Whipple meanwhile cleared the bunker in the best of style, and landed on the green in a good position to hole out in two shots.

"Great Gobble!" muttered West as he swung his club, and fixed his eye on a point an inch and a half back of the imbedded ball, "if I don't get this out of here on this shot, I'm a gone goose!" March grinned sympathetically but anxiously, and the onlookers held their breath.

Then back went the club--there was a scattering of sand and gravel, and the ball dropped dead on the green, four yards from the hole.
"Excellent!" shouted Professor Beck, and Joel jumped in the air from sheer delight.

"Good for you, Out!" yelled Dave Somers; and the rest of the watchers echoed the sentiment in various ways, even those who desired to see Whipple triumphant yielding their meed of praise for the performance.

And, "I guess, Out," said Whipple ruefully, "you might as well take the cup." But Outfield West only smiled silently in response, and followed his ball with businesslike attention to the game.
Whipple was weak on putting, and his first stroke with an iron failed to carry his ball to the hole.