“So he is,” said Boswell.
“Then you mean—”
“I mean that Munchausen beat him forty-seven up,” said Boswell.
“Were there any witnesses?” I demanded, for I had little faith in Munchausen's regard for the eternal verities, among which a golf-card must be numbered if the game is to survive.
“Yes, a hundred,” said Boswell. “There was only one trouble with 'em.” Here the great biographer laughed. “They were all imaginary, like the colonel.”
“And Munchausen's score?” I queried.
“The same, naturally. But it makes him king-pin in golf circles just the same, because nobody can go back on his logic,” said Boswell. “Munchausen reasoned it out very logically indeed, and largely, he said, to protect his own reputation. Here is an imaginary warrior, said he, who makes a bully, but wholly imaginary, score at golf. He sends me an imaginary challenge to play him forty-seven holes. I accept, not so much because I consider myself a golfer as because I am an imaginer—if there is such a word.”
“Ask Dr. Johnson,” said I, a little sarcastically. I always grow sarcastic when golf is mentioned.
“Dr. Johnson be—” began Boswell.
“Boswell!” I remonstrated.