went straight and far,
a beautiful two hundred and forty yards.

"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his
head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through."

"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully.

"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman
discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see."

"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot,
which came methodically to the edge of the green.

Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin,
which seemed so near.

"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely.
"Any one else would get a three once in five times--any one but Jonah's
favorite brother."

He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball
roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and
Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their
hats.

"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in
two! Well, what do you think of that?"

Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly
removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a
phenomenal two.

"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said
furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career."

"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry
about it, are you?"

"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately.
In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was
attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and
sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years,
sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever
happened to me--once in sixty thousand times."

Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"It may come all at once," he said faintly.

This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball
for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and
thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go.
The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the
tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or
of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a
tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled.

"Now watch my little friend the ap