h and vitality."

"No," said Mr. Munchausen, "it wasn't that way at all. It saved my
life when I was attacked by a fierce and ravenously hungry lion. If I
hadn't known how to play golf it would have been farewell forever to
Mr. Munchausen, and Mr. Lion would have had a fine luncheon that day,
at which I should have been the turkey and cranberry sauce and mince
pie all rolled into one."

Ananias laughed.

"It's easy enough to laugh at my peril now," said Mr. Munchausen, "but
if you'd been with me you wouldn't have laughed very much. On the
contrary, Ananias, you'd have ruined what little voice you ever had
screeching."

"I wasn't laughing at the danger you were in," said Ananias. "I don't
see anything funny in that. What I was laughing at was the idea of a
lion turning up on a golf course. They don't have lions on any of the
golf courses that I am familiar with."

"That may be, my dear Ananias," said Mr. Munchausen, "but it doesn't
prove anything. What you are familiar with has no especial bearing
upon the ordering of the Universe. They had lions by the hundreds on
the particular links I refer to. I laid the links out myself and I
fancy I know what I am talking about. They were in the desert of
Sahara. And I tell you what it is," he added, slapping his knee
enthusiastically, "they were the finest links I ever played on. There
wasn't a hole shorter than three miles and a quarter, which gives you
plenty of elbow room, and the fair green had all the qualities of a
first class billiard table, so that your ball got a magnificent roll
on it."

"What did you do for hazards?" asked Ananias.

"Oh we had 'em by the dozen," replied Mr. Munchausen. "There weren't
any ponds or stone walls, of course, but there were plenty of others
that were quite as interesting. There was the Sphynx for instance; and
for bunkers the pyramids can't be beaten. Then occasionally right in
the middle of a game a caravan ten or twelve miles long, would begin
to drag its interminable length across the middle of the course, and
it takes mighty nice work with the lofting iron to lift a ball over a
caravan without hitting a camel or killing an Arab, I can tell you.
Then finally I'm sure I don't know of any more hazardous hazard for a
golf player--or for anybody else for that matter--than a real hungry
African lion out in search of breakfast, especially when you meet him
on the hole furthest from home and have a stretch of three or four
miles between