was as good as over.
* * * * *
I cannot recall a lovelier summer day than that on which the great
Todd-Willard eighteen-hole match took place. It had rained during the
night, and now the sun shone down from a clear blue sky on to turf that
glistened more greenly than the young grass of early spring.
Butterflies flitted to and fro; birds sang merrily. In short, all
Nature smiled. And it is to be doubted if Nature ever had a better
excuse for smiling--or even laughing outright; for matches like that
between James Todd and Peter Willard do not occur every day.
Whether it was that love had keyed them up, or whether hours of study
of Braid's 'Advanced Golf' and the Badminton Book had produced a
belated effect, I cannot say; but both started off quite reasonably
well. Our first hole, as you can see, is a bogey four, and James was
dead on the pin in seven, leaving Peter, who had twice hit the United
Kingdom with his mashie in mistake for the ball, a difficult putt for
the half. Only one thing could happen when you left Peter a difficult
putt; and James advanced to the lake hole one up, Peter, as he
followed, trying to console himself with the thought that many of the
best golfers prefer to lose the first hole and save themselves for a
strong finish.
Peter and James had played over the lake hole so often that they had
become accustomed to it, and had grown into the habit of sinking a ball
or two as a preliminary formality with much the same stoicism displayed
by those kings in ancient and superstitious times who used to fling
jewellery into the sea to propitiate it before they took a voyage. But
today, by one of those miracles without which golf would not be golf,
each of them got over with his first shot--and not only over, but dead
on the pin. Our 'pro.' himself could not have done better.
I think it was at this point that the two men began to go to pieces.
They were in an excited frame of mind, and this thing unmanned them.
You will no doubt recall Keats's poem about stout Cortez staring with
eagle eyes at the Pacific while all his men gazed at each other with a
wild surmise, silent upon a peak in Darien. Precisely so did Peter
Willard and James Todd stare with eagle eyes at the second lake hole,
and gaze at each other with a wild surmise, silent upon a tee in
Woodhaven. They had dreamed of such a happening so often and woke to
find the vision false, that at first they could not believe that the
thing had actually occurred.
'I got over!' whispered James, in an awed voice.
'So did I!' muttered Peter.
'In one!'
'With my very first!'
They walked in silence round the edge of the lake, and holed out. One
putt was enough for each, and they halved the hole with a two. Peter's
previous record was eight, and James had once done a seven. There are
times when strong men lose their self-control, and this was one of
them. They reached the third tee in a daze, and it was here that
mortification began to set in.
The third hole is another bogey four, up the hill and past the tree
