the broom straw waved. But omit not, O truthful and
ecstatic one, to mention that dull rage which grew from small beginnings
in the major's breast until it became furious and all-consuming, like a
prairie fire. At this stage your narrative becomes heroic, and it might
be in order for you, O capable and delectable one, to switch from humble
stating to loud singing. Only don't do it. State on. State how the rage
into which he had fallen served to lend precision to the major's eye,
steel to his wrist, rhythm to his tempo, and fiery ambition to his
gentle and retiring soul. He is filled with memories of daring: of other
battles in other days. He remembers what times he sought the bubble
reputation in the cannon's mouth, and spiked the aforementioned cannon's
touch-hole into the bargain. And he remembers the greater war that he
fought single-handed for a number of years against the demon rum.

State, too, exquisite Parnassian, and keep stating, how that General
Bullwigg did incessantly talk, prattle, jabber, joke, boast, praise
himself, stand in the wrong place, and rehearse the noble deeds that he
himself had performed in the first battle of Aiken. And state how the
major answered him less and less frequently, but more and more loudly
and curtly--but I see that you are exhausted, and, thanking you kindly,
I shall resume the narrative myself.

They came to the pond hole, which was the twelfth; the general, still
upon his interminable reminiscences of his own military glory, stood up
to drive, and was visited by his first real disaster. He swung--and he
looked up. His ball, beaten downward into the hard clay tee, leaped
forward with a sound as of a stone breaking in two and dove swiftly into
the centre of the pond. The major spoke never a word. For the first time
during the long dreary round his risibles were tickled and he wanted to
laugh. Instead he concentrated all his faculties upon his ball and made
a fine drive.

Not so the general with his second attempt. Again he found water, and
fell into a panic at the sudden losing of so many invaluable strokes
(not to mention two brand-new balls at seventy-five cents each).

It was at the pond hole that the major's luck began to ameliorate. For
the first time in his life he made it in three--a long approach close to
the green; a short mashie shot that trickled into the very cup. And it
was at the pond hole that the general, who had hitherto played far above
his ordinary form, b