"Gentlemen!" he shouted. "Gentlemen--if you are gentlemen!--I crave your indulgence for a moment! A moment, I beg of you! I have here an added trophy--a trophy which I may say is unique in golfing history!" He paused, and there was a faint patter of applause, followed by cries of "Go to it, Bish!" I glanced at Sam Totten, and the surprised expression on his face told me that this part of the programme was not of his making. "All the cups presented to-day," continued the Bish, "have been awarded for a best score of some sort. I believe you will agree with me that this is manifestly one-sided and unfair." "Hear! Hear!" cried a voice. "Throw that twenty-four-handicap man out!" said the Bish. "Now the cup which I hold in my hands is a cup for the highest gross score ever made by a twelve-handicap man in the United States of America." Henry Peacock jumped as if his name had been called. If I had not laid my hand on his arm he would have bolted for the door. "I take great pleasure, gentlemen," said the Bish after the uproar had subsided, "in presenting this unique trophy to one who now has a double distinction. He is the holder of two records--one for the lowest net score on record, the other for the highest gross. Mr. Henry Peacock shot the course to-day in exactly one hundred and sixty-seven strokes.... Bring the gentleman forward, please!" There was a great burst of laughter and applause, and under cover of the confusion Henry tried to escape. A dozen laughing members surrounded him, and he surrendered, sputtering incoherently. He was escorted to the table, and the double wall of cheering humanity closed in behind him and surged forward. I caught a glimpse of his face as the Bish bent over and placed the green bag in his hands. It was very red, and his lower lip was trembling with rage. "Open it up! Come on, let's see it!" Mr. Peacock cast one despairing glance to left and right and plunged his hand into the bag. I do not know what he expected to find there, but it was a cup, sure enough--a fine, large pewter cup, cast in feeble imitation of the genuine article and worth perhaps seventy-five cents. And on the side of this cup rudely engraved with a shingle nail, was the record of Mr. Peacock's activities for the afternoon, in gross and detail, as follows: HOLES PAR PEACOCK 1 4 11 2 4 9 3 4 8 4 5 8 5 3 7 6 6 15 7 5 9 8 4 8 9 4 12 10 5 12 11 3 7 12 4 8 13 4 9 14 3 7 15 4 8 16 4 9 17 5 11 18 5 9 -- --- Total 76 167 As Henry gazed at this work of art a shout came from the back of the room. Waddles had come to life. "Winner buys, Henry! Winner always buys! It's a rule of the club!"