nahan plays
consistently in eighty-two, while Duff is fortunate to score in
ninety-five. Why this woeful inferiority of Duff?

They are great friends and always play together, and they go through the
same performance every time they reach the grounds.

The moment Monahan left the train he headed for the club house as if it
were on fire and all of his money in its lockers. Duff says Monahan is
perfectly quiet and sane until he catches the first glimpse of the
links, but that his blood then begins to boil, and that he burns in a
fever of haste to get a club in his hands.

Monahan barely nodded to me as he passed and rushed up stairs. In less
than two minutes he was back and ready to play. As he tore out he met
Duff, who had strolled complacently up the walk, stopping now and then
to speak to a friend or to watch a shot.

Duff's clothes were the model of fashion and good taste. In his hand was
twirled a cane, and in his lapel was the inevitable boutonniere. He had
paused to chat with Miss Ross--Duff is married and has a daughter older
than Miss Ross--and was engaged in a discussion concerning a new play
when Monahan approached. Monahan had on a golf suit which would cause
his arrest as a tramp if he wandered from the links.

"Did you come up here to play golf or to pose on the veranda?" demanded
the indignant Monahan, grasping Duff by the shoulder and swinging him
half way around. "Please go away from him, Miss Ross; he will talk you
to death."

Twenty minutes later Duff wandered leisurely out to the first tee, where
Monahan had been waiting, glaring every few seconds at the club house,
and swearing under his breath. Duff looked even neater than in his
street clothes. His shirts, scarfs, trousers, shoes and caps form
combinations which are sartorial poems.

Duff smiled complacently during the tongue lashing administered by the
irate Monahan. This happens regularly every time they play. One would
think that the calm, unruffled Duff would defeat the nervous and
impatient Monahan, but nothing of the kind happens. The latter exacts
revenge by beating Duff to a frazzle.

I do not mean to infer that the slow or deliberate person will not make
a good player, but with deliberation he must have that keen interest
which dominates all of his faculties.

Marshall, for instance, is the slowest player I ever saw, and one of the
best. It is tiresome to watch him prepare to make a shot. He averages
four practise strokes. He has