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A Woman Is Only A Woman A Woman Is Only A Woman

A Woman Is Only A Woman
On a fine day in the spring, summer, or early autumn, there are few spots more delightful than the terrace in front of our Golf Club. It is a vantage-point peculiarly fitted to the man of philosophic mind: for from it may be seen that varied, never-ending pageant, which men call Golf, in a number of its aspects. To your right, on the first tee, stand the cheery optimists who are about to make their opening drive, happily conscious that even a topped shot will trickle a measurable distance down the steep hill. Away in the valley, directly in front of... Short Stories - Post by : JBowery - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3689

A Mixed Threesome A Mixed Threesome

A Mixed Threesome
It was the holiday season, and during the holidays the Greens Committees have decided that the payment of twenty guineas shall entitle fathers of families not only to infest the course themselves, but also to decant their nearest and dearest upon it in whatever quantity they please. All over the links, in consequence, happy, laughing groups of children had broken out like a rash. A wan-faced adult, who had been held up for ten minutes while a drove of issue quarrelled over whether little Claude had taken two hundred or two hundred and twenty approach shots to reach the ninth green... Short Stories - Post by : matrix_mlm - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 1347

Sundered Hearts Sundered Hearts

Sundered Hearts
In the smoking-room of the club-house a cheerful fire was burning, and the Oldest Member glanced from time to time out of the window into the gathering dusk. Snow was falling lightly on the links. From where he sat, the Oldest Member had a good view of the ninth green; and presently, out of the greyness of the December evening, there appeared over the brow of the hill a golf-ball. It trickled across the green, and stopped within a yard of the hole. The Oldest Member nodded approvingly. A good approach-shot.A young man in a tweed suit clambered on to the... Short Stories - Post by : starr.angel - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 2799

The Salvation Of George Mackintosh The Salvation Of George Mackintosh

The Salvation Of George Mackintosh
The young man came into the club-house. There was a frown on his usually cheerful face, and he ordered a ginger-ale in the sort of voice which an ancient Greek would have used when asking the executioner to bring on the hemlock.Sunk in the recesses of his favourite settee the Oldest Member had watched him with silent sympathy."How did you get on?" he inquired."He beat me."The Oldest Member nodded his venerable head."You have had a trying time, if I am not mistaken. I feared as much when I saw you go out with Pobsley. How many a young man have I... Short Stories - Post by : kevin56789 - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3430

Ordeal By Golf Ordeal By Golf

Ordeal By Golf
A pleasant breeze played among the trees on the terrace outside the Marvis Bay Golf and Country Club. It ruffled the leaves and cooled the forehead of the Oldest Member, who, as was his custom of a Saturday afternoon, sat in the shade on a rocking-chair, observing the younger generation as it hooked and sliced in the valley below. The eye of the Oldest Member was thoughtful and reflective. When it looked into yours you saw in it that perfect peace, that peace beyond understanding, which comes at its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.The Oldest Member... Short Stories - Post by : safelistworld - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3279

The Long Hole The Long Hole

The Long Hole
The young man, as he sat filling his pipe in the club-house smoking-room, was inclined to be bitter."If there's one thing that gives me a pain squarely in the centre of the gizzard," he burst out, breaking a silence that had lasted for some minutes, "it's a golf-lawyer. They oughtn't to be allowed on the links."The Oldest Member, who had been meditatively putting himself outside a cup of tea and a slice of seed-cake, raised his white eyebrows."The Law," he said, "is an honourable profession. Why should its practitioners be restrained from indulgence in the game of games?""I don't mean actual... Short Stories - Post by : vdorazio - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 2700

The Heel Of Achilles The Heel Of Achilles

The Heel Of Achilles
On the young man's face, as he sat sipping his ginger-ale in the club-house smoking-room, there was a look of disillusionment. "Never again!" he said.The Oldest Member glanced up from his paper."You are proposing to give up golf once more?" he queried."Not golf. Betting on golf." The Young Man frowned. "I've just been let down badly. Wouldn't you have thought I had a good thing, laying seven to one on McTavish against Robinson?""Undoubtedly," said the Sage. "The odds, indeed, generous as they are, scarcely indicate the former's superiority. Do you mean to tell me that the thing came unstitched?""Robinson won in... Short Stories - Post by : jtmjr21218 - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3511

