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Show GOLF. Several of the caddies and one or two other Players have also collided with the hot ends. But this was the pioneer case. This epic is dedicated dedi-cated with much sympathy. The Golfer and the Bee. A little bee, A little tee. A golfer posing sweetly; A little ditch. Built over which A bridge was resting neatly. Beneath the board This bee had stored A grubfest for the winter; With mud had he. This busy bee, " , Stuck sweets on every splinter. A little club. A little flub, A golf ball rolling bee-ward; An architect. With language specked, And footsteps pointing seaward. "Ah-hah," quoth he, "I'll sqush this bee"; Alas, but at this juncture The bee was not Upon that spot, , And Freddie got a puncture. The game has fallen upon sad days. McGur-rin McGur-rin will not be back from the east for about two weeks. Thompson and -Pollock have been sick. Billy Reed has been tied up at the smelter. Hale' and Steiner have been cultivating a new brand of tan and freckles in the canyons, and the infernally in-fernally hot weather has kept others away so much that the course hasn't as much life as a sweet Boston graduate, and is not nearly so at-tractive. at-tractive. Last Saturday there were just two , championship aspirants who practiced new upper up-per cuts with their drivers, and one of them was wishing he hadn't. It has been too hot to play, even for the most confirmed golflac, and unless the steam is turned off pretty soon there will not be enough players left to keep the caddies In cigarettes. This, too, with the championship not a great ways off. |