down the field.

"If any one asked me, I should say that Carwell had taken just a little
too much champagne to make his strokes true toward the last hole," said
Tom Sharwell to Bruce Garrigan.

"Perhaps," was the admission. "But I'd like to see him win. And, for
the sake of saying something, let me inform you that in Africa last year
there were used in nose rings alone for the natives seventeen thousand
four hundred and twenty-one pounds of copper wire. While for anklets--"

"I'll buy you a drink if you chop it off short!" offered Sharwell.

"Taken!" exclaimed Garrigan, with a grin.

The cup play went on, the four contestants being well matched, and the
shots duly applauded from hole to hole.

The turn was made and the homeward course began, with the excitement
increasing as it was seen that there would be the closest possible
finish, between the major and Mr. Carwell at least.

"What's the row over there?" asked Bartlett suddenly, as he walked along
with Viola and Captain Poland.

"Where?" inquired the captain.

"Among those autos. Looks as if one was on fire."

"It does," agreed Viola. "But I can see our patriotic palfrey, so I
guess it's all right. There are enough people over there, anyhow. But it
is something!"

There was a dense cloud of smoke hovering over the place where some of
the many automobiles were parked at one corner of the course. Still it
might be some one starting his machine, with too much oil being burned
in the cylinders.

"Now for the last hole!" exulted Mr. Carwell, as they approached the
eighteenth. "I've got you two strokes now, Major, and I'll have you
fourby the end of the match."

"I'm not so sure of that," was the laughing and good-natured reply.

There was silence in the gallery while the players made ready for the
last hole.

There was a sharp impact as Mr. Carwell's driver struck the little white
ball and sent it sailing in a graceful curve well toward the last hole.

"A marvelous shot!" exclaimed Captain Poland. "On the green again!
Another like that and he'll win the game!"

"And I can do it, too!" boasted Carwell, who overheard what was said.

The others drove off in turn, and the play reached the final stage of
putting. Viola turned as though to go over and see what the trouble was
among the automobiles. She looked back as she saw her father stoop to
send the ball into the little depressed cup. She felt sure that he
would win, for she had kept a record of his s