"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and parliamentary. "There are several waiting." Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the left, which was both damp and retentive. "Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course. "Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he would say at the next seventeen tees. Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs. "Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit." But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, a beautiful two hundred and forty yards. "Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through." "You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully. "Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see." "Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, which came methodically to the edge of the green. Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, which seemed so near. "I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. "Any one else would get a three once in five times--any one but Jonah's favorite brother." He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their hats. "By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in two! Well, what do you think of that?" Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a phenomenal two. "That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career." "I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry about it, are you?"