* * * * *
The High Priest was as good as his word. Early on the morrow he made
his way to the Linx, and found the King holing-out on the second green.
Merolchazzar was in high good humour.
"Greetings, O venerable one!" he cried, jovially. "Hadst thou come a
moment sooner, them wouldst have seen me lay my ball dead--aye, dead as
mutton, with the sweetest little half-mashie-niblick chip-shot ever
seen outside the sacred domain of S'nandrew, on whom"--he bared his
head reverently--"be peace! In one under bogey did I do the hole--yea,
and that despite the fact that, slicing my drive, I became ensnared in
yonder undergrowth."
The High Priest had not the advantage of understanding one word of what
the King was talking about, but he gathered with satisfaction that
Merolchazzar was pleased and wholly without suspicion. He clasped an
unseen hand more firmly about the handle of his knife, and accompanied
the monarch to the next altar. Merolchazzar stooped, and placed a small
round white object on a little mound of sand.
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