“I’m—what?” asked Kendall.
“Away; your ball’s farthest from the hole. That means that you play first. Give it a good clean swipe this time.”
Kendall managed to send the ball some twenty yards and looked at Ned for approbation. But Ned shook his head.
“All wrong. You let your club slip in your hands and you brought your shoulder up. Watch this.”
Click! Away sailed Ned’s ball, straight and low for the distant green. It struck, bounded and rolled and finally trickled to within some six yards of the flag. Kendall sighed. He had a lot to learn, he feared, before he could ever equal that performance. But he struggled on and finally his ball lay almost beside Ned’s. Then he was given another and quite different implement which Ned explained was a putter. And now—luck again very probably—Kendall distinguished himself by holing out in some marvelous manner in one!
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” breathed Ned softly. It took him two to make the hole. “Four,” he said. “That’s the best I’ve ever done this hole in. That iron shot of mine was a dandy.”
“What do you mean by ‘four’?” asked Kendall.
“Four strokes.”
“Oh, and what did I make?”