The Clicking of Cuthbert

"Surely you wouldn't mind Jukes going?" he said.

"Why, certainly not. He really is going, is he?"

A look of saturnine determination came into Ralph's face.

"He is. He thinks he isn't, but he is."

I failed to understand him, and said so. He looked cautiously about the

room, as if to reassure himself that he could not be overheard.

"I suppose you've noticed," he said, "the disgusting way that man Jukes

has been hanging round Miss Trivett, boring her to death?"

"I have seen them together sometimes."

"I love Amanda Trivett!" said Ralph.

"Poor girl!" I sighed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Poor girl!" I said. "I mean, to have Arthur Jukes hanging round her."

"That's just what I think," said Ralph Bingham. "And that's why we're

going to play this match."

"What match?"

"This match we've decided to play. I want you to act as one of the

judges, to go along with Jukes and see that he doesn't play any of his

tricks. You know what he is! And in a vital match like this----"

"How much are you playing for?"

"The whole world!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The whole world. It amounts to that. The loser is to leave Leigh for

good, and the winner stays on and marries Amanda Trivett. We have

arranged all the details. Rupert Bailey will accompany me, acting as

the other judge."

"And you want me to go round with Jukes?"

"Not round," said Ralph Bingham. "Along."

"What is the distinction?"

"We are not going to play a round. Only one hole."

"Sudden death, eh?"

"Not so very sudden. It's a longish hole. We start on the first tee

here and hole out in the town in the doorway of the Majestic Hotel in

Royal Square. A distance, I imagine, of about sixteen miles."

I was revolted. About that time a perfect epidemic of freak matches had

broken out in the club, and I had strongly opposed them from the start.

George Willis had begun it by playing a medal round with the pro.,

George's first nine against the pro.'s complete eighteen. After that

came the contest between Herbert Widgeon and Montague Brown, the

latter, a twenty-four handicap man, being entitled to shout "Boo!"

three times during the round at moments selected by himself. There had

been many more of these degrading travesties on the sacred game, and I

had writhed to see them. Playing freak golf-matches is to my mind like

ragging a great classical melody. But of the whole collection this one,

considering the sentimental interest and the magnitude of the stakes,

seemed to me the most terrible. My face, I imagine, betrayed my

disgust, for Bingham attempted extenuation.

"It's the only way," he said. "You know how Jukes and I are on the

links. We are as level as two men can be. This, of course is due to his

extraordinary luck. Everybody knows that he is the world's champion

fluker. I, on the other hand, invariably have the worst luck. The

consequence is that in an ordinary round it is always a toss-up which

of us wins. The test we propose will eliminate luck. After sixteen

miles of give-and-take play, I am certain--that is to say, the better

man is certain to be ahead. That is what I meant when I said that

Arthur Jukes would shortly be leaving Leigh. Well, may I take it that

you will consent to act as one of the judges?"

I considered. After all, the match was likely to be historic, and one

always feels tempted to hand one's name down to posterity.

"Very well," I said.

"Excellent. You will have to keep a sharp eye on Jukes, I need scarcely

remind you. You will, of course, carry a book of the rules in your

pocket and refer to them when you wish to refresh your memory. We start

at daybreak, for, if we put it off till later, the course at the other

end might be somewhat congested when we reached it. We want to avoid

publicity as far as possible. If I took a full iron and hit a

policeman, it would excite a remark."

"It would. I can tell you the exact remark which it would excite."

"We will take bicycles with us, to minimize the fatigue of covering the

distance. Well, I am glad that we have your co-operation. At daybreak

tomorrow on the first tee, and don't forget to bring your rule-book."

       *       *       *       *       *

The atmosphere brooding over the first tee when I reached it on the

following morning, somewhat resembled that of a duelling-ground in the

days when these affairs were sealed with rapiers or pistols. Rupert

Bailey, an old friend of mine, was the only cheerful member of the

party. I am never at my best in the early morning, and the two rivals

glared at each other with silent sneers. I had never supposed till that

moment that men ever really sneered at one another outside the movies,

but these two were indisputably doing so. They were in the mood when

men say "Pshaw!"

They tossed for the honour, and Arthur Jukes, having won, drove off

with a fine ball that landed well down the course. Ralph Bingham,

having teed up, turned to Rupert Bailey.

"Go down on to the fairway of the seventeenth," he said. "I want you to

mark my ball."

Rupert stared.

"The seventeenth!"

"I am going to take that direction," said Ralph, pointing over the

trees.