"Anderson blew a front tire at the city limits. Car turned over with him and broke his leg." A bombshell exploding under our noses could not have created more consternation. There we were, with four of the matches under way, our best man crippled, and up against the proposition of providing an opponent for MacNeath, admittedly the most dangerous player on the Bellevue team. Harson, as a member of the Greens Committee and an officer of the club, assumed charge of the situation as soon as he heard the news. "No good sending word to poor old Bishop," said he. "He's the team captain, of course; but he can't do anything about it. Besides, he's already playing his match, and this would upset him terribly. Is there any one here who can give MacNeath a run for his money?" "Not unless you want to try it," said I. "He'd eat me alive!" groaned Harson. "We might as well forfeit one match, and put it up to the boys to win three out of four. Oh, if we only had one more good man!" "Ye have," said MacQuarrie, who had been listening. "Ye've overlooked young Mister Phipps." "That kid?" demanded Harson. "Nonsense!" "Ay," said Dunn'l; "that kid! Call it nonsense if ye like, sir, but he was under eighty twice yesterday. This mor-rnin' he shot a seventy-seven, with two missed putts the length o' your ar-rm. He's on top of his game now, an' goin' strong. If he'll shoot back to his mor-rnin' round he'll give Mister MacNeath a battle; but the lad has never been in a competition, so ye'll have to chance his ner-rves." "Ambrose!" I exclaimed. "I never should have thought of him!" "Of course ye wouldn't," said MacQuarrie. "Ye've never played with him--never even seen him play." "But he's such a little rotter!" mumbled Harson. "Ay," said Dunn'l; "an', grantin' ye that, he's still the best ye have. He's in the clubhouse now, dressed an' ready to start, once the crowd is out of the way." "And he really did a seventy-seven this morning?" asked Harson. "With two missed putts--wee ones." I looked at Harson and Harson looked at me. "You go in and put it up to him," said he at last. "I can't talk to him without losing my temper." I found our little red hope banging the balls about on the billiard table, carefree as a scarlet tanager. "Young man," said I, "your country calls you." "I'm under age," said Ambrose, calmly squinting along his cue. "Don't bother me. This is a tough shot." "Well, then," said I, "your club calls you." "My club, eh?" remarked the redhead with nasty emphasis. "Any time this club calls me I'm stone-deaf." "Listen to me a minute, Phipps. This is the day of the big team match and we're up against it hard. Anderson turned his car over on the way out and broke his leg. We want you to take his place." "Anderson," repeated Ambrose. "Ain't that the squarehead who calls me Little Poison Ivy? Only his leg, eh? Tough luck!"