short slang story

[Mullins, Bill]

This is short enough it seemed proper to send it in total.

"A Golf Fable in Slang" Wilbur L. Smith, _The American Golfer_, February,
1913, No. 4, p. 316-317.

A GOLF FABLE IN SLANG
BY WILBUR L. SMITH.
(With apologies to Geo. Ade.)

Once there was a Bachelor, 5 ft. 7 in. tall, who Tipped the Toy of the Blind
Goddess of Justice at 277 lbs. Plus (in his Stocking Feet) and in order to
Eliminate a few Pounds of Excess Baggage, he decided that Golf would be just
about the Proper Caper.  It so happened that there was a Skinny,
Suffragette, Bachelor Maid, of uncertain Vintage, 5 ft. 7 in. tall who, in a
Salome Costume, weighed just 100 lbs. Minus, and was Advised to play "Goff"
to gain a few Ounces of Upholstering
for her Slats. It also happened that there was a Smart Boob who was Hep to
the Ideas of this Abnormal Pair, and Introduced this Human Steam Roller to
the Human Darning Needle, and what was the Result? Answer: We shall Discern
later. They were members of the Dubbmore Golf Club, and one Bright, Sunshiny
Day, in the Pup Days of August, decided to go out for the P. M. and see if
they could not Accomplish their Fell Designs. They engaged a couple of
caddies to Tote the Junk and Teed off at No. 1. The Human D. N. used to play
some Croquet, and held the Ladies' Open Championship Cup of the Summer
Colony at Swamphurst, and knew something about a Sphere. She teed the ball
carefully and Deliberately and Drove off. The Human S. R. had so much
Abdominal Excess, and Extended over the Building Line so far, that when he
Addressed the Ball he could not see it, but after two Vicious Stabs
succeeded in hitting it (his Caddie said to the other Robber: "Gee! he
couldn't hit a Bale of Hay with a Mallet") and the Pill Stopped in a nice
Pot Bunker just 32 yards away-his Afternoon Affinity being over by a good
Hair Mattress. She holed out in 9 (par 4).  He in 14.

At No. 2 tee she made a B-e-a-utiful drive, viz.: 32 yards, and he topped
two times into a stream that was 10 yards from the tee-4 feet across at
High, perfectly dry at Low tide- losing the ball. (His Philosophical caddie
informed him that they would have a Revenue Cutter with a Diver, Anchored
there next Season.) She made an 8 and He 14 (par 3). They Excavated the
Course in Spots, Flubdubbed around, lost several of the Elusive Pills, and
otherwise Laboriously Wormed their way to No. 13. His Collar was as Wet as
Sop, and He was all Mussed-Up. Her Face was Devoid of Powder, Revealing a
few Transverse Sub-Stratum Bunkers. At this tee, Dear Reader, she made the
only Decent Drive of the day, for the ball Ceased Ambling 97 yards Down the
Center. He, for the first time, Connected with the ball, for a Horrible
Slice; Wafted it 210 yards, West S. W. ¾ W. into the Tall Timber (the course
he should have Navigated was East S. E. ½ E.), and up to Going to Press the
Sphere is still Ricocheting Around in the Conservation District.

After this Horrible Episode he was quite Desperate and Muttered: "Curses;
the Devil is in the Ball today" and Suggested to his Laurel Crowned Opponent
that they Repair to the Life Saving Station-which they do. After the
Showers, she tried some Oolong with a bit of Lemon and Instructor
Crackers-he Lapped up a few with Maraschino Cherries in 'em. then took her
back to her Home in his Limozette.

For Dinner she ate one Reed Bird with a piece of Dry Toast, and was restless
on her Downy Couch during the Whole Night. He went to his Club for Dinner,
and told the waiter he was so hungry that he could Eat a Raw Mule Stuffed
with Fire-Crackers-so the waiter brought him an Extra Porter-house with
Frills and Bubble Juice, and later when he went to the Hay, Slept like Capt.
Kidd.

When he "Weighed in" the next morning he Threw a Fit, for the Scales Showed
a Net Gain of 4 lbs. Plus.

He telephoned her, and Horrors Above-she had lost-weighed 97 lbs. Minus.

Moral: It was ever thus in a Golfer's happiest hour, to see some fondest
hope Collapse.