They brought their own gallery, too, Bellevue members who talked even money and flashed yellow-backed bills. The Dingbats formed a syndicate and covered all bets; but this was due to club pride rather than any feeling of confidence. We knew our boys were in for a tough battle, in which neither side would have a marked advantage. Four of our team players were on hand to welcome the enemy--Moreman, Bishop, Elder and Gilmore--and they offered their opponents such hospitality as is customary on like occasions. "Thanks," said MacNeath with a grin; "but just now we're drinking water. After the match you can fill the cup with anything you like, and we'll allow you one drink out of it before we take it home with us. Once we get it over there it'll never come back. It's not in the cards for you to win three times running.... Where's Anderson?" "He hasn't shown up yet," said Bishop. "He's on the way out in his car," added Moreman. "I rang up his house five minutes ago. He'd just left." "Oh, very well," said MacNeath, who is Number One man for Bellevue, as well as captain of the team. "Suppose we have lunch now, Bishop; and while we're eating you can give me the list of your players and I'll match them up." In team play it is customary for the home captain to submit the names of his players, ranked from one to five, in the order of their ability. The visiting captain then has the privilege of making the individual matches; and this is supposed to offset whatever advantage the home team has by reason of playing on its own course. Bishop, our captain, handed over a list reading as follows: 1--Anderson; 2--Moreman; 3--Bishop; 4--Elder; 5--Gilmore. MacNeath bracketed his own name with Anderson's, and paired Crane with Moreman, Lounsberry with Bishop, Smathers with Elder, and Jordan with Gilmore. After luncheon the men changed to their golfing togs; but still there was no sign of Anderson. Another telephone call confirmed the first message; his wife reported that he had left his home nearly an hour before, bound for the club. "Queer!" said MacNeath. "Engine trouble or a puncture--possibly both. It's not like the Swede to be late. Might as well get started, eh? Anderson and I will go last, anyhow." A big gallery watched the first pair drive off, Gilmore getting a better ball than Jordan, and cheering those who believe in omens. Then at five-minute intervals, came Lounsberry and Bishop, Smathers and Elder, and Crane and Moreman. Each match attracted a small individual gallery, but most of the spectators waited to follow the Number One men. MacNeath, refusing to allow himself to be made nervous by the delay, went into the clubhouse; and many and wild were the speculations as to the cause of Anderson's tardiness. The wildest one of them fell short of the bitter truth, which came to us at the end of a telephone wire located in the professional's shop. It had been relayed on from the switchboard in the club office: