egan to go to pieces. He was a little dashed in
spirit, but not in eloquence.

Going to the long fourteenth, they found the first evidence of those who
had gone before. In the very midst of the fair green they saw, shining
afar, like a white tombstone, stuck in its cleft stick, the card of the
first competitor to use up the whole of his allotted strokes. They
paused a moment to read:

Sacred to the Memory of
W. H. Lands
78 + 6 = 84
Who Sliced Himself
to Pieces

Forty yards beyond, another obituary confronted them:

In Loving Memory of
J. C. Nappin
78 + 10 = 88
Died of a Broken Mashie
And of Such is the
Kingdom of Heaven

"Ha!" said General Bullwigg. "He little realizes that here where he has
pinned his little joke in the lap of mother earth I have seen the dead
men lie as thick as kindlings in a wood-yard. Sir, across this very fair
green there were no less than three desperate charges, unremembered and
unsung, of which I may say without boasting that Magna Pars Fui. But for
the desperation of our last charge the battle must have been lost----"

Damn the memory of
E. Hewett
78 + 10 = 88
Couldn't Put

Here Lies
G. Norris
78 + 10 = 88
A Fool and His Money Are Soon Parted

The little tombstones came thick and fast now. The fairway to the
seventeenth, most excellent of all four-shot holes, was dotted with
them, and it actually began to look as if General Bullwigg or Major
Jennings (they were now on even terms) might be the winner.

It was that psychological moment when of all things a contestant most
desires silence. Major Jennings was determined to triumph over his
boastful companion. And he was full of courage and resolve. They had
reached the seventeenth green in the same number of strokes from the
first tee. That is to say, each had used up ninety-five of his allotted
ninety-eight. Neither holed his approach put, and the match, so far as
they two were concerned, resolved itself into a driving contest. If
General Bullwigg drove the farther with his one remaining stroke he
would beat the major, and vice versa. As for the other competitors,
there was but one who had reached the eighteenth tee, and he, as his
tombstone showed, had played his last stroke neither far nor well.

For the major