I had
embarked on this affair in a purely neutral spirit, not caring which of
the two won and only sorry that both could not lose. Yet, as the
morning wore on, I found myself almost unconsciously becoming
distinctly pro-Jukes. I did not like the man. I objected to his face,
his manners, and the colour of his tie. Yet there was something in the
dogged way in which he struggled against adversity which touched me and
won my grudging support. Many men, I felt, having been so outmanoeuvred
at the start, would have given up the contest in despair; but Arthur
Jukes, for all his defects, had the soul of a true golfer. He declined
to give up. In grim silence he hacked his ball through the rough till
he reached the high road; and then, having played twenty-seven, set
himself resolutely to propel it on its long journey.
It was a lovely morning, and, as I bicycled along, keeping a fatherly
eye on Arthur's activities, I realized for the first time in my life
the full meaning of that exquisite phrase of Coleridge:
_"Clothing the palpable and familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn,"_
for in the pellucid air everything seemed weirdly beautiful, even
Arthur Juke's heather-mixture knickerbockers, of which hitherto I had
never approved.
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