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Updated: May 27, 2025
Whipple? and he'll say, 'Well, let me see eight and a short tote that's it, eight and a tote. He means that he made eight, or about eight, by lifting it from the rough about ten feet on to the fairway." "Rotten sportsmanship," declared Merle. "No, no, he's a good sport, all right! He'd expect you to do the same, or tee up a little bit for a mid-iron shot.
He was in love, and he had developed a bad slice with his mid-iron. He was practically a soul in torment. "Lady Caroline asked me to tell you that she wishes to speak to you, Mr. Byng." Reggie leaped from his seat. "Hullo-ullo-ullo! There you are! I mean to say, what?" He was conscious, as was his custom in her presence, of a warm, prickly sensation in the small of the back.
Fulton slipped from her smart pony, and they met with an honest kiss, like lovers long parted, and at once each began to tell the other all about everything. "If they love each other like that," I thought, "why doesn't he always ride with her, or why doesn't she always play golf with him?" I heard such expressions as "And the new mid-iron" . . . "The jasmine will be in full bloom in a week." "Mr.
But this time, with a carry of some 160 yards ahead of me, I picked my mid-iron from the bag, took a three-quarter swing, bit a small divot from the turf as I went through, and landed the ball fairly on the green with a back-spin that held it as though I'd had a string tied to it. And when the others had climbed out of the ravine or otherwise reached the green I putted in my four.
After that they went on to Wilbur's ball, which still without a trace of form he dropped on the green with a mashie, in spite of Merle's warning that he would need a mid-iron to reach it. They drove, and again Merle lectured upon the three reasons why his ball came to rest in a sand trap that flanked the fairway.
It will take us straight to the Whitney drive. Then we can go right up over the hill and come out by Sand River." "It's fun," she said, "to find somebody that likes riding. Everybody's mad about golf. John rides whenever I ask him, but it's cruel to separate him from the new mid-iron that Jimmie made for him. And he won't let me ride alone."
Pallzey, as he carelessly extracted a Mid-iron. He sauntered up to the silly Globule and took an unpremeditated Swipe. The Stroke rang sweet and vibrant. The ball rose in parabolic Splendor above the highest branches of a venerable Elm. Just as the Face of the Club started on the Follow Through, the Bacillus ran up and bit Mr. Pallzey on the Leg.
The real golfers play over with a good mashie shot that lands them dead on the green, but dubs, like Paisley, play around with two easy mid-iron shots.
The young gentleman of the party is perfectly carried away with them. He says they're the real thing, the genuine sixteenth century article. They are a bit rusted, you'll remember. I left him out in the courtyard trying your brassie and mid-iron, sir, endeavouring to loft potatoes over the south wall. I succeeded in hiding the balls, sir.
All I want is the heads anyhow." He held up to view a headless mid-iron and brassie, and triumphantly waved a splendid cleek. My favourite clubs! I could play better from a hanging lie with that beautiful brassie than with any club I ever owned and as for the iron, I was deadly with it. He lit a cigarette and threw the match into a pile of shavings.
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