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March, 1916 Golfers the gold medal for the qualifying round by playing 36 holes 7 under par—an unprecedented score. At that pace there was no man in the world who could even make it interesting for him. The draw had come out as evenly as could be expected from that haphazard proceeding. Chick Evans, Gardner and Marston were among the lower sixteen; Travers, Ouimet and Jellie in the upper.

“Your man hasn’t a chance to reach the finals,” said a Mr. Higginbotham of Upper Montclair, stopping beside the Grassview table. He was glad to get away from there immediately after.

Jellie came through his first two matches with flying colors. To be sure, his opponents were not in his class—young Anderson of Clinton Valley and McBride of Oakdale. They were smothered.

For his third match he drew Ouimet, and the match drew the gallery. The great conqueror of Ray and Vardon had not been playing up to his best form in the tournament, but his prestige is great, and that, linked with the notoriety of his opponent, drew two thousand spectators. They saw some masterly golf, but the match was a farce. At the end of the first nine holes Jellie, out in 36, was 4 up, and he finally won 6 and 5. In the meantime, Jerry Travers had beaten John Anderson, and it was Jellie against Travers in the semi-finals, with Bob Gardner and Chick Evans in the other half.

“Only two more to beat, old man,” said Tom Innes that night to the hope of Grassview.

Mr. Jellie nodded, but did not reply. It did indeed appear, as the sport writers had predicted, that the strain of the great tournament was telling on him. His face was drawn a little and his eyes had the reddish hollow look of a man who is not getting enough sleep. He was getting morose, too, and touchy. That same evening at Grassview, when Huntington had asked him why he didn’t try the jerk stroke on full mashies, he had responded in ironic terms more heated than elegant.

“It’s getting old Jellie’s goat,” declared Monty Fraser, anxiously. “We must make him go to bed early tonight.”

The following day was one that Jerry Travers and four thousand spectators will never forget.

Travers and Jellie teed off at nine o’clock, and the gallery followed. Jellie, who appeared haggard and nervous, was expected by everyone to crack. As he took the driver from the caddie and addressed the ball the trembling of his hands could be perceived by those fifty feet away.

“It’s a shame to take the money,” whispered Grantland Rice to a friend. “Why, the man’s a nervous wreck.”

And yet the nervous wreck won the first hole, a par 5, with a 3. Travers, who had been on his game all week, merely smiled. The second was halved in 4. The third, a short hole at Baltusrol, Jellie won by sinking a 30-footer fo ra two. Again Travers smiled. But when Jellie reached the green on the fourth in 2, a long tricky hole with an immense sand pit just in front of the green, an amazed murmur went up from the great gallery, and Travers was observed to bestow a thoughtful and serious look on his opponent.

From there on it was a heart-breaking, merciless struggle between perfection and transcendence. Never before had Travers, the king of match play, gotten balls so straight and far with the wood, never had he laid his irons to the pin with such deadly accuracy, and he putted as only Travers can putt. How he was beaten on that day he cannot yet understand. Jellie was unsteady as a sapling in a storm. He sliced continually and forced himself to play many shots from hazards and the rough. It was these incredible recoveries that caused the great throng of spectators to gasp amazedly and stare at one another in speechless wonder, then to burst out into a roar of applause that shook the Jersey hills.

The match ended on the 29th green. Travers played the first 18 holes in 69, Jellie in 67. Their scores for the 29 holes were 109 and 114.

It was the golf of supermen, unbelievable, miraculous, staggering. And