p'n, yessuh."

At the sixteenth tee the Potent Noble looked down at the heavy fog
which was rolling in through the Golden Gate. He addressed the ball. He
jumbled around on his feet and took a couple of practice swings.
Perfection was in every movement. Then, as he drove, the Wildcat
sneezed. There followed a blast of profanity whose equal the Wildcat
had not heard since his army days. He edged over towards the Mud
Turtle. "Neveh seed a boy change so quick. Heah he is, pleasant one
minnit, an' den he hits dat ball an' goes hog wild. Seems like--"

He was interrupted by the Potent Noble, who had calmed down. "Git the
hell out in the rough there and find that ball I sliced."

"Yes, suh." The Wildcat started out through the fog to find the
freckled white sphere. He threshed around in the trees and underbrush
for a while, and then to his mind came a memory of the horrible words
which the Potent Noble had spoken. "This place was a graveyard!" The
Wildcat shuddered extensively and abandoned the search for the golf
ball.

He looked up, and there before him was a tombstone!

"Lawd Gawd, Lady Luck, whah is you?" Automatically his feet began to
work, and they were aided an instant later by his racing legs. He went
away from there through the fog. The next thing he knew, he had made a
forty-foot dive over a sand bank. He rolled for a moment in the
shifting sand before he brought up against a stunted cedar.

"Whah at is I?"

The fog cleared, and the Wildcat saw the sand dunes stretching below
him. At the edge of the slope were the waves of the Golden Gate. Then
the fog closed in again, and everything about him faded out of the
picture. Above his head, out of the drifting fog, a flight of sea gulls
started a little gossip. To the Wildcat's ears came their shrieking
remarks. He stopped his wild shuddering and began to moan.

"'At's dem ghost boys! I know 'em! Lady Luck, take dem boys away. I
ain't talkin' wid no ghosts." He turned and started up the bank. He
began throwing sand out from under his feet like a record-busting
rotary snow plough. His legs ran for ten minutes, but his wind was
crippled, and in the shifting sand he covered a space of less than
twenty feet. Exhausted with his effort, he flopped down on the sloping
bank. "Dey's got me," he moaned, "dey's got me! I knowed it. I knowed
dem graveyard ghosts would git me, once I gits divo'ced f'um dat mascot
goat. Lady Luck, here I is!" The Wildcat curled up and covered