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Updated: June 13, 2025
He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer. "I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under control. "Go slow! go slow!" "Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said Booverman, angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole.
For the first time Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that bordered the river to the left. "I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan. "My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed egg!"
His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, and passed on a couple of feet. "A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief. "I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, Picky; you know you would." Pickings did not answer.
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"Not when his biscuits have to be broken open with a stone," objected Mack, as he sopped in his coffee one of the gray objects Enoch had served as rolls. "They say when a woman that's done her own cooking first gets a hired girl, she becomes right picky about her food," rejoined Curly. "I'd give notice if I had any place to go," said Enoch. "What was the luck to-day, boys?"
"A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short did you ever see anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!" "One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!"
"But the old man got sort of picky and choosy these last years, and turned agin the hard-tack and old hoss meat that had been good enough for him before. So I got a few boat-loads of good earth and took to growing things. And things do grow here for sure, if you only give them a chance. All they want is root hold; the sun and the air and the soft mists do the rest."
"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like this three twos would mean to a professional like Frank or even an amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into the middle of next week." "You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully."
"I wish I could design a sound-detector one-tenth as good as this must be." Yes. The way the Lord Mayor said fwoonk and the way Paul Meillard said it sounded entirely different to them. Of course, fwoonk and pwink and tweelt and kroosh sounded alike to them, but let's don't be too picky about things.
"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately. "No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences, " "There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy. Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which soon was sunk for a four.
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