The atmosphere brooding over the first tee when I reached it on the following morning, somewhat resembled that of a duelling-ground in the days when these affairs were sealed with rapiers or pistols. Rupert Bailey, an old friend of mine, was the only cheerful member of the party. I am never at my best in the early morning, and the two rivals glared at each other with silent sneers. I had never supposed till that moment that men ever really sneered at one another outside the movies, but these two were indisputably doing so. They were in the mood when men say "Pshaw!" They tossed for the honour, and Arthur Jukes, having won, drove off with a fine ball that landed well down the course. Ralph Bingham, having teed up, turned to Rupert Bailey. "Go down on to the fairway of the seventeenth," he said. "I want you to mark my ball." Rupert stared. "The seventeenth!" "I am going to take that direction," said Ralph, pointing over the trees. "But that will land your second or third shot in the lake." "I have provided for that. I have a fiat-bottomed boat moored close by the sixteenth green. I shall use a mashie-niblick and chip my ball aboard, row across to the other side, chip it ashore, and carry on. I propose to go across country as far as Woodfield. I think it will save me a stroke or two." I gasped. I had never before realized the man's devilish cunning. His tactics gave him a flying start. Arthur, who had driven straight down the course, had as his objective the high road, which adjoins the waste ground beyond the first green. Once there, he would play the orthodox game by driving his ball along till he reached the bridge. While Arthur was winding along the high road, Ralph would have cut off practically two sides of a triangle. And it was hopeless for Arthur to imitate his enemy's tactics now. From where his ball lay he would have to cross a wide tract of marsh in order to reach the seventeenth fairway--an impossible feat. And, even if it had been feasible, he had no boat to take him across the water. He uttered a violent protest. He was an unpleasant young man, almost--it seems absurd to say so, but almost as unpleasant as Ralph Bingham; yet at the moment I am bound to say I sympathized with him. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "You can't play fast and loose with the rules like that." "To what rule do you refer?" said Ralph, coldly. "Well, that bally boat of yours is a hazard, isn't it? And you can't row a hazard about all over the place." "Why not?" The simple question seemed to take Arthur Jukes aback. "Why not?" he repeated. "Why not? Well, you can't. That's why."