§ 270 Where Proper Relief Lay
Late in life, Messrs. Abrams and Jacobs took up golf. Both were retired cloak and suit merchants of the type made famous in Montague Glass’s immortal stories.
On a glorious September afternoon they were going over the links of their country-club. They were playing for a stake of a dollar a hole, and the competition was spirited.
Mr. Abrams drove into a bunker. With his iron he made four ineffectual swipes, raising the sand in clouds. Then he stooped down, picked up the half buried ball and tossed it out on the fairway.
Mr. Jacobs stiffened with indignation.
“Look a’ here!” he whooped. “You couldn’t do that. It’s against the rules.”
“I already have done it,” said Mr. Abrams, calmly.
“But again I tell you it’s against the rules,” declared Mr. Jacobs. “I have been playing this game longer as you have and I tell you it says in the book where you should not touch the ball with your hands at all. What am I going to do if by such tricks as that you should win the match?”
“Sue me,” said Mr. Abrams.