The Spirit of the Links

by Henry Leach

IV

Once a year there is a great foursome played between a Colonel and a Parson on the one side and an Author and an M.P. on the other, and they always look forward to it with great keenness. It is a compact among them that the match shall be played every year that all four are alive and within the United Kingdom. This is one of the most delightful kinds of matches, and no pleasure of reminiscence is so rich as that of golfers such as these in looking back over ten or twenty years of matches and comparing their recollections of them. All earnest golfers should have some arrangement of the kind with their best friends.

It happened the other morning when this match was to be played, that a great disappointment was in store for the little party, as they took train from Charing Cross bound for that fine inland course some twenty miles away to which they were all most devoted. Heavy clouds of ominous complexion were above at nine o’clock, and there was a suspicious look and feel about the atmosphere; but, like all good golfers, these men were optimists all, and would not mention to one another the fear that was in their hearts.

“I daresay we shall have a very nice day after all,” murmured the Parson, and the Colonel stated that he was nearly certain that the glass was rising when he last looked at it. A fine fellow is your golfing optimist. But when London had been left some ten miles behind, the hideous truth was exposed beyond any denial. It was snowing, and the chill of it went to the hearts of the golfers.

“Oh, this won’t be much,” said the M.P., “and it is certain to melt quickly, anyhow; see how watery are the flakes.”

But when they arrived at the course it was snowing more than ever, and big dry flakes were whirling in eddies all about, while the course already lay an inch beneath a white covering. It was a bad case. Unless there was a great change in an hour or so there could be no golf that day, and indeed the idea of it was already almost given up. The four sat in the smoke-room looking exceeding glum. Attempts to make congenial conversation failed. The Parson felt that it was incumbent on him to cheer up his friends, and after other kind efforts he bethought himself of what he considered to be an excellent story.

“Upon my word, you fellows,” he said, “I nearly forgot to tell you of the most extraordinary [occurrence] that I have ever heard of, and one in which a strange point of golfing law is involved. The case must be sent to St. Andrews.”

Everybody was alert at this announcement. It is an excellent thing to know that a poser of sorts is going to be put to that autocratic assembly in Fifeshire.

“Splendid!” ejaculated the Colonel, “we must hear this story of yours, Septimus; but I hope you are not going to pitch us that yarn you once told me about your wife’s brother having once played a low push shot across a river, and a salmon leaping at the ball as it skimmed across and being carried with it on to the bank! We have heard that, you know.”

“As I told you at the time,” responded the Parson, “I only repeated what my wife’s brother told me, and I certainly did not say that I had seen the fish dragged on to the bank in that manner. But this story was told me by my son Richard, when he was down from Oxford last time, and he declares the incident happened on the course at Radley. One of the men was engaged in a match, and going to the tenth he played a beautiful run up from forty yards off the putting green, that actually made the ball hit the pin and then it rolled into the hole; but it had no sooner got into the hole than out it flew again, and after it came a large frog! It was clear that the ball had rolled on the back of the frog in the hole, and that this frog, startled, no doubt, jumped up and out of the hole, ejecting the ball at the same time. The ball came to rest on the green, and my son’s friend thereupon claimed that he had holed out.”

For a few seconds there was a stony silence, and then the Colonel burst out with a loud guffaw.

“My dear old boy,” he exclaimed, “I am sure that you will find that story, or one very like it, in the Old Testament somewhere if you look sufficiently. It is as old as the hills! You really should not tell us these things. You know what the American did when he was told that story? He put a recommendation in the suggestion book that the club should urge upon the St. Andrews authorities that they should make an addition to the rules to something like this effect:

“‘If any frog, toad, snake, or other reptile, or a mouse, rat, weasel, mole, gopher, or other vermin (or in the case of casual water, a pike, pickerel, perch, pompano, or other fish) be in or near the hole, its presence being established to the satisfaction of two independent witnesses, such reptile, vermin, or fish must be removed before the next stroke is played, under penalty of the loss of the hole. Should a player unwittingly play at the hole when such reptile, vermin, or fish is in it, its presence being subsequently attested by the aforesaid independent witnesses, and such reptile, vermin, or fish either hinder the ball from entering the hole or eject it therefrom, the ball shall nevertheless be considered to have been duly holed, and no penalty shall be incurred.’

