Judge — October 14, 1922 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

Told at the Amateur champion Jesse Sweetser’s home club The Siwanoy Country Club, Westchester County, N. Y. Song of the Golfer happened they had no caddies, and each favorite mashie, my third was short, my was constantly suspicious of the number fourth over, while my friend sat pretty by Sara Henderson Hay of strokes the other player used. The with a long drive, xl second and match came to the eighteenth tee all apparently asurefour. Breaking his long I square with Sandy having the honor. with an emphat I get this MM NOT / Sandy drove and sliced into the far rough. he foozled his approach putt, his Ve table te or at my driving: Jock drove and hooked to the other side next went three fe snd. Mean. Or skim it enough to permit it to roll of ‘the course. picked up their while, my chip shot ls He missed Very gently just off of the tee. in their separate on the return; both balls within a foot And sometimes, I hate to confess it, they parted said. of the cup. Again he broke silence, “I'll a clean miss of the ball ck, the Lord counts your halve it, anyhow.” Tholed, he (nervous) ter myself that I really can play Piarr, Weatogue Coun- stopped on the rim. Without a word, a after all. sport, Conn, using his putter as a driver, he made a , aoe beautiful shot into the woods on the directions. Sandy “Rememb strokes!” —F try Club, Bridg A fairly g II AY Y OPPON a quiet, undemon- Tight. Still silent, he reached in his strative man, had been playing in pocket, extracted a quarter, handed _ it My putting, of course, isn’t perfect; hard luck. Hole after hole lost throngh to his caddy and in tragic but dignified That I almost invariably hit it too hard pits good shots lacking the needful last’ for a few minutes. "Please find that ball. And knock it clear off of the green. ounce of punch, putts rimming the cup And Caddy, when you have found it, And when with midiron I’m trying and such like devilish vagaries of the throw it to hell!’—Harrison B. Ssirn, To send it with vigor enough, venth hole my tee shot Charleston, W. Va. game. On the ¢ I find my direction is not very good went into a quarry, my second broke a ae And, dammit, it goes in the rough : . sii T HAPPENED last spring at the Il THIS Highland Country Club, the little ; WAY club later made famous by Gene Sarazen. My mashie shots hardly pass muster. in arky attendants were overheat It will skyrocket up and then stop Just outside the green, in the bunker And I can’t get it over the top. But I am an ardent fanatic, \ knight of the club and the ball And I flatter myself that I really can play A fairly good game, after all. exchanging club gossip. “Ah jes’ heard some o’ the ladies talkin’ bout what they expec’s to wear on the golf co’se this summah,” remarked or hey’s foah of "em says they’s gonna come out in these heah knee britches; ah think they calls *e m nickel-bottoms. el-bottoms is a good name, chuckled the other. “Reckon they ha WO Scotch professionals were having wear somethin’ like that, se mah wife a round of golf upon the result of FOR BRIGHTER GOLF done tol’ me they’s quit’ wearin’ their which a small sum was wagered. As it The patent rights are yours ironsides!” 10