When Kendall reached the course, the drawings had been made and the first two competitors, Kirk of Yardley and Osgood of Broadwood, were just starting off. Ned was busily talking with a group of boys and so Kendall joined the small gallery of stay-at-homes. Kirk had the best of the first drive and the two boys strode off. Presently Wainwright and a tall youth named Linton drove, and they too took their departure. A third couple followed them, Morgan of Yardley and Carter of Broadwood. Kendall let them go, although a few of the onlookers had dribbled away at the heels of the various pairs. Kendall meant to go around with Ned. The latter had loaned him a book of rules and a book of instruction—very interesting, the latter, with many pictures and much puzzling advice—and Kendall had been absorbing them both in his leisure moments. At least, he had managed to obtain a fair idea of the general principles of the game, although a great deal of it was still Greek to him.
Ned and his rival, who turned out to be Frost, Broadwood’s best player, started next, leaving Simpson, Yardley, and Sawyer, Broadwood, to follow. Kendall remembered that Ned had termed Frost Broadwood’s crack exponent of the game and wondered whether Ned had met his match. Most of the onlookers, like Kendall, had been waiting for this contest and now gathered around the tee. Ned caught sight of Kendall while Frost, whose honor it was, was fixing his tee.
“Hello, Curt!” he said, “how are you to-day? And where are those new clothes we got yesterday? Didn’t they send them?”
“Oh, yes, but I thought I wouldn’t wear them to-day. They’re—they’re sort of best, don’t you see.”
Ned stared for a moment and then a grin spread over his face and he began to chuckle. Kendall viewed him with surprise.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” laughed Ned. “Just a joke I happened to think of, a joke on yours truly. I’m glad I did think of it, too, for I just needed a good laugh to start this match on.”
“Are you going to beat him?” asked Kendall, lowering his voice. Ned, watching Frost prepare to drive, shook his head:
“I don’t know, Curt. I think so, but we’ll sait and wee. If I have luck and do beat him we’ll probably win the match. Wasn’t it luck that I drew Frost? Kirk ought to win his game from Osgood without much trouble and Jim Morgan’s sure to beat his man. That would give us our three out of five. Well, coming around? Good! See you later.” Ned walked toward the tee. “That was a peach, Frost,” he said, as his opponent’s ball went arching away across the bunker.
Ned’s own drive was a few yards shorter but left him on the right side of the hazard, and players and gallery started off. Kendall knew one or two of the fellows to speak to, notably Teller Sanford who had come out to watch his roommate play. Sanford ran across Kendall presently and seemed quite cordial in his rather stiff way. They kept together more or less during the match and, since neither of them knew much golf, asked each other many questions and gave what answers they could. They both were anxious that Ned should win, however, and that was a bond between them. The first hole, 230 yards, was reached in 4 by both players. Four, Teller explained, was bogey. Ned looked wise and nodded, secretly determining to find out what “bogey” might mean.