New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1921-08-07
~ OLrLUF" said Old Doc Sology,
biting the word in two as though
it tasted bitter. mo, you don't

~
1t tasted bitter. "No, you don't
interest me. I've quit the game
quit it cold. Split my clubs up for kindling
wood. tossed my bag in the brink and divided
up my Silver Kings among The puppies. I'm
through
Coming from the Doctor thia was fine line
OF conversation. 7 could hardly believe my
ears. Something was radically wrong either
with the Doctor or with golf
Coming from any one else in the world, of
course, it would have been quite the customary
thing. The spirited remuneration is a regula-
ton part of the ancient and dishonorable
game. After spectacular Ii on an easy hole
or round of calling on all the bunkers it is
considered entirely ethical to heave the niblick
at the caddies head and let the rest of the
clubs follow in hapid succession. The solemn
oath is taken in the locker room few mo-
ments later and new set of clubs is not pur-
chased until the next day or the next week
end
Every golfer, duffer and expert, recognizes
the Importance of giving up the game at stated
intervals. 1t is the one antidote for a game
that has gone stale or a niashie that has de-
veloped too many left-handed kinks And no
golfer thinks the less of his fellow man for in
dulging in these flashes of temperament.
But Old Doc Sology is different--quite He
has one of those even dispositions that nothing
ever ruffies. I've seen him take four puts ON
q green and not even grumble about the worm
casts or the morning dew or the caddie's
shadow And I've seen him dump one from off
the edge of the green without batting an eye
just to casually watch him play you might
think he took no interest in the game But
whether he's playing for 50-cent Nassau or
500 corner he gives all he's got to every
stroke. He's a good arguer on the first tee
and one grand putter on the eighteenth green.
The only way you can beat him is by playing
better golf than he carries around in his bag,
Up above the sixty mark the Doc is now
shooting down in the late SOS. Used to
break into the '7Os on occasion, but that's
deiving too deep into the past for modern
literature. If you must have the whole truth,
the Doc is trifie bald on the top Of his head
and his mustache is mostly pure white. But
he has more CLEAN to his eyes and more glow
to his cheeks than the average youngster in
lis twenties
For the last forty years he's been mighty
keen on the game-belonged to all Of the best
clubs and managed to get himself enrolled as
a charter member of most of them. They do
say he wore the first pair of golf knckers
seen in the metropolitan district, but that
may be only rumor. Anyway, you can be-
lleve that it wasn't pair of hand-me-down
tx bicycle trousers that the Doc wore. He'd
shove off in his B. " DIS rather than profane
the links with anything but the genuine
Scotch tweed article.
He isn't one of those soft-palmed plutes
who has devoted his life and his bankroll to
propelling the ball around the fairway. Up
until last year the Doc appeared at his desk
regularly at a. m. BY 8 o'clock, though, his
roll top would be closed down and he would be
heading for the open country. He seldom
came in town on Saturdays and he takes his
religion by proxy on Sunday. Otherwise, he
has fulfilled most of the duties Of a con-
scientious citizen.
Usually he worked like horse during the
Christmas holidays and caught the Palmetto
Limited South along about January 15. He
has always been fixture in the second fight
of the Washington's Birthday tournament at
Belleaire. On the way back he takes in the
down to the third sixteen. Or he may be in
scoring mood and give some near champ a
run for his money in the championship flight.
Last summer he logged the trail Of Vardon
and Ray in that long series of exhibition
matches. He took a run out to Toledo fer
the national open and was prominent in the
gallery at Roslyn, L. l., when Chick Evans
came through. AS a patron Of the finals Of