eatly set back around the Ears and the usual Blood Pressure was
whizzing through a suburban Lonesomeness on a teetering Trolley. The
name of the man was Mr. Pallzey. He had a desk with a Concern that did
merchandizing in a large way.

Mr. Pallzey feared Socialism and carried his Wife's Picture in his
Watch and wore Plasters. In other words, he was Normal, believing
nearly everything that appeared in the Papers.

While the Dog-Fennel was softly brushing the Foot-Board and the Motor
was purring consistently beneath, Mr. Pallzey looked over into a
close-cropped Pasture and became the alert Eye-Witness of some very
weird Doings.

He saw a pop-eyed Person in soiled Neglige, who made threatening
movements toward something concealed in the White Clover, with a
Weapon resembling the iron Dingus used in gouging the Clinkers from a
Furnace.

"What is the plot of the Piece?" he inquired of a Grand Army man,
sitting next.

"I think," replied the Veteran, "I think he is killing a Garter
Snake."

"Oh, no," spoke up the conversational Conductor, "He is playing
Golluf," giving the word the Terre Haute pronunciation.

Mr. Pallzey looked with pity on the poor Nut who was out in the Hot
Sun, getting himself all lathered up with One-Man Shinny.

He said to G. A. R. that it took all kinds of People to make a World.
The grizzled Warrior rose to an equal Altitude by remarking that if
the dag-goned Loon had to do it for a Living, he'd think it was Work.

Mr. Pallzey had heard of the new Diversion for the Idle Rich, just as
people out in the Country hear of Milk-Sickness or falling Meteors,
both well authenticated but never encountered.

While rummaging through the Sporting Page, he would come across a
cryptic Reference to MacFearson of Drumtochtie being 3 up and 2 to
play on Hargis of Sunset Ho, whereupon he would experience a sense of
annoyance and do a quick Hurdle.

He had seen in various Shop-Windows the spindly Utensils and snowy
Pellets which, he had reason to believe, were affiliated in some way
with the sickening Fad. He would look at them with extreme Contempt
and rather resent their contaminating contiguity to the Mask, the
Shin-Guard, and the upholstered Grabber.

Mr. Pallzey believed that Golf was played by the kind of White Rabbits
who March in Suffrage Parades, wearing Gloves.

The dreaded Thing lay outside of his Orbit and beyond his Ken, the
same as Tatting or Biology. His conception of a keen and sporty game