The Rough Stuff The Rough Stuff

The Rough Stuff
Into the basking warmth of the day there had crept, with the approach of evening, that heartening crispness which heralds the advent of autumn. Already, in the valley by the ninth tee, some of the trees had begun to try on strange colours, in tentative experiment against the coming of nature's annual fancy dress ball, when the soberest tree casts off its workaday suit of green and plunges into a riot of reds and yellows. On the terrace in front of the club-house an occasional withered leaf fluttered down on the table where the Oldest Member sat, sipping a thoughtful seltzer... Short Stories - Post by : lynns - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 1863

The Coming Of Gowf The Coming Of Gowf

The Coming Of Gowf
PROLOGUEAfter we had sent in our card and waited for a few hours in the marbled ante-room, a bell rang and the major-domo, parting the priceless curtains, ushered us in to where the editor sat writing at his desk. We advanced on all fours, knocking our head reverently on the Aubusson carpet."Well?" he said at length, laying down his jewelled pen."We just looked in," we said, humbly, "to ask if it would be all right if we sent you an historical story.""The public does not want historical stories," he said, frowning coldly."Ah, but the public hasn't seen one of ours!" we... Short Stories - Post by : johnd1 - Date : November 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3511

At Geisenheimer's At Geisenheimer's

At Geisenheimer's
As I walked to Geisenheimer's that night I was feeling blue and restless, tired of New York, tired of dancing, tired of everything. Broadway was full of people hurrying to the theatres. Cars rattled by. All the electric lights in the world were blazing down on the Great White Way. And it all seemed stale and dreary to me.Geisenheimer's was full as usual. All the tables were occupied, and there were several couples already on the dancing-floor in the centre. The band was playing 'Michigan':_I want to go back, I want to go back To the place... Short Stories - Post by : squiffy - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 1046

Crowned Heads Crowned Heads

Crowned Heads
Katie had never been more surprised in her life than when the serious young man with the brown eyes and the Charles Dana Gibson profile spirited her away from his friend and Genevieve. Till that moment she had looked on herself as playing a sort of 'villager and retainer' part to the brown-eyed young man's hero and Genevieve's heroine. She knew she was not pretty, though somebody (unidentified) had once said that she had nice eyes; whereas Genevieve was notoriously a beauty, incessantly pestered, so report had it, by musical comedy managers to go on the stage.Genevieve was tall and blonde,... Short Stories - Post by : eaterb - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 3406

The Mixer The Mixer

The Mixer
I. He Meets a Shy GentlemanLooking back, I always consider that my career as a dog proper really started when I was bought for the sum of half a crown by the Shy Man. That event marked the end of my puppyhood. The knowledge that I was worth actual cash to somebody filled me with a sense of new responsibilities. It sobered me. Besides, it was only after that half-crown changed hands that I went out into the great world; and, however interesting life may be in an East End public-house, it is only when you go out into the world... Short Stories - Post by : jjacobsen - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 1939

Wilton's Holiday Wilton's Holiday

Wilton's Holiday
When Jack Wilton first came to Marois Bay, none of us dreamed that he was a man with a hidden sorrow in his life. There was something about the man which made the idea absurd, or would have made it absurd if he himself had not been the authority for the story. He looked so thoroughly pleased with life and with himself. He was one of those men whom you instinctively label in your mind as 'strong'. He was so healthy, so fit, and had such a confident, yet sympathetic, look about him that you felt directly you saw him that... Short Stories - Post by : imported_n/a - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 2355

Extricating Young Gussie Extricating Young Gussie

Extricating Young Gussie
She sprang it on me before breakfast. There in seven words you have a complete character sketch of my Aunt Agatha. I could go on indefinitely about brutality and lack of consideration. I merely say that she routed me out of bed to listen to her painful story somewhere in the small hours. It can't have been half past eleven when Jeeves, my man, woke me out of the dreamless and broke the news:'Mrs Gregson to see you, sir.'I thought she must be walking in her sleep, but I crawled out of bed and got into a dressing-gown. I knew Aunt... Short Stories - Post by : igor888 - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 2574

Bill The Bloodhound Bill The Bloodhound

Bill The Bloodhound
There's a divinity that shapes out ends. Consider the case of Henry Pifield Rice, detective.I must explain Henry early, to avoid disappointment. If I simply said he was a detective, and let it go at that, I should be obtaining the reader's interest under false pretences. He was really only a sort of detective, a species of sleuth. At Stafford's International Investigation Bureau, in the Strand he was employed, they did not require him to solve mysteries which had baffled the police. He had never measured a footprint in his life, and what he did not know about bloodstains would... Short Stories - Post by : imported_n/a - Date : October 2009 - Author : P G Wodehouse - Read : 1039