bob, on the other hand, felt nervous and awkward. He was out of practice, and knew his disadvantage. He played the ball badly, and while it cleared the rough, he had an awkward stance for his second. In playing the odd, too, he miscalculated the distance, and found himself in the rough, on the offside of the green. Captain Trevanion holed out in four and although Bob got a five, he lost the hole.
"One up to the Army," laughed the Admiral.
The second hole, which can easily be reached by a good iron shot, Captain Trevanion played perfectly. His ball soared over a high mountain of sand, and plumped down comfortably a few yards from the hole. Bob topped his ball, and it landed half way up the sand-hill in a bad place. Again it took him five to hole out, while Trevanion was down in three.
At the third the Captain drove a perfect ball, while Bob, who though he got just as far, landed in the churchyard, out of bounds. The result was that he lost this hole also.
"This is what I call a grand procession," remarked some one.
"Come, Bob," laughed the Admiral, "this looks as though you will have to pay for the tea."
"I hope it'll be a good one anyhow," replied Bob quietly. "I'm working up a fine appetite."
At the next hole Captain Trevanion drove short, and landed in the bunker guarding the green. Bob, on the other hand, sent his ball straight and true over the guiding-post.
"Fine shot," was the general remark.