On the Monday following the contest for the Hemmingway Cup I met the
Bish at the country club. We arrived there between nine and ten in the
morning, and the first man we saw was Mr. Henry Peacock. He was out on
the eighteenth fairway practising approach shots, and the putting green
was speckled with balls.
"Hello!" said the Bish. "Look who's here! Practising too. You don't
suppose that old chump is going to try to make a golfer of himself, this
late along?"