"
So saying, the King of all Clubs advanced with the Scythe-holder, and,
taking advantage of a moment when King FOOZLER, having made a long
shot, was in good humour, rapidly effected the necessary presentation.
"I know this game well," said _Mr. Punch_. "It is said to be much
played in my own country now. Permit me to have the honour of playing
one hole against your Majesty."
The King smiled a gracious assent. His ball had been already placed
for him on a little heap of sand about an inch high. He advanced
towards it, anxiously measured his distance, waved his club to and
fro over his ball as if in blessing, and then, swinging it through
the air, struck--nothing. The ball remained unmoved.
"He's missit the globe," muttered one of the attendants; "I've aye
tellt him to keep his eye furrmer on the ball."
Four times His Majesty, whose good humour was now entirely gone,
repeated the operation with similar results. At last he hurled his
club to the ground, breaking it into splinters, and addressed his
immovable ball in strong terms.
"Allow me, Your Majesty," said _Mr. Punch_, as he stepped airily
forward and selected the king's best driver from the heap of clubs
carried by the chief caddie, "I think I know how this ought to be
done," and without a moment's hesitation he delivered his stroke. The
ball flew true and far until it was merely a speck in the air, and
finally dropped down about a quarter of a mile away.
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