RETIRED GOLF 163 



innocent occupation that the most selfish 

 Socialist could scarcely grudge them. 



It is true that old Lady Chorlesbury used to 

 point with horror to the holes made by her hus- 

 band's niblick in the best Wilton carpet, and 

 found but little comfort in his solemn promise 

 to replace the divots; she nevertheless realized 

 that it would be cruel to deprive the old gentle- 

 man of such a means of solace in his declining 

 years, and at Chorlesbury House " drawing- 

 room golf " was always winked at, if not actively 

 encouraged. 



I happened to be having tea there one evening 

 last winter when Lord Chorlesbury tottered in 

 on the arm of his valet, and challenged me to a 

 friendly game. To humour him I consented to 

 play, though I had no nails in my boots, and 

 was forced to borrow the butler's clubs. 



On his own home links, I need hardly say, I 

 was no match for my host, his knowledge of the 

 course giving him a decided advantage, as was 

 soon only too apparent. At the very first hole 

 — a dog-leg hole round a lacquer screen, Avith a 

 china-cupboard guarding the green — after being 

 stymied by a bust of the late Dr. Livingstone 

 and having on two occasions to lift my ball 

 without penalty from casual ink on the writing- 

 table, I lost my nerve. And when, at the 

 second, I found myself in a hopeless lie behind 



