Seniors

Hale old men with the bodies of boys, hale old men with the minds of children, grand seigneurs, curmudgeons in every condition of physical decay, Paunch, Thin-Shank, Webfoot Waddle-Duck, and erect, haughty old men with life’s ensign still crimson in their cheeks, journeyed to the Apawamis Club in Rye N. C., to play in the annual U. S. Seniors golf tournament Among them were famed lawyers and financial figures, a retired rear admiral,* the president of a great insurance company†; they played, each according to his fashion, around the Apawamis course. There were inumerable prizes—for men over 80, for men over 75, putting contests, best net and best gross cards for 18 and 36 holes. But the medal for the famed event—the championship for men over 50, went to Frederick Snare of Garden City who had turned in a score of 156. Piddling old fellows snorted when they heard of this, and spat their bile into the Club’s brass spittoons; others shook their heads over their sour milk, declaring that it was a wonder that a man who went to Havana every winter like Mr. Snare could get around a course at all; but the more upstanding of medalists—they who had staunch freckles on the backs of their hands, and little red veins at the edge of their noses— tinkled tall glasses together.

Rear Admiral Fletcher of Philadelphia.

†Darwin P. Kingsley.