e isn't one
perfect caddy, much less a regiment of the little reprobates."

"You are wrong there," said Boswell. "You don't know how to produce a
good caddy--but good caddies can be made."

"How?" I cried, for I have suffered. "I'll have the plan patented."

"Take a flexible brassey, and at the ninth hole, if they deserve it,
give them eighteen strokes across the legs with all your strength," said
Boswell. "But, as I said before, don't interrupt. I haven't much time
left to talk with you."

"But I must ask one more question," I put in, for I was growing excited
over a new idea. "You say give them eighteen strokes across the legs.
Across whose legs?"

"Yours," replied Boswell. "Just take your caddy up, place him across
your knees, and spank him with your brassey. Spank isn't a good golf
term, but it is good enough for the average caddy; in fact, it will do
him good."

"Go on," said I, with a mental resolve to adopt his prescription.

"Well," said Boswell, "Munchausen, having received an imaginary
challenge from an imaginary opponent, accepted. He went out to the
links with an imaginary ball, an imaginary bagful of fanciful clubs, and
licked the imaginary life out of the colonel."

"Still, I don't see," said I, somewhat jealously, perhaps, "how that
makes him king-pin in golf circles. Where did he play?"

"On imaginary links," said Boswell.

"Poh!" I ejaculated.

"Don't sneer," said Boswell. "You know yourself that the links you
imagine are far better than any others."

"What is Munchausen's strongest point?" I asked, seeing that there was
no arguing with the man--"driving, approaching, or putting?"

"None of the three. He cannot put, he foozles every drive, and at
approaching he's a consummate ass," said Boswell.

"Then what can he do?" I cried.

"Count," said Boswell. "Haven't you learned that yet? You can spend
hours learning how to drive, weeks to approach, and months to put. But
if you want to win you must know how to count."

I was silent, and for the first time in my life I realized that
Munchausen was not so very different from certain golfers I have met in
my short day as a golfiac, and then Boswell put in:

"You see, it isn't lofting or driving that wins," he continued. "Cups
aren't won on putting or approaching. It's the man who puts in the best
card who becomes the champion."

"I am afraid you are right," I said, sadly, "but I am sorry to find that
Hades is as badly off as we mortals in