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Updated: June 6, 2025
He saw the blinking White Spot far out on the emerald Plain. He heard the murmur of Admiration behind him. He was sorry his Wife had not been there to take it in. "Leave me have another Ball," requested Mr. Pallzey. The Virus was working. He backed up so as to get a Running Start. "This time," quoth Mr. Pallzey, "I will push it to Milwaukee."
The Dinner was postponed until late in the Day because they all dreaded it so much. Friend Host said he had a twosome on at the Club and was trying out an imported Cleek, so he invited Mr. Pallzey to be a Spectator. If he had said that he was going up in a Balloon to hemstitch a couple of Clouds, it would have sounded just as plausible to Mr. Pallzey of the Wholesale District.
Pallzey believed that Golf was played by the kind of White Rabbits who March in Suffrage Parades, wearing Gloves. The dreaded Thing lay outside of his Orbit and beyond his Ken, the same as Tatting or Biology. His conception of a keen and sporty game was Pin Pool or Jacks Only with the Deuce running wild. One Saturday he was invited out to a Food Saturnalia at a Country Place.
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.
One day in the pink dawn of the present Century, a man with his Hair neatly set back around the Ears and the usual Blood Pressure was whizzing through a suburban Lonesomeness on a teetering Trolley. The name of the man was Mr. Pallzey. He had a desk with a Concern that did merchandizing in a large way. Mr. Pallzey feared Socialism and carried his Wife's Picture in his Watch and wore Plasters.
Pallzey threw himself into it, Heart and Soul, and when the Expenses approximated $30,000, he earned his Halo. One evening he came back to his haggard Companion, chortling infant- wise, and displayed something which looked like an Eye-Cup with Handles on it. He said it was a Trophy. It was a Consolation Offering for Maidens with an allowance of more than eighteen.
Talbot's poor old crippled Father-in-Law. She could read him like a Barometer. If he and Mr. Hilgus, the Real Estate Man, came home together fifteen feet apart, she would know it had been a Jolly Day on the Links. By the second summer, Mr. Pallzey had worked up until he was allowed to use a Shower Bath once hallowed by the presence of Jerome Travers. He was not exactly a Duffer.
"If I come out next Sunday could you borrow me a Kit of Tools?" asked Mr. Pallzey. He was twitching violently and looking at the Ball as if it had called him a Name. "I got that first one all right, and I think "
Pallzey had so well mastered the baffling Intricacies that he was allowed to trail in a Foursome with the President of the Club. This happened once. It is well known that any Person who mooches around a Country Club for a sufficient Period will have some kind of a Cup wished on to him. Fourteen years after Mr.
The tender Cadet nursed him along to an even-up at the Punch-Bowl and then proceeded to smear his vital Organs all over the Bad Lands. That evening Mr. Pallzey told her she would have to cut down on Household Expenses. Six years after he gave up the Business Career and consecrated himself to something more Important, Mr.
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