THE GOLFER AND THE RATS.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1849, 8 September 1913, Page 10

THE GOLFER AND THE RATS.

A TALE TOLD ON II HUM Alt LINKS. After patching Mr. Arthur Duncan make tlio now record for Miramar links tlio other day (writes a correspondent), I jteturnod to "Wellington with an Englishman who would probably have mado a better disciple of Izaak Walton than a golfer, judging by tlio following story. "I Jiover played golf very fluently," he remarked, as wo entered Kilbirnio Tunnel. "My people wero averso to bad language, and that held mo back. Resides, I always had to earn my own living, and hadn't time to golf. But one night I had reason to uo grateful that tho Highland shepherds and gillies had mado their shinnying so fascinating that Englishmen had taken it up. Another chap and I passed a night together in a iiotcl in a small village in Warwickshire, where tho walls and floor wero honoycombed with rat-holes; The sides and bottom of tho room looked like a section of Swiss cheese. Wo had gone to bed, this stranger and I. Mo had a golf bag as well as a suitcase. His bed was near tlio wardrobe, and mine was near tlio window. There was nearly as much ventilation from the one as from tho other. The light hadn't been out long before wo heard signs of lifo about us, and knew that tho pied piper of Hamelin liad never passed that way with his wonderworking harmonica. _ "What's that?" asked the golfer, sitting up in bed. And ; as ho did so a rat hit him in tho face. Tlio golfer said various things. I sat up, and tried to tell him what it was, but just then another rat brushed my bare foot with his whiskers, and I shrank until another man my size could, have got into my skin without squeezing me. Slipping on a pair of slioes I got up, ana struck a light. The rats hadn't time or room to get into all the' holes. They hid in every shadow. The stranger also arose in his wiath and his night gar- • ments. I have heard of men going - forth 011 forlorn hopes, but never have I seen evidenco of sublimer courage than wo two displayed in that den of rats, Standing on his bed the stranger reached for his golf bag and extracted a stick. " 'Gimme one o' them sticks,' I said, relapsing into tho languago in which I first learned to think, as we do at times of severe strain. "He handed nw a lofter and kept the brassie. Then wo started in. On his side, behind tho washstand, was a rat as big as a cat. In tho dark ho bad sounded liko an elephant on_ roller skates. The stranger took a swing at that rat and landed him in 0110 of the globes of tlio chandelier. " 'Lost ball 1' I yelled. ' forgetting which gamo we were playing. " 'First hole in. one,' ho corrected, scornfully. 'That's about sis strokes better than bogey.' " 'Get out of my way a moment,' I chattered, through clicking teeth, 'and let mo have a stroke at that one by the bed. The one near the wall is stymie on the hole by the wardrobe door, but I'll risk the shot.' " 'Don't slice!' cried my friend, who saw that if I did ho would get the rat ii) bis faco. "So we played on for ail hour_or so beforo the last rat was gone of his own volition or was killed. Using tho beds and other' furniture as bunkers, wo slashed away, driving and putting, and lofting and approaching, and foozling and making no bones of a bad lie—any kind of stroke counted. When we finished ho was five rats up and four holes to play—nearly as good as Mr. Duncan. The washstand door had come open, and that made ono of our worst Hazards, but there was a low percentage of lost rats. When next {Horning the other visitors asked what on earth had been going on in our room; wo smiled and refused to tell thorn —we wero afraid our veracity might have been questioned. Golfers sometimes exaggerate, you know." And ho got out of the tram and walked up Boulcott- Street.