ode
to the nearest window, and flung it open as if for air; his surprise
deepened when she faced him again and moved in his direction. Her
expression caused him to utter a profane warning, but she continued to
bear down upon him, and when she reached out to seize him he struck at
her as he would have struck at a man.

To those who are familiar with Burlington Notch, it will be remembered
that the hotel is pitched upon a slope and that the rooms on the first
floor of the east wing are raised a considerable distance above the
lawn. The windows of these east rooms overlook the eighteenth green,
and during tournaments they are favorite vantage points of golf widows
and enthusiasts who are too old to follow the competitors around the
course. To-day they were filled, for an international title was at
issue and Herring, prince of amateurs, was playing off the final round
of his match with the dour Scotch professional, McLeod.

A highly enthusiastic "gallery" accompanied the pair, a crowd composed
not only of spectators, but also of officials, defeated players,
newspaper writers, camera men, caddies, and the like. They streamed up
the final fairway behind the gladiators and for the moment they were
enveloped in gloom, for Herring had sliced off the seventeenth tee and
a marvelous recovery, together with a good approach, had still left his
ball on the edge of the green, while McLeod, man of iron, had laid his
third shot within three feet of the flag. It meant a sure four for the
latter, with not less than a five for Herring. One of those golfing
miracles, a forty-foot putt, would halve the match, to be sure, but in
tournament golf miracles have a way of occurring on any except the
deciding hole.

Sympathy usually follows the amateur, therefore it was a silent throng
that ranged itself about the gently undulating expanse of velvet sod in
the shadow of the east wing. Herring had played a wonderful match; he
stood for all that is clean and fine in golf. The end of the balcony
was jammed; nearly every window framed eager faces; amid a breathless
intensity of interest the youthful contender tested the turf with the
head of his club and studied the run of the green. A moment, then he
took his stance and swung his putter smoothly. The ball sped away,
taking a curving course, and followed by five hundred pairs of eyes. It
ran too swiftly! Herring, in desperation, had overplayed! But no--it
lost momentum as it topped a rise, then gat