"You bet that they'll let you through of their own accord?" asked Ben Ashley, who never has been known to pass up a plain cinch. "On our request to be allowed to pass," said Wally. "If you drive into 'em without their permission you lose," stipulated Ben. "Right!" said Wally. "Got you for a dozen balls!" said Ben. "Anybody else want some of it?" asked Wally. Before he got off the tee he stood to lose six dozen balls; but his nerve was unshaken and he slammed out another tremendous drive. I sliced into a ditch and away we went, leaving a great deal of promiscuous kidding behind us. It took me two shots to get out at all, and Wally picked up another hole on me. Two down--murder! On the sixth tee we ran into another mass meeting of malcontents. Old Man Martin, our prize grouch, grumbled a bit when we called attention to our red flags. "What's the use?" said he. "You're on your way, but you ain't going anywhere. Might just as well sit down and take it easy. Watlington has got a lost ball, and the others have gone on to the green so's nobody can get through. Won't do you a bit of good to drive, Wally. There's two foursomes hung up over the hill now, and they'll be right there till Watlington finds that ball. Sit down and be sociable." "What'll you bet that we don't get through?" demanded Wally, who was beginning to show signs of irritation. "Whatever you got the most of, sonny--provided you make the bet this way: they got to _let_ you through. Of course you might drive into 'em or walk through 'em, but that ain't being done--much." "Right! The bet is that they let us through. One hundred fish." Old Martin cackled and turned his cigar round and round in the corner of his mouth--a wolf when it comes to a cinch bet. "Gosh! Listen to our banty rooster crow! Want another hundred, sonny?" "Yes--grandpa!" said Wally, and sent another perfect drive soaring up over the hill. Number Six is a long hole, and the ordinary player never attempts to carry the cross-bunker on his second. I followed with a middling-to-good shot, and we bade the congregation farewell. "It's ridiculous!" said Wally as we climbed the hill. "I never saw a foursome yet that wouldn't yield to a red flag, or one that wouldn't let a twosome through--if properly approached. And we have the right of way over everything on the course. The Greens Committee----" "Is composed," said I, "of Watlington, Peck and Peebles--three members of the Big Four. They built the club, they run the club, and they have never been known to let anybody through. I'm sorry, Wally, but I'm afraid you're up against it." The boy stopped and looked at me. "Then those fellows behind us," said he, "were betting on a cinch, eh?" "It was your proposition," I reminded him. "So it was," and he grinned like the good game kid he is. "The Greens Committee, eh? 'Hast thou appealed unto Cæsar? unto Cæsar shalt thou go.' I'm a firm believer in the right method of approach. They wouldn't have the nerve----"