Yoked in all exercise of noble end,
And so thro' those dark bunkers off the course
That no man knows. Indeed, I love thee: come,
Yield thyself up: our handicaps are one;
Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself;
Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me._

She laid her hands in his.

"And now, Mortie, darling," she said, "I want to tell you all about how
I did the long twelfth at Auchtermuchtie in one under bogey."




5

_The Salvation of George Mackintosh_


The young man came into the club-house. There was a frown on his
usually cheerful face, and he ordered a ginger-ale in the sort of voice
which an ancient Greek would have used when asking the executioner to
bring on the hemlock.

Sunk in the recesses of his favourite settee the Oldest Member had
watched him with silent sympathy.

"How did you get on?" he inquired.