her club I noted a difference
in her style of play as compared with that of the preceding day. Her
club head came back with a free, even curve, and on the return she
caught the ball with a good though not perfect follow through. The ball
carried straight and true over the lane, and did not stop rolling until
it had passed the 130-yard mark. It was a nice clean drive, and I smiled
my approval.

"Good work, Kid," grinned Harding, but he did not seem the least
dismayed. I should not care to play poker with him. I lined out a
beauty, and then Harding returned to the attack.

It took two strokes to get his ball out of the grass. On his fifth shot
the ball had a good lie about ten yards from the lane fence. He smashed
at it with a brassie, but drove too low. The ball hit a fence post and
bounded back fully seventy-five yards. In five strokes he had not
gained a foot. After a combination of weird and wonderful shots he
reached the green in twelve.

Harding's putting was a revelation in how not to drop a ball in a cup.
He went back and forth over the hole like a shuttle. This performance
added six to his score, and he holed out in nineteen. He was fighting
mad, but did not say a word. While the rest of us were holing out he
sullenly added seventeen notches to his club.

I was astonished and pleased at the reversal in form shown by Miss
Harding. Two iron shots laid her ball on the green, her approach was a
little weak, and she missed an easy two-foot putt, but she made the hole
in seven, which is not at all bad for a woman. Carter and I both got
fours.

When Harding finally got his ball out of the old graveyard in playing
the second hole there was a dispute as to how many strokes he had taken.
I counted twelve, but he claimed only nine, and we let him have his own
way about it. I did not dare to dispute with him, fearing that he might
have a stroke of apoplexy. He marked eleven new notches on his club
shaft for this hole.

He made a fair drive over the marsh on his third hole, flubbed his
second and third shots, but his fourth was a screaming brassie which
landed him on the green within two inches of the cup. It was one of
those freak shots which a man makes once a season, but Harding took
vast credit for it and was the happiest person on the links over his
bogy five for this long hole.

Miss Harding was playing like a veteran. This hole is 355 yards from the
tee, but she was well on the green on her third, and holed ou