id Purvis; as for Sprague, he said nothing.

For the first time Purvis lost a hole to Ricordo, but Sprague halved it
with him.

"Good hole," remarked Purvis. "One under bogey."

"Ah yes," said Ricordo, "but I cannot afford even to halve with Mr.
Sprague if I am to win the match, eh? Seven up and ten to play. No, I
must win, and not halve. I have lost so much in the beginning of the
game. The game of life is always hard to win, when you lose in the
beginning."

Sprague took the honour, and drove with unerring precision. As he saw it
fall, a look of satisfaction came into his eyes.

"Longest ball you've driven to-day, Sprague," said Purvis. "It's
possible to reach the green with a good 'brassy' from there."

"Nasty hazard just before the green, by the look of it," remarked
Sprague, looking steadily.

"Ther' iz, zur," said one of the caddies, "great big pit overgrawed weth
vuss and vearny stuff."

Ricordo addressed his ball. It was teed rather too high, and he patted
it down. A moment later he made his shot. There was a slight curve on
it, but he outdrove Sprague by two or three yards. Purvis foozled his
drive for the first time.

"Are you going to try it?" asked Purvis, as Sprague stood before his
ball.

"It's risky," said the other. "Do your players here carry that green in
two?" he asked the caddy who pulled out an iron for him.

"'T 'ave bin dun, zur," replied the caddy. "The perfeshernal 'ave done
et, an' a gen'leman from London; but moasly they doan't. Bezides, ther's
a little wind."

"I'll try it," said Sprague, taking the brassy.

He struck the ball fairly, but it did not carry. It fell into the
bushes.

Sprague suppressed an angry exclamation.

"Goin' to play for safety, zur?" asked the caddy of Ricordo.

Ricordo took the brassy from the boy, and looked steadily towards the
green.

"Risky," remarked Purvis, almost involuntarily. He knew that according
to strict rules he had no right to say anything.

"The essence of life is risk," remarked Ricordo. Somehow both felt that
he was a different man from what he had been an hour before. He no
longer seemed to be playing a game upon which nothing depended, but to
be struggling for a great victory in life. His eyes were no longer half
closed, and the old expression of cynical indifference was gone. A few
seconds later his ball fell within six yards of the pin.

Neither of the players uttered a sound; but the boys could not suppress
their admirati