Kirkaldy brassied and was short, but in good position.  Wallace did not have a good lie, but I told him it was a full 200 yards, and the fore caddy gave him the direction.  It was uphill almost all the way to the hole.  He used a full brassie, going well into the turf, and I knew when the ball started it would reach the green.

We climbed the hill breathless with curiosity.  I came in sight of the green.  A new, white ball lay within a foot of the cup!  All records on “Mount Terrible” had been shattered!

Kirkaldy smiled grimly and was short on his approach, but got down in two more, losing the hole with a five against that phenomenal three.  Five is bogy and par for this hole, and sevens more common than fives.  The medal score was even.

They halved the eleventh, Wallace won the twelfth and lost the fourteenth, both making threes on the tricky thirteenth.  Wallace took the medal lead by winning the fifteenth in another perfect three, and the sixteenth produced fours for both of them.  It was Kirkaldy’s turn to register a three on the next, this bringing them to the last hole all square on medal score, with Kirkaldy one up on match play.  It was intensely exciting!

The eighteenth hole is 610 yards.  By wonderful long work both were on the green in three, but Kirkaldy was on the extreme far edge and away.  His approach putt was too strong, overrunning the cup by twelve feet.  Wallace laid his ball dead within six inches of the cup, and putted down in five, one under bogy.  This insured him at least a tie for the medal score, but the match honours would go to Kirkaldy if he could hole that long putt.  We held our breaths!  He went to the left by a slight margin, halving the match by holes.  Here is the card coming in: 

              1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
   Kirkaldy—­ 5 4 6 3 4 4 4 3 6—­39
   Wallace—–­ 3 4 5 3 5 3 4 4 5-36

[Illustration:  “LaHume ... stalking toward the club house”]

Wallace therefore won the medal round by a score of 75 against 76 for Kirkaldy, and honours were even on holes.  It was a match to make one’s blood tingle; a clean, honest contest between two clear-headed and muscle-trained athletes.

Kirkaldy was the first to grasp Wallace’s hand, and in the blue eyes of our tried and popular golf mentor there was naught but sincere goodwill and unaffected admiration.

“Ye’ll do, my laddy, ye’ll do!” Kirkaldy exclaimed.  “I dinna ken who taught ye, but he was a guede mon; a guede mon!”

As Kirkaldy’s ball stopped rolling, and it was known Wallace had won the medal score, the breathless gallery found their voices and gave vent to their feelings.  The silent and motionless circle came to life, and, as it were, exploded toward its centre.  We found ourselves in the vortex of cheering men, laughing girls, fluttering ’kerchiefs, and the excited clatter of a hundred voices.

I looked for LaHume and saw him stalking toward the club house.  Someone clutched me by the sleeve, and I looked into the beautiful and happy eyes of Miss Lawrence.