"
"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry
about it, are you?"
"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately.
In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was
attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and
sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years,
sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever
happened to me--once in sixty thousand times."
Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"It may come all at once," he said faintly.
This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball
for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and
thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go.
The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the
tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or
of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a
tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled.
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