"And the fight will be on
barebacked horses, for such is the custom of the Scotch."
The duel did not occur.
* * * * *
THE GAME OF HIS LIFE.
I met the mercurial Gosling at the club a few days ago. As I hadn't seen
him for some time I asked if he had been on a holiday. "Yes," he said,
"down at Shinglestrand. Golfing? No--yes. I did play one game, the first
since the War, and rather a remarkable game it was. I'm a member of the
golf-club there, and was down at the clubhouse one morning looking at
the papers when a fat middle-aged man, about my age, asked me if I cared
for a game. I didn't, but in a spirit of self-sacrifice said that I
should be very glad. 'I think I ought to tell you,' he went on, 'that I
don't care about playing with a 18-handicap man, and that I always like
to have a sovereign on the match.' Now I never was much of a player--too
erratic, I suppose. My handicap has gone up from 12 to 18, and the last
time I played it was about 24. But, exasperated by his swank, I suddenly
found myself saying, 'My handicap is 12.' 'Very well,' replied the fat
man, 'I'll give you 4 strokes.' We went out to the first tee, and after
he had made a moderate shot I hit the drive of my life. My second landed
on the green and I ran down a long putt--this for a 4-bogey hole.
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