“Still,” went on the Colonel, after this little pleasantry, “you have given us a most excellent idea, Septimus. Now let each one of us think awhile, and let us see who can present to our little company the stiffest poser in golf law. Each of us, I suggest, shall be allowed to look at the rules for the space of ten minutes, no more and no less, and shall then have ten more minutes for consideration of his problem. What do you say, boys?”

All agreed that the idea was a most excellent one for the purpose of killing time and gathering knowledge about the rules. It was decided that the company should vote, if necessary, on the answers, and that while the Parson should be at liberty to choose his own position in the recital in virtue of what he had done already, the others should draw lots. The reverend gentleman decided that he would go last, and, on lots being drawn, the Colonel was settled to present the first problem, the Author the second, and the M.P. the third. When the twenty minutes had expired the four assembled at the table, and the Colonel was called upon to present his queer case. It was suggested to him that he should make it look as real as possible.

He submitted it as follows:

“Here is a nice point, which I think an Imperial Conference might be called upon to determine. General Botha, let us say, has a little dog, which takes some intelligent interest in the game of golf, as do many other dogs. He goes out to play a match with Dr. Jameson, and despite all rule and custom, ‘Bobs,’ as the little dog is called, is permitted to accompany them. When approaching the fourth hole the Doctor plays a lovely wrist shot with his iron which sends the ball on to the green, trickling close up to the pin. In one of his frisky moments that wretched dog scampers after it, picks it up in his mouth before it (the ball) had stopped running, and then begins playing about with it. The dog drops the ball on to the green two or three times, paws at it and plays with it, and then, seemingly struck by an inspiration, rolls it into the hole. ‘By Jove! That’s my hole, then, Botha!’ exclaims the Doctor, although the General has laid his ball dead with his mashie with the like. ‘How do you make that out? Let us be fair, now that we are such good friends,’ says Botha. ‘Most certainly,’ replies the Doctor, ‘but you must see that as the ball went into the hole from that last shot of mine I holed from that shot. Of course it was a pity that your dog got up to his tricks, but he is an outside agency, and I don’t see that it makes any difference to the result.’ Botha thinks awhile. Then he asks, ‘Did you watch “Bobs” closely while he had the ball?’ Dr. Jameson assented. ‘Then,’ Botha says, ‘there may be one circumstance in which you do not win that hole, my friend, and when we go to England we will discuss it with the authorities.’ Now what was passing through Botha’s mind, and is his point a good one anyway?”

“Excellent for you, Colonel,” said the M.P. after a moment’s pause. “Now, gentlemen, what must we do with Botha, for it is clear that we are the authority to whom he refers. But then we have a right to know what it was that Botha had in his mind at the finish of his little argument with Dr. Jim. You will tell us that, Colonel?”

“Botha urges that he saw ‘Bobs’ let the ball come to rest when pawing it about.”

“And what does Jameson say to that?” inquired the Author.

“Oh, Jameson does not deny it. He says that he did not see it, but he thinks it very probable, and he will certainly yield that point if it is material, as he desires that the case should be settled strictly on its merits, neither side taking any unfair advantage of the other.”

“It is a pity that they could not settle it on terms of equity,” said the Parson.

“I don’t agree that equity has anything to do with the case,” observed the Colonel at length. “It seems to me that Botha’s point settles it, and that the ball must be played from the place where the dog allowed it to come to rest. I don’t think Dr. Jim wins the hole at all. Rule 22 governs the case partly but not entirely. By the way, Septimus, when we turn up rules to settle these cases, I think you should only look at those affecting the one in hand, and not at other rules which have a bearing on the case you are to present. You have had your ten minutes’ study, you know. Now it is clear that the ball was in motion when the dog seized it, and if the dog then took it direct to the hole it all counted in the stroke. This case does not come within the clause about the ball lodging in anything moving, because the dog was not moving when it seized the ball. Once the dog let the ball stop on the green the stroke was ended. Therefore it is evidently a question as to whether it allowed it to come to rest or not, and Botha’s evidence settles the matter. What do you say, William?”

“I entirely agree,” responded the M.P.

“And you, Jim?”

“I agree,” said the Author.

“I trust we can count on your support, Septimus?” said the Colonel, looking across towards the Parson.

