The Devil’s Disciple
The Golfer stood in his room at night,
Pitching balls to a padded chair.
He could work his mashie there all right,
But on the links he was in despair:
’Twas top and sclaff,
Till a horse would laugh,
And the best he’d get was a measly half.
“I never shall learn this game,” quoth he.
“And I’d tell my soul for a seventy-three!”
No sooner said, on this fatal night,
Than the Devil walked in, with a bow polite.
“Pledge me your soul, my friend,” said he,
“And to-morrow you’ll shoot a seventy-three.
Don’t think at all
Of stance or grip;
Just swat the ball,
And let ’er rip.
Leave it to me, I’ll turn the trick;
You pin your faith to your Uncle Nick.”
“Done!” said the Golfer—“gladly, too.”
“You’re on,” said the Devil. “Good-night to you.”
Next day, when “Mac” drove off the tee
For the first long hole, he was down in three;
And every other, or near or far,
Was played, somehow, in exactly par.
He sliced, he hooked, he sclaffed, he topped,
But somehow or other he always copped.
If he hit a bunker he blundered o’er,
And rolled to the pin for an easy four.
Over the green, or short, or up,
He trickled the next one to the cup.
Once, when he pulled to a bunker tall,
Which promised to grab and hold the ball,
A caddie said, as he rubbed his eye,
That a hoof had carromed the pellet by;
But none suspected, who saw it kick,
’Twas the cloven hoof of your Uncle Nick.
Hole by hole,
To the eighteenth goal,
Walked the man who had sold his soul;
Drive and iron, and pitch and poke,
Till, matching his card, his friends went broke.
For, adding his score, they found that he
Had shot the course in a seventy-three!
Whether his bargain he ought to rue
Depends of course on the point of view.
At least “Mac’s” happier now by far
Than when he was eighteen under par.
He never worries about the trade,
Or ever gives it a thought at all:
And the only sign of the pact he made
Is a puff of smoke where he hits the ball.
Envy not the men who go south in the winter to continue their golf. They miss the pleasure of waiting for spring days and greening turf. Besides, the more they play the less eradicable become their bad habits.