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162 IT TOOK NINE TAILORS
quite a chilly day, so I was given a pair of English golf mittens, which are thin across the palms and fingers but heavy wool over the backs of the hands. I had never seen any like them before.
On the first tee the Prince said, "What shall it be— a quid a hole?"
A quid is about five dollars, which meant that this was not going to be a game of marbles. My Hollywood training at once put me on the alert.
"Fine," I said. "But of course I am playing with strange clubs, and besides I have not touched a club in several months. By the way, what is your handicap, Your Highness?"
I think he said his handicap was ten, so I said, "In that case you will have to give me about nine strokes."
"Righto," said His Highness.
I was disappointed. After all, I was used to a little bickering and screaming in Hollywood, but that is not good form in English golf.
I wanted very badly to beat the Prince. He was the heir to the throne, and I thought that it would be fun someday to say, "I took the King of England's shirt in a golf game one time— got him for five quid."
But like all Englishmen the Prince had probably been weaned on an old rusty putter, so he played a hell of a game and I was lucky to come in all even with him.
After the game was over I discovered, to my surprise, that the clubs that I had borrowed were actually a present from the Prince.
I'll never forget the first time I played golf with George Murphy, the Irish Fred Astaire. When we came to the twelfth hole at Lakeside, the match was all even. This hole must have been designed by a mad sadist, for the green is flanked on one side by a trap that is harder to escape from than Alcatraz. Of course I knocked my ball into this trap.