e woman
who shows to advantage with a golf regalia. If Miss Harding is beautiful
enough to overcome the handicap which always attaches to the female golf
duffer, she can give Venus odds and beat her handily."

"You will meet a golfing Venus some day," smiled Mrs. Chilvers, willing
that her sex should be attacked so long as she was exempt.

"That's what he will," added Chilvers; "I'm agile, but I slipped."

"The artists who depict the woman golfer as graceful and attractive," I
continued, "must draw from imagination rather than from models. In my
humble opinion a woman shows to better advantage climbing a steep flight
of stairs than in any possible posture in striking a golf ball."

"The ladies--God bless 'em--and keep them off the links!" muttered
Marshall.

"Why, Charlie Marshall!" exclaimed Mrs. Quivers. "I shall see that your
wife hears that!"

"Don't tell her; she'll beat him terribly," warned Chilvers. "Did you
ever hear, Boyd, why our friend Smith is so sour when he sees a lady on
these links?"

Chilvers has told that story on me many times, but Boyd declared he had
not heard it.

"As you know," began Chilvers, "Smith was born on this farm. It's the
ancestral Smith homestead, and Smith's relatives were very indignant
when he leased it to the Woodvale Golf and Country Club. What was the
name of that maiden aunt of yours, Smith?"

"My Aunt Sarah Emeline Smith," I replied.

"Yes, yes! Well, Aunt Sarah Emeline was especially incensed over this
act of sacrilege on Smith's part," continued this historian, and he
followed the facts closely, "and only once since has she stepped foot on
the broad acres where her happy girlhood was spent. It was my
good-fortune to meet her on that occasion, and I shall never forget it."

"Neither shall I," I said.

"On her visit here Aunt Sarah Emeline persisted in wandering over the
links. She had on a wonderful bonnet, and through it she glared
disdainfully at the members of the club who yelled 'Fore!' at her. She
was headed for the old mill, which now is used as a caddy house. I was
playing the last hole and thought she was well out of line of a brassey,
so I fell on that ball for all I was worth. I sliced it; yes, I sliced
it badly."

[Illustration: "... and threw it in the pond"]

Chilvers paused and seemed lost in thought.

"Did it hit her?" asked Boyd.

"Of course it hit her," resumed Chilvers. "Aunt Sarah Emeline is more
than plump, and since it did not hit her