“Oh, certainly,” he replied.

“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel in his most official manner, “it is determined that Dr. Jameson did not hole out with that stroke. I am informed that they putted out afterwards, each in one more, and therefore the hole was halved. Now, my literary friend, will you kindly present your case?”

The Author thereupon advanced his queer case as follows:

“A very awkward point has arisen in the course of play on the links at Valhalla. Shakespeare and Bacon, who are staying there at the present time, got up very early one morning, when the other golfers were asleep, and went out for a match, without caddies. Going to the seventh hole, which is both a short one and a blind one—a thoroughly bad hole—the players were not aware that the greenkeeper was on the putting-green cutting a new hole. They played their tee shots and then went forward to the green, when they were surprised to find that the ball of each lay dead to a different hole. The greenkeeper had taken the flag and the metal lining out of the old hole, and had cut the slab of turf out of the new one, but had not at that time placed the metal cup or the flag into the new one, nor put the turf into the old one to fill it up. Bacon’s ball lay dead to the new hole, and Shakespeare’s to the old one. Each insisted on holing out at the hole to which his ball lay dead (the holes were many yards apart), and then the dispute began, each claiming the hole. Shakespeare said that as the new hole was not finished the old one was still in commission. ‘No,’ said Bacon, ‘not satisfied with cheating me out of my plays, you now try to take my holes. We have evidently been playing at new holes all the way out so far, and we must continue to do so. It is the new holes that count.’ ‘But,’ expostulated Shakespeare, ‘there are more old holes on the course at the present time than new ones. And this wretched greenkeeper will take two hours to finish his job. Must we dawdle behind him the whole way round? Let us ask the greenkeeper which hole was most like a hole at the time the balls came on to the green.’ The greenkeeper, however, was very ill-tempered, having been nearly hit by one of the balls, and he declined to answer the question. He said that people had no business to be playing on the course while holes were being cut, no matter who they were. Eventually the parties gave up their match and went back to the clubhouse, when they agreed to submit the point to some carefully constituted authority that would do its best to settle this most unfortunate and undignified quarrel between two eminently respectable persons of considerable standing.”

The Author looked about him after this deliverance.

“H’m!” muttered the Colonel, “not bad for you, Jim.”

“It seems to me,” said the Reverend Septimus, “that Bacon certainly won if the new hole was full size, despite its not having had the tin put into it.”

“Oh yes, it was full size,” interposed the Author.

“The old hole,” pursued the Parson, “was ground under repair, but if the new hole was not full size Shakespeare won.”

“Of course,” remarked the Author, “the tin is only mentioned to indicate the state of transition.”

“I don’t agree with Septimus,” said the M.P. “The rules do not provide for this contingency, and it must be settled under the equity clause of Rule 36. Regarding it in this way, it seems exactly six of one and half a dozen of the other, and the best—indeed, the only thing—to do is to regard the green as under repair, and the hole as temporarily closed. Shakespeare and Bacon should therefore call it a half and pass on. If they had seen the flag before playing their tee shots it might have made a difference.”

“I am in entire accord with you, William,” the Colonel declared.

“Ditto,” said the Author. “That was the ruling I had in my mind.”

“I think we ought to have another opinion,” persisted the Parson, “but for the present I desire to go with the majority.”

“Now let us hear the character of the problem that our friend the hon. member for North-East Fife has to present to this tribunal,” said the Colonel, with an expectant look to the quarter indicated.

“My case is a somewhat singular one, gentlemen,” the M.P. responded. “It is this:

“A public road leading to the clubhouse crosses the line to the second hole, and when John Smith and Isaac Rosenstein were playing this hole it happened that Isaac’s bad slice landed his ball under the back seat of a motor-car standing still in the road, said car, curiously enough, being the new one which Rosenstein himself has bought this season, and which, it is suggested, he likes to ‘show off’ with. Seeing where the ball had gone to, and having the price of ten balls on the match, a thought passed through his mind. Hailing the chauffeur in the car, he exclaimed, ‘You mitherable vellow! Did I not tell you to geep that car in the garage at the back of the clubhouse, where it vould not be damaged. Be off vith you this very instant, or I vill sack you! Quick!’ And before John Smith could speak the chauffeur was doing his forty miles an hour back to the clubhouse—with the ball still in the car. Smith and Rosenstein then wrangled for hours, the latter being greatly astonished because his opponent objected to his dropping a ball, and that without penalty, at the spot where he played his last stroke. The points presented for argument are these: (1) Shall Rosenstein drop without losing a stroke? (2) Shall he drop and lose stroke and distance? (3) Shall he not drop at all, but lose the hole? (4) Shall he play the ball from where it lies under the seat of the motor-car in the club garage, as, if he loses on the first two counts, he wants to do? (5) What ought to have been done?”

