John was a Fifer, and a
golfer, and a good one at that. But he never lost an opportunity of
impressing upon others the excellence of his own play. He was playing an
important tie and the game had reached the turn. He was being passed on
an adjoining fairway by a local rival who crossed over to hear what John
had to contend with.
"Whit kind o
a pleyer are ye up agin the day John?" he asked.
"O he's a
great pleyer this" replied John at once.
his drivin?" continued the inquirer.
middle ilka time" John assured him "an nearly out o sicht."
his irons then?" came the next question.
"Deid on the
pin ilka time" was the reply "he's deidly richt eneuch. Nivver a
said the other, after receiving similiar glowing accounts of his short
game, but looking for some flaw in the play of this paragon "he'll be
weak on the greens?"
John countered at once "he strokes them in frae aw angles. Whit a pleyer!
Whit a putter!"
With such an account of
his opponent's play it only remained for John's rival to raise the
delicate question of the state of the game.
monie are ye doun then, John?" came the final question with a touch of
satisfaction in the smile.
exclaimed John as he moved away. "A'm no doun ava. A'm twa up!"