Windy paused, but Kitts didn't say anything, and Cupid stepped on my foot under the table. "Now, I don't go very strong on the rules," continued Windy wheedlingly. "I like to play a sporty game--count all my shots, of course--but damn this technical stuff is what _I_ say. For instance, if you should accidentally tap your ball when you was addressin' it, and it should turn over, I wouldn't call a stroke on you. I'd be ashamed to do it. If I win, I want to win on my _playin'_ and not on any technicalities. Ain't that the way you feel about it, hey?" Kitts looked uncomfortable, but he wouldn't return a straight answer to the question. He said something about hoping the best man would win, and went out to get his clubs. "Cheerful kind of a party, ain't he?" said Windy. "I've told him where I stand. _I_ ain't goin' to claim anything on him if his foot slips, and he oughtn't to claim anything on _me_. If he's a real sport, he won't. What do you boys think?" We thought a great deal, but nobody offered any advice. "Well," said Windy, getting up and stretching, "he's got to start me 2 up, on handicap, and I'm drivin' like a fool. I should worry about his technicalities!" III Our No. 1 hole is somewhere around 450 yards, and the average player is very well satisfied if he fetches the putting green on his third shot. It is uphill all the way, with a bunker to catch a topped drive, rough to the right and left to punish pulls and slices, and sand pits guarding the green. Windy drove first, talking all the time he was on the tee. "Hope the gallery doesn't make you nervous, Kitts. _I_ always drive best when people are watchin' me, but then I've got plenty of nerve, they say. You may not like my stance, but watch this one sail! And when I address the ball I address it in a few brief, burnin' words, like this: 'Take a ride, you little white devil, take a ride!'" Whis-sh! Click! And the little white devil certainly took a ride--long, low, and straight up the middle of the course--the ideal ball, with just enough hook on it to make it run well after it struck the ground. "Two hundred and sixty yards if it's an inch!" said Windy, grinning at Kitts. "Lay your pill beside that one--if you think you can!" "You're a 12-handicap man--and you drive like that!" said Kitts, which was, of course, a neat slap at Cupid, who was within earshot. "Cutts is a friend of mine," bragged Windy. "That's why I'm a 12 man. I really play to a 6."