nobody has ever accused him of not being a man who looked ahead.
On the morning of May 4th Jopp came into the office, looking, I
fancied, a little thoughtful. He sat for some moments staring before
him with his brow a trifle furrowed; then he seemed to come to himself.
He rapped his desk.
'Hi! You!' he said. It was thus that he habitually addressed me.
'Mr. Jopp?' I replied.
'What's golf?'
I had at that time just succeeded in getting my handicap down into
single figures, and I welcomed the opportunity of dilating on the
noblest of pastimes. But I had barely begun my eulogy when he stopped
me.
'It's a game, is it?'
'I suppose you could call it that,' I said, 'but it is an offhand way
of describing the holiest----'
'How do you play it?'
'Pretty well,' I said. 'At the beginning of the season I didn't seem
able to keep 'em straight at all, but lately I've been doing fine.
Getting better every day. Whether it was that I was moving my head or
gripping too tightly with the right hand----'
'Keep the reminiscences for your grandchildren during the long winter
evenings,' he interrupted, abruptly, as was his habit. 'What I want to
know is what a fellow does when he plays golf. Tell me in as few words
as you can just what it's all about.'
'You hit a ball with a stick till it falls into a hole.'
'Easy!' he snapped. 'Take dictation.'
I produced my pad.
'May the fifth, take up golf. What's an Amateur Championship?'
'It is the annual competition to decide which is the best player among
the amateurs. There is also a Professional Championship, and an Open
event.'
'Oh, there are golf professionals, are there? What do they do?'
'They teach golf.'
'Which is the best of them?'
'Sandy McHoots won both British and American Open events last year.'
'Wire him to come here at once.'
'But McHoots is in Inverlochty, in Scotland.'
'Never mind. Get him; tell him to name his own terms. When is the
Amateur Championship?'
'I think it is on September the twelfth this year.'
'All right, take dictation. September twelfth win Amateur
Championship.'
I stared at him in amazement, but he was not looking at me.
'Got that?' he said. 'September thir--Oh, I was forgetting! Add
September twelfth, corner wheat. September thirteenth, marry Amelia.'
'Marry Amelia,' I echoed, moistening my pencil.
'Where do you play this--what's-its-name--golf?'
'There are clubs all over the country. I belong to the Wissahicky
Glen.'
