e, and then took his stance; but the cleek in
his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away.

"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it."

"You must."

"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it--never."

At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had
gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot.

"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I
can never do it."

"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself
together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and
chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into
position, and put the putter in his hands.

"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing."

Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely:

"Shoot!"

The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a
worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained,
fell plump into the cup!

At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the
same cannon-ball, flattened on the green.

III

Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the
clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers
roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the
truth of the tale.

[Illustration: A committee carefully examined the books of the club]

They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some
convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians,
and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their
art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town
of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to
suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as
unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee
carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another
treasurer and another secretary were elected.

Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the
two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be
seen, _accompanied by caddies_, toiling around the links in a desperate
belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be
repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and
prepare to swing, something between