One of those golfing miracles, a forty-foot putt, would halve the match, to be sure, but in tournament golf miracles have a way of occurring on any except the deciding hole.
Sympathy usually follows the amateur, therefore it was a silent throng that ranged itself about the gently undulating expanse of velvet sod in the shadow of the east wing.

Herring had played a wonderful match; he stood for all that is clean and fine in golf.

The end of the balcony was jammed; nearly every window framed eager faces; amid a breathless intensity of interest the youthful contender tested the turf with the head of his club and studied the run of the green.

A moment, then he took his stance and swung his putter smoothly.

The ball sped away, taking a curving course, and followed by five hundred pairs of eyes.