John Henry Smith | Page 4

is a most glorious creature, and I yield to no one in my
admiration of the fair sex, but a woman is out of her proper
environment when she persists in frequenting a golf course designed
for men who are experts at the game.
When I see women on the broad verandas of the Woodvale Club, or
when I see them strolling along the shaded paths or indulging in tennis,
croquet, and other games to which they are physically fitted, I know
that they possess tact and discrimination, but when I see them ahead of
me on the golf links--well, it is different.
Women may gain in health by attempting to play golf, but they do so at
the expense of shattered masculine nerves and morals. When our board
of management decided to permit the ladies to have free use of the
course at all times except when tournaments are in progress, I resigned
as director, but what good did it do?
A woman never is so tenacious of her rights as when she is in the
wrong. I wonder if that is original?
I know of no agony more acute than to be condemned to play golf with
women when there is a chance to get in a foursome with good scratch
men. The dyspeptic compelled to fast while watching the progress of a
banquet, must suffer similar torture.
"What's the use of sitting here and talking?" demanded Chilvers. "It has
cooled off; let's have a foursome. Marshall and I will play you and
Boyd, Smith. What do you say?"
At this instant the head waiter appeared and said Mr. Thomas wished
me to come to his table for a moment. Thomas was on the other side of
the veranda, but I had a suspicion of what was in store for me and arose
with a sinking heart.
Thomas is the only good player in the club who is willing to make up a
foursome with women, or, as it is most properly called, a "mixed
foursome." I never saw one which was not mixed before many holes
had been played.
Just as I anticipated, I found Thomas at a table with Miss Ross and
Miss Dangerfield. Both are so pretty it is a shame they attempt to play
golf.
"We are planning a foursome and Miss Dangerfield has chosen you for
her partner," began Thomas, who knows exactly how I feel about such

matters and who delights to lure me into trouble.
"If you and Miss Dangerfield will give Miss Ross and me two strokes,"
proposed Thomas, "we will play you for the dinners."
I felt sure it was a put-up job, but what could I say?
"I did not dare choose you for my partner, Mr. Smith," interposed Miss
Dangerfield. "I know it is tiresome for a good player to go pottering
around the links with women at his heels, and only suggested a game if
you had no other engagements."
"Mr. Smith dare not plead another engagement," asserted Miss Ross,
her dark eyes flashing a challenge. She is a lovely girl, but digs up the
turf terribly.
"Smith has no game on. He has been over there talking for an hour,"
added Thomas, before I could say a word. I could have murdered him.
"I am delighted, and it is kind of you to ask me," I lied most effusively.
"It is an easy game for us, Miss Dangerfield."
"Do not be too sure," scornfully laughed Miss Rosa. "Mr. Thomas is a
splendid player."
"But he cannot equal Mr. Smith," declared my loyal partner. "Oh, Mr.
Smith, I have heard so much of your long drives and wonderful
approach shots! It is so good of you to play with us."
"It is an unexpected pleasure," I replied, rather ashamed of myself.
I have no patience to describe in detail the game which followed. I am
usually sure on a drive, but I topped five out of the eighteen and
popped half of the others into the air.
Miss Dangerfield distinguished herself by missing her ball four
successive times from the tee. This is not the female record for this feat,
so I am informed, but it is a very creditable performance for a young
lady who selects a scratch player for her partner.
Miss Ross played my ball by mistake on two occasions, and on one of
them succeeded in almost cutting it in half. It is a mystery to me why a
woman cannot keep track of her own ball, when as a rule she does not
knock it more than twenty yards.
The ball she hits is usually a dirty, hacked-up object, but when she goes
to look for it she imagines that by some miracle it has been transformed
into a clean, white, and