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Updated: June 3, 2025
It is true that he beat me last time, but then owing to bad management on my part I had nine bisques left at the moment of defeat simply eating their heads off. Henry teed up and drove a "Pink Spot" out of sight. Henry swears by the "Pink Spot" if there is anything of a wind.
Lawn tennis is a delightful recreation for a time, provided you have a good partner and good antagonists, and you are playing under a moderately warm sun; but when you hear, see, and play nothing else for a week, when the conversation is "tennis," when no one appears without a racquet in his hand, when all you have to listen to are criticisms on the courts and balls, grumblings against the handicapping, imprecations on "bisques" well, you begin to hate the very name, and wish you could injure the man who invented it.
One of those difficult down-hill putts. "Luck!" said Henry, as soon as he could speak. "I've been missing those lately," I said. "Your match," said Henry; "I can't play against luck like that." It was true that he had given me ten bisques, but, on the other hand, I could have given him a dozen at the seventh and still have beaten him. However, I was too magnanimous to point that out.
"Six up," I pointed out to Henry, "and three bisques left. They're jolly little things, bisques, but you want to use them quickly. Bisque dat qui cito dat. Doesn't the sea look ripping to-day?" "Go on," growled Henry. "I once did a two at this hole," I said as I teed my ball. "If I did a two now and took a bisque, you'd have to do it in nothing in order to win. A solemn thought."
"I'd die first," she answered; "bisques are the badge of advertised inferiority and a mark of the giver's contempt." "Stuff!" said Morris. "Stuff, indeed! As though it wasn't bad enough to be beaten at all; but to be beaten with bisques!" "That's another argument," said Morris.
The difference between Henry and me is that he is what I should call a good golfer, and I am what everybody else calls a bad golfer. In consequence of this he insults me with offers of bisques. "I'll have ten this time," I said, as we walked to the tee. "Better have twelve. I beat you with eleven yesterday." "Thank you," I said haughtily, "I will have ten."
Behold, I have won the first hole; let us be photographed together." Henry went to the next tee slightly ruffled and topped his ball into the road. I had kept mine well this side of it and won in four to five. "I shan't take any bisques here," I said. "Two up." At the third tee my "Quo Vadis" darted off suddenly to the left and tried to climb the hill.
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