"I know what it is," said James, passionately. "You're trying to put me off my stroke. You know that the least thing makes me lose my form."     

       "No, no!"     

       "You hope that you can take my mind off the game and make me go to pieces, and then you'll win the match."     

       "On the contrary," said Peter. "I intend to forfeit the match."     

       James reeled.     

       "What!"     

       "I give up."     

       "But—but——" James shook with emotion. His voice quavered. "Ah!" he cried. "I see now: I understand! You are doing this for me because I am your pal. Peter, this is noble! This is the sort of thing you read about in books. I've seen it in the movies. But I can't accept the sacrifice."     

       "You must!"     

       "No, no!"     

       "I insist!"     

       "Do you mean this?"     

       "I give her up, James, old man. I—I hope you will be happy."     

       "But I don't know what to say. How can I thank you?"     

       "Don't thank me."     

       "But, Peter, do you fully realize what you are doing? True, I am one up, but there are nine holes to go, and I am not right on my game today. You might easily beat me. Have you forgotten that I once took forty-seven at the dog-leg hole? This may be one of my bad days. Do you understand that if you insist on giving up I shall go to Miss Forrester tonight and propose to her?"     

       "I understand."     

       "And yet you stick to it that you are through?"     

       "I do. And, by the way, there's no need 

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