People are continually writing to the papers--or it may be onesolitary enthusiast who writes under a number of pseudonyms--on thesubject of sport, and the over-doing of the same by the modern youngman. I recall one letter in which "Efficiency" gave it as his opinionthat if the Young Man played less golf and did more drill, he would beall the better for it. I propose to report my doings with theprofessor on the links at some length, in order to refute this absurdview. Everybody ought to play golf, and nobody can begin it too soon.

　　There ought not to be a single able-bodied infant in the British Isleswho has not foozled a drive. To take my case. Suppose I had employedin drilling the hours I had spent in learning to handle my clubs. Imight have drilled before the professor by the week without softeninghis heart. I might have ported arms and grounded arms and presentedarms, and generally behaved in the manner advocated by "Efficiency,"and what would have been the result? Indifference on his part, or--andif I overdid the thing--irritation. Whereas, by devoting a reasonableportion of my youth to learning the intricacies of golf I wasenabled . . .

　　It happened in this way.

　　To me, as I stood with Ukridge in the fowl-run in the morningfollowing my maritime conversation with the professor, regarding a henthat had posed before us, obviously with a view to inspection, thereappeared a man carrying an envelope. Ukridge, who by this time saw, asCalverley almost said, "under every hat a dun," and imagined that noenvelope could contain anything but a small account, softly andsilently vanished away, leaving me to interview the enemy.

　　"Mr. Garnet, sir?" said the foe.

　　I recognised him. He was Professor Derrick's gardener.

　　I opened the envelope. No. Father's blessings were absent. The letterwas in the third person. Professor Derrick begged to inform Mr. Garnetthat, by defeating Mr. Saul Potter, he had qualified for the finalround of the Combe Regis Golf Tournament, in which, he understood, Mr.

　　Garnet was to be his opponent. If it would be convenient for Mr.

　　Garnet to play off the match on the present afternoon, ProfessorDerrick would be obliged if he would be at the Club House at half-pasttwo. If this hour and day were unsuitable, would he kindly arrangeothers. The bearer would wait.

　　The bearer did wait. He waited for half-an-hour, as I found itimpossible to shift him, not caring to use violence on a man wellstricken in years, without first plying him with drink. He absorbedmore of our diminishing cask of beer than we could conveniently spare,and then trudged off with a note, beautifully written in the thirdperson, in which Mr. Garnet, after numerous compliments and thanks,begged to inform Professor Derrick that he would be at the Club Houseat the hour mentioned.

　　"And," I added--to myself, not in the note--"I will give him such alicking that he'll brain himself with a cleek."For I was not pleased with the professor. I was conscious of amalicious joy at the prospect of snatching the prize from him. I knewhe had set his heart on winning the tournament this year. To berunner-up two years in succession stimulates the desire for firstplace. It would be doubly bitter to him to be beaten by a newcomer,after the absence of his rival, the colonel, had awakened hope in him.

　　And I knew I could do it. Even allowing for bad luck--and I am never avery unlucky golfer--I could rely almost with certainty on crushingthe man.

　　"And I'll do it," I said to Bob, who had trotted up. I often make Bobthe recipient of my confidences. He listens appreciatively, and neverinterrupts. And he never has grievances of his own. If there is oneperson I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when Iwish to air mine.

　　"Bob," I said, running his tail through my fingers, "listen to me, myold University chum, for I have matured a dark scheme. Don't run away.

　　You know you don't really want to go and look at that chicken. Listento me. If I am in form this afternoon, and I feel in my bones that Ishall be, I shall nurse the professor. I shall play with him. Do youunderstand the principles of Match play at Golf, Robert? You score byholes, not strokes. There are eighteen holes. All right, how was /I/to know that you knew that without my telling you? Well, if youunderstand so much about the game, you will appreciate my dark scheme.

　　I shall toy with the professor, Bob. I shall let him get ahead, andthen catch him up. I shall go ahead myself, and let him catch me up. Ishall race him neck and neck till the very end. Then, when his hairhas turned white with the strain, and he's lost a couple of stone inweight, and his eyes are starting out of his head, and he's praying--if he ever does pray--to the Gods of Golf that he may be allowed towin, I shall go ahead and beat him by a hole. /I'll/ teach him,Robert. He shall taste of my despair, and learn by proof in some wildhour how much the wretched dare. And when it's all over, and he's tornall his hair out and smashed all his clubs, I shall go and commitsuicide off the Cob. Because, you see, if I can't marry Phyllis, Ishan't have any use for life."Bob wagged his tail cheerfully.

　　"I mean it," I said, rolling him on his back and punching him on thechest till his breathing became stertorous. "You don't see the senseof it, I know. But then you've got none of the finer feelings. You'rea jolly good dog, Robert, but you're a rank materialist. Bones andcheese and potatoes with gravy over them make you happy. You don'tknow what it is to be in love. You'd better get right side up now, oryou'll have apoplexy."It has been my aim in the course of this narrative to extenuatenothing, nor set down aught in malice. Like the gentleman who playedeuchre with the Heathen Chinee, I state but facts. I do not,therefore, slur over my scheme for disturbing the professor's peace ofmind. I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, butI have my off moments.

　　I felt ruthless towards the professor. I cannot plead ignorance of thegolfer's point of view as an excuse for my plottings. I knew that toone whose soul is in the game as the professor's was, the agony ofbeing just beaten in an important match exceeds in bitterness allother agonies. I knew that, if I scraped through by the smallestpossible margin, his appetite would be destroyed, his sleep o' nightsbroken. He would wake from fitful slumber moaning that if he had onlyused his iron instead of his mashie at the tenth, all would have beenwell; that, if he had putted more carefully on the seventh green, lifewould not be drear and blank; that a more judicious manipulation ofhis brassey throughout might have given him something to live for. Allthese things I knew.

　　And they did not touch me. I was adamant. The professor was waitingfor me at the Club House, and greeted me with a cold and statelyinclination of the head.

　　"Beautiful day for golf," I observed in my gay, chatty manner. Hebowed in silence.

　　"Very well," I thought. "Wait. Just wait.""Miss Derrick is well, I hope?" I added, aloud.

　　That drew him. He started. His aspect became doubly forbidding.

　　"Miss Derrick is perfectly well, sir, I thank you.""And you? No bad effect, I hope, from your dip yesterday?""Mr. Garnet, I came here for golf, not conversation," he said.

　　We made it so. I drove off from the first tee. It was a splendiddrive. I should not say so if there were any one else to say so forme. Modesty would forbid. But, as there is no one, I must repeat thestatement. It was one of the best drives of my experience. The ballflashed through the air, took the bunker with a dozen feet to spare,and rolled on to the green. I had felt all along that I should be in............