“I trust that your friend Rosenstein will not offer himself as a candidate for membership of this club,” observed the Colonel with a smile, “because you might tell him if he thinks of doing so that I have heard of this incident, and I happen to be on the committee.”

“He is no friend of mine,” said the M.P.

“Well then, gentlemen,” the man of arms demanded, “what is your pleasure that we should do in the affaire Rosenstein?”

“I don’t think there is very much doubt about that,” observed the Parson, “We must be unanimous in this matter. I think we may safely leave it to you, Colonel, to make the award.”

The M.P. and the Author assented, but it was understood that the former should have the privilege of sending the case back for re-trial if he disagreed.

“Then, gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “I give judgment as follows:

“Rosenstein loses the hole. It was his duty to have played the ball from the place where it lodged in the car, and there is a strong suspicion that he knew it! He is not entitled to regard the car as an agency outside the match, since he controlled the car and ordered it away. By his own act he made it impossible for him to obey the rules. He loses under Rule 7, and it may be mentioned that the Rules of Golf Committee has already decided that a ball played into a motor-car must be played out of it, or the hole given up. Clearly the ball lying in the car in the club garage does not lie where it did before.”

“I quite agree,” said the M.P.

“But should not something be done with Rosenstein?” the Parson asked.

“That is for his own committee to determine,” the Colonel replied. “We have no jurisdiction. And now, Septimus, I am sure that the tit-bit of this sitting of the court will be submitted by you. We are anticipating that. I beg to move that if your case is not so pointed and interesting as those already presented, you shall be condemned to give such an order to the steward as will do something to stifle our disappointment, and take the chill from our blood on this wretched day. What do you think, my colleagues?”

“It is an excellent and a most proper idea,” the Author said, and the M.P. concurred.

“As you will,” the clergyman assented. “Now the little problem that has arisen in my mind runs this way:—

“Dives said to Lazarus, ‘These are days of charity, my poor friend, but the cases must be deserving. The par of this course is 74. If you can get round in 68 I will give you one twentieth of what I have got.’ Lazarus wept tears of gratitude, and forthwith began to take lessons and to practise exceedingly, three rounds a day, for his handicap was 24. And years passed by and he did not go round even in par; but one day, having great luck, a sensation was caused about the links, and the word was passed about that old Lazarus had got a 4 at the last hole to do 68. And he had. But he took 3 to get on the green, and then had a 10-yard putt for the 4 and 68, which was not an easy matter, particularly as the putt was downhill and there was a big slope from the left as well. Dives was watching and he smiled, but Lazarus was in sore trouble. Then he bethought himself of an idea, and he placed a ball to the left of his own and he tried to putt it to a point exactly a foot to the left of the hole. First he found that he borrowed too much, and then too little, and next that he was too strong, but eventually he got it right exactly, and his ball just got to a foot to the left of the hole. ‘Now, I know,’ he said, and then he putted his proper ball, and with great confidence, and it went into the hole! Whereupon Dives was much wroth, and said, ‘Surely I will not give you a twentieth of what I have got, for you have offended against the law and the spirit of the game, and you did not go round in 68, but are disqualified.’ Lazarus said, ‘Master, I have not offended against the law of the game, and as for the spirit thereof I care not, for having gained the twentieth of what you have got I shall never play it more.’ And when they heard what Lazarus said they were amazed, and they said they must have some proper judgment upon it. Does Lazarus come into his fortune after finding the line and strength of his putt in that fashion?”

The Parson seemed pleased with himself when he had finished his statement.

“I believe the beggar’s got off—Septimus, I mean!” the M.P. ejaculated.

“I am sure he has,” agreed the Colonel.

