Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1896-02-06
Welded TO GOLF.

John McLennan had lain for many
months on bed of sickness. All sum-
mer he had been deprived of his walks
into the green fields and up the banks of
the Tay, but as the summer died and
autumn reigned supreme he was sensi-
BILE Of a change for the better.
Now, let it be known that John was
crack golfer, and as he lay racked with
pain his mind often wandered up the
Inch, and he would count his imaginary
strokes as he wended his way from hole
to hole.
Early in August he had recovered SO
far as to be able to take turn round
the doors, but he soon got tired and
was glad to return to his armchair by
the fireside.
1t was, therefore, surprise-in more
ways than oDe-to his guide wife when,
one Sunday morning toward the end of
August, he rose between and O'Clock
and said he was going round of the
golf course.
"John McLennan," said his aston
ished wife, "are ye mad? Dye ken this
is the Lords day? An you an elder O.
the kirkl'
Nance" said John quietly. as he
got his sticks ready, 'I'm weel aware
o. what day this is, an ken I'm an
elder o. the kirk, but, wumman, I'm
deein for game, an we may never hae
anither mornin like this. Besides, surely
it'll no be coontit sin to play bit
hole or twa sac early in the mornin,
when very few, if ony, folk II be aboot r.
Mrs. McLennan said no more, and
John awoke Bobbie, his eldest son,
whose usual job was to carry the clubs.
He was his fathers only 'caddie.
Come ava, laddie. Oh, ye medina
look that way. Yer fathers neither
daft nor bad. Sac come ava. "
And out they went They reached the
teeing ground as o'clock chimed ON ST.
John
moo, Bobbie, max fine tee; no.
owre high, ye ken. That's fine. Keep
yer e'en on the ba', in case dinna
seed. Nae flags the day, ye ken-Sab-
bath Wheesti /"
Whack
There ye are. No bad drive for
ma an newly aft a sickbed /"
Father, said Bobbie as he looked
timidly around, "what'll ye dae if ye
meet onybody?"
"Juist draw my bonnet doom like
that. Wild ye ken yer ain father moo if
ye met him?"
And Bobbie acknowledged that he
wouldn't
every weel Dinna speak ony mair
aboot meetin folk But here we are.
Gie's my cleek.'
Crack
"Ye're on the green, father, in twa, /"
said Bobbie proudly. "Ye'll dae that
hole in three.
''I'll try, laddie; I'll try" said John,
'tbut l doot I'm owre shaky. Hoover,
gie's my putter. Steady In Mark that
doom. Hiv ye pencil an paper? That's
RIGHT. First hole in three. And John
McLenDan mopped his forehead with his
handkerchief, for beads of sweat found
a habitation ON his bald pate.
"Anither tee, Bobbie That's fine.
Moo the holes aye up aside the big tree,
l suppose?"
AYE" says Bobbie as he strains his
eyes in the direction indicated
"Weel, look oot an see whaur I LIGHT. "
Whack
Nae sac gude's my first ane, but
they Gamma a be guide, eh, laddie?"
But Bobbie did not answer as he
handed his father his cleek on coming
up to the ball
Crack
But it was bad shot, and John play
ed again.
"It's on the green, father, J" said
Bobbie.
AYE, laddie, replied his father,
"but in three. I'll need four for this
hole.
Its no here, father" Bobbie said
as he looked all over the green.
faye, it's here, F" replied the old man
as be lifted it out of the hole "That's
a fuke, but, a the same time, I'm in in
three. Mark that doom, second hole in
three. .
"Anither tee. The holes RIGHT across
at the road. Moo, ! must gle this ane an
awfu' crack. =
Whackl
"By, father, ye're near the green.
Dye think yell dae this ane in twa?"
Bobbie ventured.
ma, ma, laddie, I'll need mair than
that. Hoover, we'll see.
And so the two trudged Oh.
Father, here's ba, an it's no
your ane- 7
Put it in yer pouch an say naething.
But here we are. See grip O my iron;
/ maun lift this ane RIGHT on to the
green, and he did. my putter. moo.
Bah, owre hard Aye, that s four, ye see,
an it wis my best drive tool Put that
doom, third hole i'll four. Moo, it's even
owre to the Tay an across the burn.
There's some ane comm alang the walk
ON ane o. thae bicycles. Lat's get ava
quick. y Whack Come on, moo, for I
think after play up to the tap o. the
peninsula I'll send ye hame wi the
sticks, an take canny walk doom.
Stand up on the road an see if gang
into the burn. Watch yer held. Crack
"Ye're owre father. an at the hole"
cried Bobbie. "Ye're sure to dae this
ane in three. Come across by the brig.
Ye're lyin fine.
rErNT