Llewellyn loved to sit around at the musicale and burn the belle of the ball, with his goo-goo eyes. 

 Llewellyn needed a swift slap—that's what he needed. 

 Next we had the Nonpariel Quartette, and they were the boys that could eat up the close harmony! 

 They sang "Love, I am Lonely!" from start to finish without stopping to call the waiter. 

 Then we had Clarissa Coldslaw in select recitations. 

 She was all the money. 

 Clarissa grabbed "Hamlet's Soliloquy" between her pearly teeth and shook it to death. 

 She got a half-Nelson on Poe's "Raven" and put it out of the business. 

 Then she gave an imitation of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. 

 If Juliet talked like that dame did, no wonder she took poison. 

 But when she let down her hair and started in to 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 

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