“This is a sporting shot,” said Gamadge, as they climbed to the fifteenth tee. “You do it with an iron. Now, watch the balls, Norman,” he begged. Norman galloped down to the green, and Gamadge chose a Number Four iron for Mrs. Cowden.
The fifteenth hole was a menace to players who sliced or hooked their drives. It was bounded on three sides by dense pinewoods; those on the right consisting of a thick belt which divided the fifteenth fairway from the sixteenth. The tee was very high, dipping sharply to a hollow behind, and overhanging a long, stony rough in front. Beyond the rough was a short, steep hill, and then a grassy slope to the green.
Mrs. Cowden said: “I remember this horror. A ball lost is a ball really lost.”
Gamadge respectfully offered her his Four iron. She accepted it, and
