minute," said Mr. Pallzey, as he
carelessly extracted a Mid-iron.

He sauntered up to the silly Globule and took an unpremeditated Swipe.
The Stroke rang sweet and vibrant. The ball rose in parabolic Splendor
above the highest branches of a venerable Elm.

Just as the Face of the Club started on the Follow Through, the
Bacillus ran up and bit Mr. Pallzey on the Leg.

He saw the blinking White Spot far out on the emerald Plain. He heard
the murmur of Admiration behind him. He was sorry his Wife had not
been there to take it in.

"Leave me have another Ball," requested Mr. Pallzey.

The Virus was working.

He backed up so as to get a Running Start.

"This time," quoth Mr. Pallzey, "I will push it to Milwaukee."

Missing the Object of Attack by a scant six inches, he did a Genee toe-
spin and fell heavily with his Face among the Dandelions.

The Host brushed him off and said: "Your Stance was wrong; your Tee
was too high; you raised the Left Shoulder; you were too rapid on the
Come-Back; the Grip was all in the Left Hand; you looked up; you moved
your Head at the top of the Stroke; you allowed the Left Knee to turn,
and you stood ahead of the Ball. Otherwise, it was a Loo-Loo."

"If I come out next Sunday could you borrow me a Kit of Tools?" asked
Mr. Pallzey. He was twitching violently and looking at the Ball as if
it had called him a Name. "I got that first one all right, and I think
----"

So it was arranged that the poor doomed Creature was to appear on the
following Sabbath and be equipped with a set of Cast-Offs and learn all
about the Mystery of the Ages between 11 A. M. and 2 P. M..

Mr. Pallzey went away not knowing that he was a Marked Man.

On Monday he told the Stenographer how he stung the Ball the first time
up. He said he was naturally quick at picking up any kind of Game. He
thought it would be a Lark to get the hang of the Whole Business and
then get after some of those Berties in the White Pants. He figured
that Golf would be soft for any one who had played Baseball when young.
Truly all the raving is not done within the Padded Cells.

He came home in the Sabbath Twilight, walking on his Ankles and
babbling about a Dandy Drive for the Long Hole.

Regarding the other 378 Strokes he was discreetly silent.

He told his Wife there was more in it than one would suppose. The
Easier the Swat, the greater the Carry. And he had made one Hole in
seven.

Then he took a Parasol out of