§ 237 War Upon the Reptiles
Messrs. Cohen and Shapinsky retired from the white-goods business to devote themselves to lives of leisure. They took up golf.
Mr. Shapinsky sliced his drive and the ball, flying off at a tangent, descended in a bunker. Over the parapet of the bunker there came to the ears of the waiting Mr. Cohen muffled sounds as Mr. Shapinsky with his niblick dug into the sand. Finally he emerged.
“Vell,” he said, “not so bad, huh? It only took me three strokes to get out of that pit.”
“Vat do you mean three strokes?” demanded Mr. Cohen. “Myself I stood here und counted und I distinctly heard you hit the ground mit your iron nine times.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Shapinsky, “I vas killing a snake.”