the right flank of the water-butt--"what is their market value?"

"No penalty," said James grimly, "except staying there till you get
out."

"One last piece of information. What is bogey for this hole?"

"About two hundred, I think," said James; "but no doubt you'll lower
it."

"I don't know," I replied. "That's about my usual at the old game." And
therewith I made my tee, drove and went into the garden to cut a cabbage
leaf.
* * * * *
After hoeing the vegetables with a mashie for a hot two hours, I fought
my way out of the rhubarb on all fours, with a golf-ball between my
teeth, and then strode doggedly back to the tee and drove into the
virgin artichoke forest. While I toyed there with the sub-soil, the
unwearied James went to earth among the marrows. Hastily I heeled my
ball into the ground (to be retrieved by James months later and
announced as a curious scientific result of growing artichokes on a golf
course), uttered a cry of triumph, and strolled out into the open.

"A hundred and seventy-nine. My game, I think," I announced.

James extricated himself and walked with me to the butt.

"Hullo!" I said, "it's sunk. Thought it was a floater. It ought to be
for a half-crown ball."