"Very likely," I sadly replied. "The following day I received a letter from Aunt Sarah Emeline informing me that she had cut me out of her will. And you still slice abominably, Chilvers." "Thus you see that Smith has solid reasons for his prejudice against the gentler sex as golfists," concluded Chilvers. I entered a general denial, and the conversation drifted into other channels. As a matter of fact, my dislike of the woman golfer is based on different grounds. A pretty woman is a most glorious creature, and I yield to no one in my admiration of the fair sex, but a woman is out of her proper environment when she persists in frequenting a golf course designed for men who are experts at the game. When I see women on the broad verandas of the Woodvale Club, or when I see them strolling along the shaded paths or indulging in tennis, croquet, and other games to which they are physically fitted, I know that they possess tact and discrimination, but when I see them ahead of me on the golf links--well, it is different. Women may gain in health by attempting to play golf, but they do so at the expense of shattered masculine nerves and morals. When our board of management decided to permit the ladies to have free use of the course at all times except when tournaments are in progress, I resigned as director, but what good did it do? A woman never is so tenacious of her rights as when she is in the wrong. I wonder if that is original? I know of no agony more acute than to be condemned to play golf with women when there is a chance to get in a foursome with good scratch men. The dyspeptic compelled to fast while watching the progress of a banquet, must suffer similar torture. "What's the use of sitting here and talking?" demanded Chilvers. "It has cooled off; let's have a foursome. Marshall and I will play you and Boyd, Smith. What do you say?" At this instant the head waiter appeared and said Mr. Thomas wished me to come to his table for a moment. Thomas was on the other side of the veranda, but I had a suspicion of what was in store for me and arose with a sinking heart. Thomas is the only good player in the club who is willing to make up a foursome with women, or, as it is most properly called, a "mixed foursome." I never saw one which was not mixed before many holes had been played. Just as I anticipated, I found Thomas at a table with Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield. Both are so pretty it is a shame they attempt to play golf. "We are planning a foursome and Miss Dangerfield has chosen you for her partner," began Thomas, who knows exactly how I feel about such matters and who delights to lure me into trouble. "If you and Miss Dangerfield will give Miss Ross and me two strokes," proposed Thomas, "we will play you for the dinners." I felt sure it was a put-up job, but what could I say?