ying Nassau, ten a corner. But I'll
tell you,--just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side to
see whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?"

"But see here, Ellins," conies back Peter K. "I want you to understand
that you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bag
without----"

"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it--mostly gout,
anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this game
I'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or are
you too much of a dub to try it?"

"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins," says Peter K., peelin' off his
coat, "but any game that you can play--er---- Which is my ball?"

Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' back
and forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if they
was stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at it
for near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robert
is callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with the
bag while I slides into the 'phone booth.

"Sure, Mr. Robert," says I, "I'm still on the job."

"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?"

"Yep," says I. "He's here yet."

"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governor
having it hot and heavy, I suppose?"

"And then some," says I. "Peter K. took first round 12-17, he tied the
second, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten."

"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert.

"Uh-huh," says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano,--only seven,
but stimied for an approach."

"In Heaven's name, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr.
Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano--why----"

"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf,
that's all--indoor kind--a batty variation that they made up
themselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess the
Corrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over."

Yep! Peter K. got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth,
after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughs
until their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full of
decanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses real
chummy.

"Son," says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon next
day, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are."

"Z-z-