The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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beaten him fairly. But as things happened----
What happened, put quite briefly, was this. Bogey for the tenth is four. I hooked my drive off the tee and down a little gully to the left, put a good iron shot into a bunker on the right, and then ran down a hundred-yard putt with a niblick for a three. One of those difficult down-hill putts.
"Luck!" said Henry, as soon as he could speak.
"I've been missing those lately," I said.
"Your match," said Henry; "I can't play against luck like that."
It was true that he had given me ten bisques, but, on the other hand, I could have given him a dozen at the seventh and still have beaten him.
However, I was too magnanimous to point that out. All I said was, "Ten and eight."
And then I added thoughtfully, "I don't think I've ever won by more than that."
XXVII. AN INLAND VOYAGE
Thomas took a day off last Monday in order to play golf with me. For that day the Admiralty had to get along without Thomas. I tremble to think what would have happened if war had broken out on Monday. Could a Thomasless Admiralty have coped with it? I trow not. Even as it was, battleships grounded, crews mutinied, and several awkward questions in the House of Commons had to be postponed till Tuesday.
Something--some premonition of this, no doubt--seemed to be weighing on him all day.
"Rotten weather," he growled, as he came up the steps of the club.
"I'm very sorry," I said. "I keep on complaining to the secretary about it. He does his best."
"What's that?"
"He taps the barometer every morning, and says it will clear up in the afternoon. Shall we go out now, or shall we give it a chance to stop?"
Thomas looked at the rain and decided to let it stop. I made him as comfortable as I could. I gave him a drink, a cigarette, and _Mistakes with the Mashie_. On the table at his elbow I had in reserve _Faulty Play with the Brassy_ and a West Middlesex Directory. For myself I wandered about restlessly, pausing now and again to read enviously a notice which said that C. D. Topping's handicap was reduced from 24 to 22. Lucky man!
At about half-past eleven the rain stopped for a moment, and we hurried out.
"The course is a little wet," I said apologetically, as we stood on the first tee, "but with your naval experience you won't mind that. By the way, I ought to warn you that this isn't all casual water. Some of it is river."
"How do you know which is which?"
"You'll soon find out. The river is much deeper. Go on--your drive."
Thomas won the first hole very easily. We both took four to the green, Thomas in addition having five splashes of mud on his face while I only had three. Unfortunately the immediate neighbourhood of the hole was under water. Thomas, the bounder, had a small heavy ball which he managed to sink in nine. My own, being lighter, refused to go into the tin at all, and floated above the hole in the most exasperating way.
"I expect there's a rule about it," I said, "if we only knew, which gives me the match. However, until we find that out, I suppose you must call yourself one up."
"I shall want some dry socks for lunch," he muttered, as he splashed off to the tee.
"Anything you want for lunch you can have, my dear Thomas. I promise you that you shall not be stinted. The next green is below sea level altogether, I'm afraid. The first in the water wins."
Honours, it turned out, were divided. I lost the hole, and Thomas lost his ball. The third tee having disappeared, we moved on to the fourth.
"There's rather a nasty place along here," I said. "The secretary was sucked in the other day, and only rescued by the hair."
Thomas drove a good one. I topped mine badly, and it settled down in the mud fifty yards off. "Excuse me," I shouted, as I ran quickly after it, and I got my niblick on to it, just as it was disappearing. It was a very close thing.
"Well," said Thomas, as he reached his ball, "that's not what I call a brassy lie."
"It's what we call a corkscrew lie down here," I explained. "If you haven't got a corkscrew you'd better dig round it with something, and then when the position is thoroughly undermined--Oh, good shot!"
Thomas had got out of the fairway in one, but he still seemed unhappy.
"My eye," he said, bending down in agony; "I've got about half Middlesex in it."
He walked round in circles saying strange nautical things, and my suggestions that he should (1) rub the other eye and (2) blow his nose suddenly were received ungenerously.
"Anything you'd like me to do with my ears?" he asked bitterly. "If you'd come and take some mud out for me, instead of talking rot----"
I approached with my handkerchief and examined the eye carefully.
"See anything?" asked Thomas.
"My dear Thomas, it's _full_ of turf. We mustn't forget to replace this if we can get it out. What the secretary would say--There! How's that?"
"Worse than ever."
"Try not to think about it. Keep the _other_ eye on the ball as much as possible. This is my hole, by the way. Your ball is lost."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it losing itself. It went into the bad place I told you about. It's gone to join the secretary. Oh, no, we got him out, of course; I keep forgetting. Anyhow, it's my hole."
"I think I shall turn my trousers up again," said Thomas, bending down to do so. "Is there a local rule about it?"
"No; it is left entirely to the discretion and good taste of the members. Naturally a little extra license is allowed on a very muddy day. Of course, if--Oh, I see. You meant a local rule about losing your ball in the mud? No, I don't know of one, unless it comes under the heading of casual land. Be a sportsman, Thomas, and don't begrudge me the hole."
The game proceeded, and we reached the twelfth tee without any further _contretemps_; save that I accidentally lost the sixth, ninth and tenth holes, and that Thomas lost his iron at the eighth. He had carelessly laid it down for a moment while he got out of a hole with his niblick, and when he turned round for it the thing was gone.
At the twelfth tee it was raining harder than ever. We pounded along with our coat-collars up and reached the green absolutely wet through.
"How about it?" said Thomas.
"My hole, I think, and that makes us all square."
"I mean how about the rain? And it's just one o'clock."
"Just as you like. Well, I suppose it is rather wet. All right, let's have lunch."
We had lunch. Thomas had it in the only dry things he had brought with him--an ulster and a pair of Vardon cuffs, and sat as near the fire as possible. It was still raining in torrents after lunch, and Thomas, who is not what I call keen about golf, preferred to remain before the fire. Perhaps he was right. I raked up an old copy of _Stumers with the Niblick_ for him, and read bits of the Telephone Directory out aloud.
After tea his proper clothes were dry enough in places to put