fancy
loftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofa
pillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind,
with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in.

"No moving the chairs," announces Old Hickory. "All pieces of
furniture are natural hazards."

"Agreed," says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?"

"Stimies go," says the boss.

Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two old
duffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. house,
disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas,
and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excited
over it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship,
and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in a
corner he cuts loose with the real golfy language.

We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteen
to seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and a
maid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too,
as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shot
for position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention.

"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir," says I.

"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now."

"But it's very important," says Piddie. "There's someone at the office
who----"

"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient.

And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sense
he's got.

"I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he goes on, "that this is----"

"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumb
towards the door.

That settles Piddie. He fades.

A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holes
out in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one.

"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now,
Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake."

The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairly
started, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be no
less than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried.

"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham," announces the maid.

"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was that
you said to Mr. Piddie,--that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?"

I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper.

"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em