Bridle Street there trickled a weary-looking golf-ball, followed in the
order named by Ralph Bingham, resolute but going a trifle at the knees,
and Rupert Bailey on a bicycle. The latter, on whose face and limbs the
mud had dried, made an arresting spectacle.
'What are you playing?' I inquired.
'Eleven hundred,' said Rupert. 'We got into a casual dog.'
'A casual dog?'
'Yes, just before the bridge. We were coming along nicely, when a stray
dog grabbed our nine hundred and ninety-eighth and took it nearly back
to Woodfield, and we had to start all over again. How are you getting
on?'
'We have just played our eleven hundred and fifth. A nice even game.' I
looked at Ralph's ball, which was lying close to the kerb. 'You are
farther from the hole, I think. Your shot, Bingham.'
Rupert Bailey suggested breakfast. He was a man who was altogether too
fond of creature comforts. He had not the true golfing spirit.
'Breakfast!' I exclaimed.
'Breakfast,' said Rupert, firmly. 'If you don't know what it is, I can
teach you in half a minute. You play it with a pot of coffee, a knife
and fork, and about a hundred-weight of scrambled eggs. Try it. It's a
pastime that grows on you.'
I was surprised when Ralph Bingham supported the suggestion. He was so
near holing out that I should have supposed that nothing would have
kept him from finishing the match. But he agreed heartily.
'Breakfast,' he said, 'is an excellent idea. You go along in. I'll
follow in a moment. I want to buy a paper.'
We went into the hotel, and a few minutes later he joined us. Now that
we were actually at the table, I confess that the idea of breakfast was
by no means repugnant to me. The keen air and the exercise had given me
an appetite, and it was some little time before I was able to assure
the waiter definitely that he could cease bringing orders of scrambled
eggs. The others having finished also, I suggested a move. I was
anxious to get the match over and be free to go home.
We filed out of the hotel, Arthur Jukes leading. When I had passed
through the swing-doors, I found him gazing perplexedly up and down the
street.
'What is the matter?' I asked.
'It's gone!'
'What has gone?'
'The car!'
'Oh, the car?' said Ralph Bingham. 'That's all right. Didn't I tell you
about that? I bought it just now and engaged the driver as my
chauffeur, I've been meaning to buy a car for a long time. A man ought
to have a car.'
'Where is it?' said Arthur, blankly. The man seemed dazed.
'I couldn't tell you to a mile or two,' replied Ralph. 'I told the man
to drive to Glasgow. Why? Had you any message for him?'
'But my ball was inside it!'
'Now that,' said Ralph, 'is really unfortunate! Do you mean to tell me
