s my uncle. Even if he wasn't he
might give me a game of golf.

"Excuse me," I said politely, "but are you by any chance my Uncle
Edward?"

"Your _what_?"

"I was almost certain you weren't, but I thought I'd just ask. I'm
sorry."

"Not at all. Naturally one wants to find one's uncle. Have you--er--lost
him long?"

"Years," I said sadly. "Er--I wonder if you would care to adopt me--I
mean, give me a game this afternoon. My man hasn't turned up."

"By all means. I'm not very great."

"Neither am I. Shall we start now? Good."

I was sorry to miss Edward, but I wasn't going to miss a game of golf on
such a lovely day. My spirits rose. Not even the fact that there were no
caddies left and I had to carry my own clubs could depress me.

The Major drove. I am not going to describe the whole game; though my
cleek shot at the fifth hole, from a hanging lie to within two feet of
the---- However, I mustn't go into that now. But it surprised the Major
a good deal. And when at the next hole I laid my brassie absolutely
dead, he---- But I can tell you about that some other time. It is
sufficient to say now that, when we reached the seventeenth tee, I was
one up.

We both played the seventeenth well. He was a foot from the hole in
four. I played my third from the edge of the green, and was ridiculously
short, giving myself a twenty-foot putt for the hole. Leaving my clubs
I went forward with the putter, and by the absurdest luck pushed the
ball in.

"Good," said the Major. "Your game."

I went back for my clubs. When I turned round the Major was walking
carelessly off to the next tee, leaving the flag lying on the green and
my ball still in the tin.

"Slacker," I said to myself, and walked up to the hole.

And then I had a terrible shock. I saw in the tin, not my ball, but a
moustache!

"Am I going mad?" I said. "I could have sworn that I drove off with a
'Colonel,' and yet I seem to have holed out with a Major's moustache!" I
picked it up and hurried after him.

"Major," I said, "excuse me, you've dropped your moustache. It fell off
at the critical stage of the match; the shock of losing was too much for
you; the strain of----"

He turned his clean-shaven face round and grinned at me.

"On second thoughts," he said, "I _am_ your long-lost uncle."

THE RENASCENCE OF BRITAIN

Peter Riley was one of those lucky people who take naturally to games.
Actually he got his blue for cricket, rugger, and boxin