My name's Yancy--Cyrus P."
A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the
journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on:
"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a
straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high,
isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did
either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better
scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one
under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are
possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in
three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of
luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?"
"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and
parliamentary. "There are several waiting."
Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where
successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion,
with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the
left, which was both damp and retentive.
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