“Now, you see,” put in the Author, “the wretched Lazarus did not tamper with the line of the putt. He practised along what was to all intents and purposes that line; but it was not the line, or else he might have been caught. He placed no mark and drew no line.”

“That is so,” muttered the Colonel thoughtfully.

“He clearly offended against the spirit of the game,” the M.P. observed. “You or I would not have done such a thing in any circumstances, eh, Colonel?”

“Of course not,” the Colonel replied, “but it has to be remembered that this was really almost a matter of life and death to the old man, and in such a case he was perhaps not to be blamed for sticking to the strict letter of the law. From our point of view the spirit is above the law; but when it comes to a case of this kind, with goodness knows how many thousands at stake, a merciless fellow on the other side who is himself inclined to stick to the law exactly, and when Lazarus, as he says, intends to have done with the game, why I am not sure that from his point of view—his, mind you—he is to be condemned for throwing the spirit overboard. His opponent would do so—in fact, to all intents and purposes he does. This has become a strictly business transaction. The question is, did he break the law?”

“You remember the Rules Committee’s decision in the famous Selkirk case in 1906?” the M.P. asked. “It showed the Committee’s very proper anxiety to preserve the true spirit even to the extent of straining the interpretation of the rule about touching the line of the putt. I believe some of them privately admitted that they were conscious of straining it; but they were doing so in a very good cause, and to my mind they were to be applauded rather than blamed. In this case a foursome was being played, and while one man was preparing to putt, his partner stood two yards beyond the hole on the other side, and from there pointed out the line of the putt, incidentally letting his putter rest on the turf to do so—two yards beyond the hole. The opponents claimed the hole on the ground that the line of the putt had been touched, meaning that the line from the ball to the hole, continued beyond the hole, was still the line of the putt. The case was sent to St. Andrews, and the Rules Committee upheld the claim and gave the hole to the opponents—a remarkable decision!”

“H’m!” the Colonel grunted. “Of course, give some golfers an inch and they will take a yard; and supposing the putter had been laid on that line only two inches beyond the hole, the green had been very keen, and had sloped down to the hole from the back side. If the ball had got to the point where the putter had rested it might conceivably have rolled back into the hole. There would be splendid justification for the Rules Committee in a case of that kind, and it would prove the wisdom of the Selkirk decision. Of course every day of our lives we see golfers, when studying their putts from the back side of the hole, allowing their putters to rest on the green in the continuation of the line. However, Lazarus seems to have been quite clear of any decision of this kind. By no stretch of imagination can you call a line which is a foot to one side of the real line, although parallel to it, ‘the line of the putt.’”

“The Americans have been tinkering with a proposed new set of rules,” the Author said, “and one of their suggested rules prohibits a practice swing anywhere except on the tee. That would govern this case.”

“Ah yes, but what about our own code?” the Colonel said.

“The practice stroke is not forbidden,” the M.P. observed after careful reference to the rules, “but I remember that on one occasion a very similar point was submitted to the Rules Committee, and they said that such a thing was so obviously contrary to the spirit of the game that they had not thought it necessary to legislate upon the point. And they have not done so, and”—

“That is so, and they were quite right,” the Colonel interrupted hurriedly, “because this is golf, and we cannot have rules in our code to say that men must not cheat, and the penalties for doing so. It would be too much of a reflection on us as gentlemen and golfers. But here is a most exceptional case, where advantage is taken of the omission, and Lazarus appeals to the law and the law only. He will stand by the law—the strict letter of it.”

“I believe he must have his money,” the Author said.

“It is the law,” said the M.P.

“I think so,” put in the Parson.

“Then, Septimus,” the Colonel concluded, “will you kindly tell your friend Lazarus that he may send a chartered accountant round to Dives’ headquarters to examine his financial position, with a view to a proper apportionment of his estate on the basis of nineteen parts to Dives and one part to Lazarus? And you had better tell the new record-holder at the same time that we don’t like this sort of thing, and we expect him to keep to his statement that he will not play the game again. He will have the fever on him after that 68, and with a few thousands a year at his disposal he will be after getting into all the clubs. I know these renunciations of golf. I have renounced myself—hundreds of times!”

At this moment the door opened and the steward entered to say that luncheon was ready. “Splendid!” exclaimed the Colonel. “Gentlemen, the court is closed!”