give us a mad scene--me to the sand dunes! It was a case of flee as a bird with yours respectfully. Those musicale things would be aces if the music didn't set them back. JOHN HENRY ON GOLF. Hereafter golf is the game for Gillis! Me for the niblick and the brassie--fine! Billy Baldwin, Harry Ford and Eddie Bartlett took me out last summer and put me wise to the whole lay-out. In less than an hour I could play the game better than Doolan, and he's the man that made it. Golf has all the other games slapped to a sit-down. I know it because I played it once and Billy told me that as soon as a few Scotch thistles sprouted on my shins I'd be the real rinakaboo! Harry told me I could drive good enough to own a hack, and Eddie thought I was the likeliest side-stepper that ever did a grass-chopping specialty. The only drawback they found was that I didn't hit the ball. It's immense for the chest measurement to have the bunch hand you out the salve spiel--believe me! I took my lady friend out Westchester way last week and on the road I was Reckless Robert with the big talk. It's a habit with me to go up and butt the ceiling every time my lady friend is near enough to listen. Most of us young guys are gushers with the loud language when the Best and Only is in the building. How we do like to gather the gab and hand out hints to the heroine that she's gazing on the greatest ever! When Clara Jane asked me if I knew the game I told her that I used to room with the man that built the first links. When she asked me his name I told her it was McDougall, because that's the name of a head-waiter who helps to spend my money. She asked me if I knew what a lofter is and I said, "Sure, I eat them for breakfast every morning!" When we reached Westchester we met a Society duck named Lionel von Hamburg. I think his father invented the Hamburger steak. Lionel was all to the best. He was Finnegan the Fine Boy, for sure. One of those tart little red coats squeezed his shape, and around his neck he had a pink stock that was waiting for a chance to choke him. My lady friend met this gilly once at a bean soiree and she was his evening star. They sat on the stairs together and put a kink in the caramels. When the gong sounded for the ice-cream that night Lionel had dipped her out a tubful, and he was sure she liked him for his boyish ways. So on this occasion it was Lionel's play to give me the low tackle and claim the calico. But I'm something of a Mr. Fox myself on rare occasions, and I couldn't see Lionel doing a two-step through the farm lands with my Esmeralda--not through the opera glasses. Clara Jane introduced me to His Pinkness and he invited us in the clubhouse to throttle our thirsts. I ordered a rickey, Clara Jane called for a lemonade, and Lionel's guess was a pail 

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