"I shouldn't consider them very good clubs, Harold, if they break off like that," said his mother.
"What do you know about clubs?" he snapped, and I at once knew what class he was in at the preparatory school.
If I was ever like one of these, said I to myself, God rest the sage soul of my Uncle Rilas!
The situation was no longer humorous. I could put up with anything but the mishandling of my devoted golf clubs.
Striding up to him, I snatched the remnants from his hands.
"You infernal cub!" I roared. "Haven't you any more sense than to smash a golf club like that? For two cents I'd break this putter over your head."
"Father!" he yelled indignantly. "Who is this mucker?"
Mr. Rocksworth bounced toward me, his cane raised. I whirled upon him.
"How dare you!" he shouted. The ladies squealed.
If he expected me to cringe, he was mightily mistaken. My blood was up. I advanced.