* * * * *
Duncan and McTaggart the minister were in to-night, and we got on to the subject of wit and humour. Having a psycho-analysis complex I mentioned the theory that we laugh so as to give release to our repressions. The others shook their heads, and I decided to test my theory on them. I told them the story of the golfer who was driving off about a foot in front of the teeing marks. The club secretary happened to come along.
"Here, my man!" cried the indignant secretary, "you're disqualified!"
"What for?" demanded the player.
"You're driving off in front of the teeing mark."
The player looked at him pityingly.
"Away, you bletherin' idiot!" he said tensely, "I'm playing my third!"
"Now," I said to the others, "I'm going to tell you one by one what your golf is like. You, McTaggart, are a scratch man or a plus man. Is that so?"
"Plus one," he said in surprise. "How did you guess?"
"I didn't guess," I said with great superiority. "I found out by pure science. You didn't laugh at my joke; you merely smiled. That shows that bad golf doesn't touch any complex inside you. The man who takes three strokes to make one foot of ground means nothing to you because, as I say, there's nothing in yourself it touches."