In Winter Quarters 



that hole from him. See? And so on 

 for the whole eighteen. The only 

 trouble with John is that they prob- 

 ably started him plowing instead of 

 golfing when a wee braw lad at Wed- 

 derlie. 



Meantime, however, you will have 

 tramped six miles, with your feet on 

 good old Mother Earth. The blue jays 

 and the bob-o-links have been making 

 sport of you all the while. Maybe 

 your mind was on them part of the 

 time instead of upon your game. May- 

 be the oat harvest or the waving corn- 

 fields over there beyond the hedge 

 have meant as much to you as the 

 winning of a match. Maybe the blue- 

 grass and the grove, or that distant 

 line of wooded hills, have claimed some 

 share of your attention. Maybe the 

 doffing of starched linen has made you 

 altogether comfortable for the time 

 being. Maybe all of a sudden you have 

 realized that for three hours you have 

 not thought of LaSalle Street or the 

 [196] 



