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He would ask her to throw an Amber Light on the Big Hero. He would call her “Kid” and say that Vardon had nothing on him. Her man was the Gink to show that Pill how to take a Joke.

Then she would know that he had won a Box of Balls from Mrs. Talbot’s poor old crippled Father-in-Law.

She could read him like a Barometer. If he and Mr. Hilgus, the Real Estate Man, came home together fifteen feet apart, she would know it had been a Jolly Day on the Links.

By the second summer, Mr. Pallzey had worked up until he was allowed to use a Shower Bath once hallowed by the presence of Jerome Travers.

He was not exactly a Duffer. He was what might be called a sub-Duffer, or Varnish, which means that the Committee was ashamed to mark up the Handicap.

He still had a good many superfluous Hands and Feet and was bleeding freely on every Green.

Sometimes he would last as far as the Water-Hazard and then sink with a Bubbling Cry.

Notwithstanding which, he kept on trying to look like the Photographs of Ouimet.

If he spun into the High Spinach off at the Right it was Tough Luck. If he whanged away with a Niblick down in a bottomless Pit, caromed on a couple of Oaks, and finally angled off toward the Cup, he would go around for Days talking about Some Shot.

As his Ambition increased, his Mental Arithmetic became more and more defective and his Moral Nature was wholly atrophied.

As an Exponent of the more advanced Play he was a Fliv, but as a Matchmaker he was a Hum-Dinger.

He knew he was plain pastry for the Sharks, so he would hang around the first Tee waiting to cop out a Pudding.

One day he took on Mrs. Olmstead’s Infant Son, just home from Military School.

The tender Cadet nursed him along to an even-up at the Punch-Bowl and then proceeded to smear His vital Organs all over the Bad Lands.

That evening Mr. Pallzey told her she would have to cut down on Household Expenses.

Six years after he gave up the Business Career and consecrated himself to something more Important, Mr. Pallzey had so well mastered the baffling Intricacies that he was allowed to trail in a Foursome with the President of the Club. This happened once.

It is well known that any Person who mooches around a Country Club for a sufficient Period will have some kind of a Cup wished on to him.

Fourteen years after Mr. Pallzey threw himself into it, Heart and Soul, and when the Expenses approximated $30,000, he earned his Halo.

One evening he came back to his haggard Companion, chortling infant-wise, and displayed something which looked like an Eye-Cup with Handles on it.

He said it was a Trophy. It was a Consolation Offering for Maidens with an allowance of more than eighteen.

After that their daily Life revolved around the $2 bargain in Britannia. Mrs. Pallzey had to use Metal Polish on it to keep it from turning black.

When the Visitors lined up in front of the Mantel and gazed at the tiny Shaving Mug, the Cellar Champion of the World would regale them with the story of hair-breadth ‘Scapes and moving Adventures by Gravel Gulleys and rushing Streams on the Memorable Day when he (Pallzey) had put the Blocks to Old Man McLaughlin, since deceased.

Then he would ask all present to feel of his Forearm, after which he would pull the Favorite One about Golf adding ten years to his life.

Mrs. Pallzey would be sitting back, pouring Tea, but she never chimed in with any Estimate as to what had been the effect on her Table of Expectations.

MORAL: Remain under the Awning.