Nevertheless, he drove steadily and well, and would certainly have won the hole had it not been for his weak and sinful putting. The same defect caused him to halve the seventeenth, after being on in two, with Ferdinand wandering in the desert and only reaching the green with his fourth. Then, however, Ferdinand holed out from a distance of seven yards, getting a five; which George’s three putts just enabled him to equal. Barbara had watched the proceedings with a beating heart. At first she had looked on from afar; but now, drawn as by a magnet, she approached the tee. Ferdinand was driving off. She held her breath. Ferdinand held his breath. And all around one could see their respective breaths being held by George Parsloe, Mr. Tuttle, and the enthralled crowd of spectators. It was a moment of the acutest tension, and it was broken by the crack of Ferdinand’s driver as it met the ball and sent it hopping along the ground for a mere thirty yards. At this supreme crisis in the match Ferdinand Dibble had topped. George Parsloe teed up his ball. There was a smile of quiet satisfaction on his face. He snuggled the driver in his hands, and gave it a preliminary swish. This, felt George Parsloe, was where the happy ending came. He could drive as he had never driven before. He would so drive that it would take his opponent at least three shots to catch up with him. He drew back his club with infinite caution, poised it at the top of the swing-- “I always wonder--” said a clear, girlish voice, ripping the silence like the explosion of a bomb. George Parsloe started. His club wobbled. It descended. The ball trickled into the long grass in front of the tee. There was a grim pause. “You were saying, Miss Medway--” said George Parsloe, in a small, flat voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Barbara. “I’m afraid I put you off.” “A little, perhaps. Possibly the merest trifle. But you were saying you wondered about something. Can I be of any assistance?” “I was only saying,” said Barbara, “that I always wonder why tees are called tees.” George Parsloe swallowed once or twice. He also blinked a little feverishly. His eyes had a dazed, staring expression. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you off-hand,” he said, “but I will make a point of consulting some good encyclopædia at the earliest opportunity.” “Thank you so much.” “Not at all. It will be a pleasure. In case you were thinking of inquiring at the moment when I am putting why greens are called greens, may I venture the suggestion now that it is because they are green?”