"You bet it is!" I exclaimed, ignoring his meaning. "Tough luck for all of us, because if we can't dig up a man to take Anderson's place we'll have to forfeit that particular match to MacNeath. We'd set our hearts on winning this time, because it would give us the permanent possession of the team trophy that we've been shooting at for twenty years----" "Let your voice fall right there!" commanded Ambrose. "Trophies are nothing in my young life. This club is nothing in my life. Everybody here has treated me worse than a yellow dog. Go ahead and take your medicine; and I hope they lick you and make you like it!" I saw it was time to try another tack. Ambrose had used one word that had put an idea into my head. "All right," said I. "Have it your own way. Perhaps it was a mistake to mention MacNeath's name." "What do you mean--a mistake?" He fired up instantly. "Well," said I, "you must know Mac by reputation. He's one of the best golfers in the state and a tough proposition to beat. He's their Number One man--their star player. He shoots pretty close to par all the time." "What's that got to do with it?" asked Ambrose. "Why, nothing; only----" "Only what?" "Well, they all said you wouldn't want to go up against such a strong player." "Who said that?" "Oh, everybody. Yes; it was a mistake to mention his name. I'm frank enough to say that I wouldn't tackle him without a handicap. MacNeath is hard game." "Look here!" snapped the redhead. "You're off on the wrong foot entirely. You're barking up the wrong tree. It's not because I'm afraid of this MacNeath, or anybody else. I licked that sour old Scotchman this morning, and I guess you'll agree he's not soft picking. It's just that I don't feel that this club ought to ask a favour of me." "A favour! Why, man alive, it's a compliment to stick you in at Number One--the biggest compliment we can pay you!" "Well," said Ambrose slowly, "if you look at it in that light----" "I most certainly do.... But if you'd rather not meet MacNeath----" Ambrose dropped his cue with a crash. "You don't really think I'm _yellow_, do you?" he cried. "If you are," said I, "you're the first redhead that ever got his colour scheme mixed." The little rascal grinned like a gargoyle. "Listen!" said he confidentially. "You've used me pretty well--to my face, anyhow--and I'll tell yon this much: I don't care the snap of my fingers for your ratty old cup. I care even less for the members of this club--present company excepted, you understand; but I can't stand it to have anybody think I'm not _game_. Ever since I was a runt of a kid I've had to fight, and they can say anything about me except that I'm a quitter.... Why, I've stuck round here for nearly five months just because I wouldn't let a lot of old fossils drive me out and make me quit--five months without a friend in the place, and only MacQuarrie to talk to.