"Certainly," I said. "I'm an awfully rotten player. Ashamed to mention my handicap."
"Can't be worse than I am, Sir. There'll be a pair of us. What shall we play for? I like to have something on it."
"What you like," I replied. "Box of balls if you wish."
"Right."
And away we went. I beat him by eight up and seven to play and was marching triumphantly up to the club-house when Redford intercepted me.
"What's your game?" he said. "You wouldn't play with me and now you've played a round with our Candidate."
"Redford," I said, "when that dear old gentleman came along I felt that I had acted improperly in introducing political acerbity on the links. I was wrong, and as a proof of it I am willing to play level with any politician in the club for the same stakes—providing that his handicap is over twenty."
"PEREANT QUI ANTE NOS...."
["Before the Love of Letters, overdone,