Judge — November 6, 1915 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A MIT Y IRVING THE By HE GOLF course at Amity Dam was the gift of Deacon Stubbs. His doctor had recommended to him the modern invention called “exercise.” The Deacon had decided to try it. He had ac- quired a fortune and amassed a physique. Of both he had more than he needed. Often For- tune uses fat for the purpose of emphasizing her P favorites. Gradually his person had waxed un- ‘as, in a way, underscored and written in capital letters. His doctor had warned the deacon that nature was getting him ready to be wiped off the slate—like a senseless curlicue, or a learnt lesson, The doctor had recommended exertions. Now the Deacon's fat was machine made—in a soft-cushioned, perambulating fat factory which is the most insidious enemy of the human leg. At first he planned to remove the fat by machinery. He bought a horse to make the exertions for him, while he grew tean in the saddle, It didn’t work. The horse bore up as hard as the Deacon bore down, and between the two a good deal of bad feeling existed. Undoubtedly the Deacon bore down harder than he in- tended, for he had not weighed himself in a year. The horse got sore and hot, and so did the Deacon. He concluded that he would make his own exertions. Golf promised to be an effective ally in his gentle war against fat and inertia If Amity Dam had a golf cow it would attract the giddy tri- flers of the north, and so increase its summer colony. It would be a benefit to the Deacon and his neighbors, and the latter would contribute to its maintenance. Down at Utica the Deacon had once tried to play and had seen a man standing in a bunker spitting sand and so forth. The so forth gave the Deacon his great idea of the Damless golf course— one which should not be full of pits and hazards to provoke the player. After all, one played golf mostly for pleasure—didn’t he? Amity Dam was a peaceful, God-fearing community. Peaceful, God-fearing golf was possible and they should have it. In Amity Dam the saints in the church and the cemetery had been mostly machine made. They had professed religion, and hired pews, and contributed to homeand foreign missions, and paid twenty- five cents a head for ice cream and cake at the sociables, and the church had done the rest. It had been like buying fire insurance. They allowed the minister no latitude. He didn’t dare tell them that their souls were dying of moral indolence. By and by, being human, the minister took the path of least resistance and became a spiritual mechanic. Those people treated the church as they treated their corn shellers and cash registers. It was a convenience—a labor- saving machine that did the most of their soul work and guaranteed Tesults, BACHELLER So the Deacon's golf course was to be in perfect harmony with the spirit of the place. He bought three horse lawn mowers and a roller, and hireda force of men and went to work. He knew what he wanted. His land was smooth. He moved some of the walls. He built his tees on the hilltops and his greens in the valleys. His greens were made with a gentle slope from all sides toward the cup. There were no bunkers, sand traps or ditches. It was to be a labor-saving machine with gravitation for its motive power. One had only to start the ball and nature did the rest, or most of it. If there had been such a thing as a patent, automatic, gasoline driver the Deacon would have considered it. A young man in the village, who had played, gave lessons on the course every morning. Young and old came to Icarn how to swing and keep their eyes on the ball. The Deacon took a double hand-full of sand and teed up for his first game. “When I played ball I used to like ’em knee high,” he remarked. He swung and swooped and hit the sand which flew in the air, while his ball stepped down a few inches. He tried again. His neck seemed to lengthen a little. His head bent low. He fastened his gaze on the ball and mentally naited and wired and glued it there. Ifthe carth had trembled and split, he wouldn’t have looked up. He took a short swing and landed fair on the ball. Jerusalem, how it sizzled and sailed! It hit the sward away be- low, ran like a scared cat, hopped to the green and disappeared. What a sense of power and satisfaction he got out of that whack! His great problem was solved. As he proudly walked toward the green he forgot that he was getting exercise, in his regret that so many years of his life had been wasted. He cut his ball and slashed the air and tore the green mantle of the hills, but the memory of that one whack sustained and kept him going. So it went with the others. Some played every afternoon, and on Saturday the course was crowded. It was all as merry and peace- ful as a party in the basement of the Congregational Church. No playing was allowed on Sunday, but in every back yard one could hear the swish of clubs swinging at nubbins in the grass. Some of the players improved rapidly. The Deacon had made the course in thirty-five. One young man had achieved the unheard of score of twenty-nine. The Deacon and others had observed that their opponents were inclined to be reckless counters. They forgot some of their misses and foozles—a fact which led to occasional arguments. Still the village seemed to have a natural talent for the game. A team of its best players accepted the challenge of the Elk Valley Club to play a match on the course of the latter. ~The Deacon and the Minister were on the team of the Amity Dam Club. The ladies of Elk Valley were to serve luncheon on the club grounds. comichookseern)