than plump, and since it did not hit her in the head I can't see how it
could have hurt her. She certainly was able to stoop down, pick up that
ball and throw it in the pond--and it was a new ball. I ran toward her
and apologised the best I could, and what she said to me made a lasting
impression. I suppose, Smith, that it was the most expensive sliced ball
ever driven on these links?"

"Very likely," I sadly replied. "The following day I received a letter
from Aunt Sarah Emeline informing me that she had cut me out of her
will. And you still slice abominably, Chilvers."

"Thus you see that Smith has solid reasons for his prejudice against the
gentler sex as golfists," concluded Chilvers.

I entered a general denial, and the conversation drifted into other
channels. As a matter of fact, my dislike of the woman golfer is based
on different grounds.

A pretty woman is a most glorious creature, and I yield to no one in my
admiration of the fair sex, but a woman is out of her proper environment
when she persists in frequenting a golf course designed for men who are
experts at the game.

When I see women on the broad verandas of the Woodvale Club, or when I
see them strolling along the shaded paths or indulging in tennis,
croquet, and other games to which they are physically fitted, I know
that they possess tact and discrimination, but when I see them ahead of
me on the golf links--well, it is different.

Women may gain in health by attempting to play golf, but they do so at