y prohibited by the club's constitution. But there are ways and
means of getting cattle through a fence without taking down the bars,
and there was talk that Horace Carwell had made a pretty stiff bet with
Major Turpin Wardell as to the outcome of the match, the major and Mr.
Carwell being rivals of long standing in the matter of drives and putts.

"Beastly fine day, eh, what?" exclaimed Bruce Garrigan, as he set down
on a tray a waiter held out to him a glass he had just emptied with
every indication of delight in its contents. "If it had been made to
order couldn't be improved on," and he flicked from the lapel of Tom
Sharwell's coat some ashes which had blown there from the cigarette
which Garrigan had lighted.

"You're right for once, Bruce, old man," was the laughing response.
"Never mind the ashes now, you'll make a spot if you rub any harder."

"Right for once? 'm always right!" cried Garrigan "And it may interest
you to know that the total precipitation, including rain and melted snow
in Yuma, Arizona, for the calendar year 1917, was three and one tenth
inches, being the smallest in the United States."

"It doesn't interest me a bit, Bruce!" laughed Sharwell. "And to prevent
you getting any more of those statistics out of your system, come on
over and we'll do a little precipitating on our own account. I can stand
another Bronx cocktail."

"I'm with you! But, speaking of statistics, did you know that from the
national forests of the United States in the last year there was cut
840,612,030 board feet of lumber? What the thirty feet were for I don't
know, but--"

"And I don't care to know," interrupted Tom. "If you spring any more of
those beastly dry figures--Say, there comes something that does interest
me, though!" he broke in with. "Look at those cars take that turn!"

"Some speed," murmured Garrigan. "It's Bartlett and Poland," he went
on, as a shift of wind blew the dust to one side and revealed the gray
roadster and the Spanish Omelet. "The rivals are at it again."

Bruce Garrigan, who had a name among the golf club members as a human
encyclopaedia, and who, at times, would inform his companions on almost
any subject that chanced to come uppermost, tossed away his cigarette
and, with Tom Sharwell, watched the oncoming automobile racers.

"They're rivals in more ways than one," remarked Sharwell. "And it
looks, now, as though the captain rather had the edge on Harry, in spite
of the fast color of Ha