I handed Frank a few bars of polite conversation but he gave me the
Frostburg face.
Did you ever have one of those real players pass you out the golfish
glare?
You for the snowstorm when you get it--believe me!
Then Mil and Frank dove in the mudcan, cooked a pill, placed the ball
on it, slapped it in the slats, gave us the dreary day-day and were
on their way.
It must be awful to play for money.
At the Seventh hole we found Jake Roberts ploughing the side of a
hill with his niblick.
He said he lost a ball there one day last summer and he wanted it
back because it belonged to a set.
Jake said he went to Three in four with that ball once, but the folks
wouldn't believe him till he showed them the ball.
When I introduced him to Clara Jane he invited her to join the
hunting party, and intimated that I'd enjoy the new mown scenery
further down the line.
[Illustration: "Jake invited her to join the hunting party."]
I whip-sawed him with a whistling specialty entitled, "Why Don't You
Get a Lady of Your Own?" and he promised to be good.
After we trailed over the mountains, through seven farms, across
three rivers, up the valley and down the railroad, we finally reached
the end of the links and took the steamer back to mother.
Clara Jane says golf would be a great game if it wasn't so far from
home.
Yours till the bench breaks--believe me!