"I'll tell you what's wrong with you, Bob. You're overgolfed. You've been playing too much lately."
"You've gone stale," said another.
"Nonsense!" argued a third. "You don't go stale at golf; you simply get off your game. Now what Bob ought to do is to take one club and a dozen balls and stay with that club until he gets his shots back."
"That's no good," said a fourth. "If his wood has gone bad on him he ought to leave his driver in his bag and use an iron off the tee. Chick Evans does that."
"An iron off the tee," said the veteran, "is a confession of weakness."
"Bob, why don't you get the 'pro' to give you a lesson or two? He might be able to straighten you out."
"Oh, what does a professional know about the theory of golf? All he can do is to tell you to watch him and do the way he does. Now what Bob needs——"
Every man who plays golf, no matter how badly, feels himself competent to offer advice. For a long ten minutes the air was heavy with well-meant suggestions. Coming at the wrong time, nothing is more galling than sympathetic counsel. Bob Coyne, six-handicap man and expert in the theory of golf, hunched his shoulders and endured it all without comment or protest. Somewhere in his head an idea was taking definite shape. Slowly but surely he was being urged to the point where decision merges into action.
"I tell you," said the veteran with the calm insistence of age, "Bob ought to take a lay-off. He ought to forget golf for a while."
Coyne rose and moved toward the door. As his hand touched the knob the irrepressible Parkes hurled the last straw athwart a heavy burden.