Judge — December 8, 1923 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

For the Good of Golf 1 Trayedy hy Jolin Can phell Haywood Tt MAN was dead. Dead govle: as a boiled) codfish: thing an think of as inconsequential to the upkeep of golf, immaterial to a partner, and irrelevant to the score as are they; as indeed was the man himself up to that moment. He had just missed a nine-inch putt. He was my partner. It cost me a dollar on the Nassau and thirty cents in the syndic As T saw the ball trickle by the hole T struck. The head of my schenectady landed) square and indented his golf cap. Less thait the length of his missed putt. There was no flow of blood. [ was glad of that. It was a nifty stroke. Meredith and Owens, our adversaries. snickered slightly and moved away. I found an old spade and dug deep into the sand of the trap guarding the green. There [ buried him. And walked slowly you | in to the clubhouse. | Meredith and Owens were in the café. “Bill Stubbs has nly. Ve thought he ith who spoke. You saw him miss that putt?” ] “We saw it.” “Twice he improved his lie.” T We counted three times.” disappeared?” I might.” Tt was. went on. “Three times on the long holes he said zreen in four.” 1 counted five.” Slowly I he was on the “When we h “And what are these? \ew hh “Divots.” TOLD AT THE 19th HOLE Highland Country Club, Meriden, Conn. Santa Claus—What do you want for Christmas? Golfer—Oh, I just want a good drive, a good iron-shot. a fairly decent approach and a perfect putt. That's all emptied my pockets the in front of them. Meredith and Owens counted them. “Five.” “Samples,” [said. “Samples only.” “or a few moments there was no sound but the pat-pat of the waiter’s footfalls. “Why was he your partner?” Mere- dith questioned. “TL had never played with him before. His locker is not near mine, He called me over before lunch. He—" My excuse was interrupted. “We understand. Caught in a gin, as it were.” “He solemnly. “For the good of golf,” they answered. The ensuing silence was broken by the clink of ice on glass. upon has disappeared,” [repeated all awpy MeTavisn, a professional golfer for forty-odd years in Edinburgh, recently took one of his infrequent trips to London, While there, he happened upon an old friend whom he had not seen for a decade or more. This gentleman, who had been som thing of a bounder in the days wher Sandy had known him, was overjoyed a! the encounter, and expressed his exuber ance prolisly. H married yet?" ask old top. es andy » of course, was th “And how is yer little wife?” Sand inquired. “Topping. old bean, simply topping! ame the enthusiastic reply I er to k the ball ndy. “Tt improve ‘er game, ane T hazard, take ten strokes off her score te Ballades of a Dub My Game Is Half of One Per Cent. by A. N.C. Fouter “p ver eye Sixce Concress (long may it abide! *2 Decided to evangelize, Decreeing all must be denied The stuff'a thirsty person buys Of proper kick and proper size, My golf has followed precedent And, spite of all my futile tries My game is half of one per cent. T lap up some of Welch's pride Or try, with other hopeful guys. Plain milk with Moxie on the side, So recommended by the drys To stifle alcoholic cries: Alas! These are incompetent To make my golfing vigor rise My game is half of one per cent And Coca Cola T have tried And that frail brew they put in pies But find their feeble kick has died And left me without alibis For zip that fathers enterprise. Why follow the experiment That all my hopefulness decries? My game is half of one per cent. LEnvoi Reduced to decimals, pep lies Neath Prohibition’s monument: sod night. My force is gone, My game is half of one per cent. Tim wise; . and Mrs. Stymie Golfer and the little Golfers hang up their Christmas sto—er—bags. comicbooks.com