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HOLLYWOOD GOLF 171
"Yes, sir," said the caddie with a patient expression. "You
forgot to keep your head down."
"Did you ever caddie for Mr, Cawthorne?" I inquired, disregarding his veiled criticism.
"Oh yes. Lots of times.' ' "What's his handicap?" "Oh, he hasn't any handicap."
As I thought this over I selected another club, approached my ball cautiously, and after several preliminary nourishes took a cut at it. There was a sickening noise, as though 1 had hit a sackful of mashed potatoes. The ball skittered along the ground for a few yards and the caddie sighed softly.
"No handicap, eh?" I said, pursuing both the ball and the topic of Mr. Cawthorne's game. "Does he hit the ball well?"
"Oh, terrible, terrible!"
"How terrible?"
"He can't hit his hat with a broom!"
"What do you think he will shoot?"
"Who knows? He could do just as well using a baked apple instead of a ball."
This sounded very gratifying, so I took another club and another lusty swing at the ball and had another nasty accident. The caddie groaned as though suffering from some secret sorrow.
Not wishing to inquire into his personal problems, I persisted in my quest for more information about Mr. Cawthorne's golf game. "What," I asked, "is Mr. Cawthorne's usual score? Around ninety, perhaps?"
"Oh no, much worse than that!"
"A hundred?"
"Oh no, much worse than that!"
"Very interesting," I said. "He wants to play me for ten dollars a hole. How many strokes do you think I should give him?"
"You!" exclaimed the caddie. "Oh, Mr. Menjou, you couldn't give him any strokes at all!"