Braid's Championships have been less exciting to watch than Taylor's, because he is more phlegmatic and less palpably influenced one way or the other by circumstances. But Prestwick seems bound to produce exciting scenes, and in Braid's Championship in 1908 there was a very real crisis. He held a good lead on the first day and was playing superbly. He seemed almost sure to win, though when he began his third round it was known that Tom Ball ahead of him had begun most brilliantly. Braid played the first two holes well, and then came the disaster at the Cardinal. I was standing close by that famous bunker and saw him a long way off taking a brassy from what looked like bad country. It seemed almost too bold, and bang came the ball into the bunker. No one dreamed of anything worse than a six, but at the next shot, also perhaps an overbold one, the ball glanced off the boards and flew out of bounds to the right. The next went the same way, and you could have heard a pin drop. With his fifth he was out at last-he tried for no more this time. Six on to the green and two putts made eight. But as Braid strode after his next tee shot with that slow methodical slouch of his, I do not think that any one of the onlookers awaiting him at the fourth green knew that anything had gone amiss. Certainly they could not guess it by as much as a flicker of Braid's eyelid. He did miss a shortish putt for a four at that hole. Then he holed a downhill putt for two at the Himalayas. Confidence was completely restored, and the eight had become merely a regrettable incident. He finished that round in 77, had a 72 in the afternoon, and won by the length of the street!

I have mentioned Vardon's fight with Taylor at Prestwick. Another of his Championships was at Sandwich in 1911 and I have never seen another like it, for with only the last round to play any one out of half a dozen had a good chance of winning. To the reporter it was a nightmare of trying to be in six places at once and being told the most appalling lies by persons otherwise incapable of deception. Vardon ought to have won comfortably but his last round was the rather poor one of 80, and now Braid, Taylor, Herd, Ray, Duncan, Massy, and Mr. Hilton were after him like a pack of wolves. In one way or another the first five just failed to catch him: Herd wanted a four at the last hole and took six: but the real thrill and the real tragedy came with Mr. Hilton. He was five behind Vardon with one round to go. Then he began to play with almost fantastic brilliance. He had caught Vardon, he might win, he would win! An amateur holding the professionals once again! - it was too good to be true. I picked him up at the turn and saw him play the tenth and eleventh beautifully. To the twelfth his tee shot seemed perfect, played well away to the left on the safe and proper line. Alas! that bunker to the left has a little unseen jutting promontory of sand, and into it went Mr. Hilton's ball. He got out well enough: the hole did not ruin him, but it broke the sequence of mechanically played holes and it lost him that Championship. The short sixteenth finished the business, for he took a five there and even so he only lost by a stroke. But the twelfth did it. I can still feel the sudden chill at the heart of seeing his ball in the little stony bit of bunker after I had felt certain it was clear.

In the end Massy tied with Vardon, only to be battered to pieces next day in the play-off. It was the old Vardon of years before come to life again. I have often seen lower scores done, but never more masterly and tremendous golf.

The News of the World Tournament has produced some great finishes, and I am not sure that it is not better fun watching the professionals in this match-play tournament than in the score play of the Championship. Taylor and Robson at Mid-Surrey in 1908 made a most dramatic final. Robson was quite young and little known ; Taylor at his zenith and on his own course. But this audacious young man with the red head, who hit the ball such a long way, did not confine his audacity to outdriving Taylor. He actually was three up on him at lunch-time. In the afternoon Taylor was after him like a tiger. To all appearances he had the match in hand when he did something that he would scarcely do once in ten years-completely fluffed a clean-lying ball in the bunker near the tenth green. That gave Robson the fresh start he wanted, and the match was 'all to play for 'again. At last Taylor had a six-foot putt to win the match on the thirty-fifth green. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow-and then missed. However he made no mistake at the last, which he took in a glorious three.

Braid and Ray at Walton Heath in 1911 was another memorable finish. It was the only occasion that I can remember when Braid ever showed the slightest sign of (the phrase is now part of the language) 'getting the wind up.' He showed it indeed by no outward sign, but he was six up at one time in the last round and he only won on the last green. Ray certainly played some wonderful shots that afternoon, especially with his armoury of niblicks, and he putted finely too. Braid must have felt horribly uncomfortable and he played a weak shot or two, but he rose to the occasion and played the last hole in four, and that is not easy. They are very patriotic people at Walton Heath. When they go away to watch a tournament they never watch any one but Braid, though they see him every day. I am not sure that the church bells are not tolled there when he is beaten. I have sometimes wondered what would have occurred if Ray had won that match. I am sure some of the ladies of Walton would have been discovered, as was Mr. Winkle after the trial, 'groaning in a hollow and dismal manner with their heads buried beneath the sofa cushions.'

Walton Heath saw another desperate fight in the first year after the war, when Abe Mitchell beat Duncan at the very last hole. Very often in a golf match the onlooker can say, 'That is the turning point: So-and-so is going to win now,'and he is nearly always right; but in this match there came a moment when every single golfer of any experience would have made a certain prophecy and he would have been wrong.