Gently propelling himself, by means of his large web feet, through the water of a pond on the golf links of White Bear, Minn., a beady-eyed drake moved among his ducks, with the air of a Caliph inspecting a slave-market. He was born in bad temper, for the events of the last two days had been little calculated to sooth a drake's equanimity. In the first place, the course had been overrun with women. The drake did not know that they were competitors in the Women's Western Golf Tournament; he was merely concious of...
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