We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups.
Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all.

"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form,
Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along---follow
through, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!"

But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but one
was a rank scratch.

"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh,
Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you."

"I take you," says the Doc.

And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money!

Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out a
regular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk,
through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hall
into the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through the
back hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green.

Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from the
attic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bag
for the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancy
loftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofa
pillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind,
with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in.