around offering to bet any part of five hundred dollars Kirkaldy will
beat this Wallace seven strokes. I don't mind losing the money, but I
hate to make a foolish bet and be laughed at."

"Take LaHume up, and I'll stand half the bet," I said, after considering
the matter for a moment. "Wallace is a stranger to the course, but I
doubt if Kirkaldy or anyone living can beat him seven strokes."

Harding covered LaHume's money, and the latter placed several hundred
dollars more at the same odds. Miss Lawrence heard he was betting
against Wallace, and her eyes blazed with indignation.

"You go to Mr. LaHume," she said to Marshall, "and ask him what odds he
will give that Mr. Wallace does not win the game. Do not tell him who
wishes to know."

"What odds Wallace does not win the game?" sneered LaHume, when Marshall
sounded him. "Five to one, up to a thousand dollars!"

Just before they teed off, Marshall put a crisp one-hundred-dollar note
belonging to Miss Lawrence in Harding's hands as stakeholder, and LaHume
promptly covered it with five bills of the same denomination. There were
scores of smaller wagers with no such animus back of them.

Wallace won the toss and took the honour. I doubt if there be any
greater mental or nervous strain than that of making the initial stroke
in an important golf contest. The player realises that all eyes are on
him, and unless he has nerves of steel and an absolute mental poise he
is likely to fall the victim of a wave which surges against him as he
grasps the shaft of his club.

Wallace's first shot was the poorest I had seen him execute. It went
high and to the left, and for a moment I was sure it would not clear the
fence, but it did, dropping in as thick a clump of swamp grass as can
be found in Woodvale. It left him fully one hundred and fifty yards from
the cup. It-was a most disappointing shot, and I instinctively turned
and looked at LaHume.

That young gentleman was satisfied beyond measure. There was something
vindictive and repellent in the satisfied expression of his face. I
turned and watched Kirkaldy drive a beautiful ball within fifty yards of
the cup. The first hole is two hundred and eighty-five yards from the
tee.

I found Wallace's ball. It was on a soggy spot of ground, with tall
slush grass in front of it, but luckily there was room to swing a club
back of it. He studied it a moment intently. It was a villainous lie. I
did not wish to give advice, but could not