shook hands and then glanced curiously at my putter.

"What do you call that?" he asked, taking it from my hand. It was an
aluminum putter of my own design, and I have won many a game with it. I
told him what it was.

"Looks like a brake shoe on the new-model hand-cars," he said, swinging
it viciously with one hand. "How far can you knock one of those little
pills with it?"

"I see that you do not play golf," I said, rather offended at his
manner.

"No, there are a lot of things I do not do, and this is one of them," he
replied, and then he laughed. "But let me tell you," he added, "I used
to be a wonder at shinny."

I would have wagered he would make some such remark.

"Do you see that scar on the bridge of my nose?" he asked. "That came
from a crack with a shinny club when I was not more than ten years old.
Shinny is a great game; a great game! It requires quickness of eye and
limb, and more than that it demands a high degree of courage. It teaches
a boy to stand a hard knock without whimpering. Yes, sir, shinny is a
great game, and all boys should play it," and he rubbed the scar on his
nose tenderly.

A man who would compare golf with shinny is capable of contrasting
Venice with a drainage canal, and I came near telling him so. Golf and
shinny! Whist and old maid! Pink lemonade and champagne!