A golf ball soared through the night. Stars twinkled overhead, night winds sighed as the ball landed, bounded, rolled up on a putting green unaccustomed to such nocturnal visitations. On the green, the ball moved steadily toward, was swallowed up by, a dark little shadowthe hole. No fairy-flight nor golfer's fevered dream, this. Back in the direction from which the ball had come, 246 yards over hump and hummock, stumpy little Gene Sarazen, onetime U. S. open champion, grinned and chaffed with many bystanders as he cracked out other balls into the night...
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