Hole XII. Vardon couldn't have played better than I did, and even R. had to say "Good shot!" twice. All square. Hole XIII. As I was putting I had a feeling in my back that Mrs. R. had arrived at last. Missed my putt and only halved the hole. Hole XIV. Couldn't see Mrs. R. anywhere. Wondered where on earth she had got to, or whether she was drowned. Of course I lost the hole. One down. Hole XV. A little dispute, as R. claimed that his ball--which was under a wheelbarrow--was on ground under repair. Absolutely foolish, and I told him so. All square. Hole XVI. Made a perfect drive, approach and putt. Looked everywhere for Mrs. R. and couldn't see her. One up. Hole XVII. Completely put off by wondering when I should see Mrs. R. Most unfair. Told my caddy I should report him to the committee. All square. Hole XVIII. Saw Mrs. R. on a hill half a mile away. Got on my nerves. R. said, "Halloa, there's my wife! I thought she wasn't coming out this morning." Lost the hole and the match, and told the secretary that R.'s handicap ought to be reduced. * * * * * [Illustration: "SHE WAS NOT A GOLFER" _Husband._ "What on earth has happened to my driver?" _Wife._ "Oh, I couldn't find the hammer, so I used that thing. It wasn't much use, though."] * * * * * [Illustration: OUR VILLAGE The Golf-Club in full swing.] * * * * * [Illustration: _She._ "Why, Mr. Smith, you don't mean to say you have taken up golf?" _Smith (age 78)._ "Yes. I found I was getting a bit too old for lawn tennis!"] * * * * * [Illustration: ERRATIC _Pedestrian (anxious for his safety)._ "Now, which way are you going to hit the ball?" _Worried Beginner._ "Only wish to goodness I knew myself!"] * * * * * [Illustration: Punch] * * * * * [Illustration: SWEET SIMPLICITY _Diffident Man (who does not know to how much of an ingénue he is talking)._ "Have you been out long, Miss Grace?" _Miss Grace (consulting her wrist-strap)._ "Oh, about three-quarters of an hour. You see we were asked to come punctually."] * * * * * LINES ON THE LINKS Hard by the biggest hazard on the course, Beneath the shelter of a clump of gorse, Secure from shots from off the heel or toe, I watch the golfers as they come and go. I see the fat financier, whose "dunch" Suggests too copious draughts of "fizz" at lunch; While the lean usher, primed with ginger beer, Surmounts the yawning bunker and lies clear. I see a member of the House of Peers Within an ace of bursting into tears, When, after six stout niblick shots, his ball Lies worse than if he had not struck at all. But some in silent agony endure Misfortunes no "recovery" can cure, While others, even men who stand at plus, Loudly ejaculate the frequent cuss.