قراءة كتاب Mr. Punch's Golf Stories
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'arf-manniackal temper, I can tell yer 'e takes some 'andling. But 'Enery Wilks knows 'is 'Erminius Brellett by this time.
"Your one chawnce of fime, you retched child," 'e ses, and I found 'is stile of speaking jest a little gorling, "will rest on the fact that you karried the clubs of 'Erminius Brellett, pyoneer of golf and unerpreshiated riter of himmortal books," 'e ses. Well, yer can't argue wif a man like that. Yer can only yumour 'im by respeckful silence, and be reddy all the time to dodge if 'is manyer turns 'ommersidal all of a sudden.
'E took on Mister Washer the other day, a member 'oom both 'e and I 'ave little liking fer. At least, I can arnser fer meself. Fer 'e's one of your pompus, strutting sort of fellers, 'oo thinks 'e's good at golf, but ain't. I 'eard 'im chalenge Mister Brellett to play a rarnd fer 'arf-a-crown, and a less skilful stoodent of yuman nachure than 'Enery Wilks could 'ave told as they didn't love each other. I 'ad a privit tuppence on the match meself, wif old Washer's caddy, although not very 'opeful. 'Owever, when 'Enery Wilks' money is down, as the sying is, 'e's 'ard to beat.
But things went badly wif us from the start. I could see as 'ow Mister Brellett was wurried abart somethink, and in addition to that 'e was acktaly trying to play a keerful, sientifick gime. Oh, lumme, it was orful, I can tell yer! We was skarcely touching a ball, and old Washer, as pleesed as a turkey-kock but far less hornimental, was playing right above 'isself. Fer a man like meself, 'oo'd staked above 'is means, it was 'art-breaking. We lost five 'oles bang orf, and then Mister Brellett spoke 'arf to me and 'arf to 'isself as we walked to the sixth tee.
"It's all that cussed nime!" 'e ses. "If I could only think of that, I'd be orlright. A female nime fer a kerrecter in my new book. 'Enery, what's the nime of your yung woman?" 'e ses, joking like. Well, love ain't much in my line, me ambishuns not letting me 'amper meself wif wimmen, but still a feller 'as to keep 'is 'and in. I won't say as I 'aven't been more run after than most, but some'ow that ain't one of my temptashuns. 'Owever, more to pleese 'er than meself, I lets one of them, jest a school kiddy, walk out wif me at times. She means well, I do believe, but I've allus reckoned as 'ow 'er nime's agin 'er.
"Hervangeline's 'er nime, Mister Brellett," I ses, deprerkating like. "But she can't 'elp it," I ses.
"By Jewpiter!" 'e 'owls. "Hervangeline's the very nime I've been 'unting for. And now I'll win this match!" 'e ses.
"You'll win it orlright, sir," I ses, ernest like. "But, for 'evin's sake, stop playing sientifick! Play the old gime as you're pyoneer on, sir," I ses.
"I beleeve as 'ow you're right, 'Enery," 'e ses, thoughtful like; and then we come to the tee and watched old Washer drive 'is yusual straight, shortish ball. Then Mister Brellett grips 'is club, takes 'is yusual wicked, himmoril stance, springs 'igh into the air wif an 'arf-styfled yell, and, by Gewillikins, drives sich a ball as the pro. 'isself might 'ave been proud on! It knocked the kowardly 'art out of old Washer, did that tremenjus drive; and 'e's a man as only plays 'is best when 'e's winning easy. They 'ad a narsty lead, but we stuck to 'em like wax, 'itting a turriffick ball once out of three, or even oftener, and we won at last quite 'andsomely by three and two.
I remember as I bought bull's-eyes fer Hervangeline wif that 'ere tuppence, becos in a meshure, as you may say, she'd 'ad an 'and in the winning of it. 'Owever, wif a jenerosity unyusual in wimmen, she hinsisted on sharing 'em wif 'Enery Wilks, 'oos skilful leedership 'ad reely won the match.
Short-sighted Old Lady (to little Binks, who is going to the golf-links). "How much will you charge me to mend this umbrella?"
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Lily (from Devonshire, on a visit to her Scotch Cousin Margy in St. Andrews, N.B.). "What a strange thing fashion is, Margy! Fancy a game like golf reaching up as far north as this!"