Marge now strode over to her own ball and with an intense expression lofted an iron that stopped dead four feet from the pin.
There were a couple of things wrong with the way she hit the shot, but I only gave her one tip. "Try standing farther away from the ball," I told her.
"Thanks a lot," she said solemnly.
Two more shots—the last a beauty—and I had the ball on the green, shooting a 9. Marge sank her putt for a par, and I congratulated her.
"I'm not holding you up, am I?" she asked.
"Not a bit," I told her.
The second hole is one of the toughest on the course. It's another par 3, a straightaway 135-yarder. That sounds easy, but you have to fire the ball over a huge lake.
The lake is shaped like an electric light bulb, with the socket facing the green. At its widest it is about 60 yards and, counting the socket, it's about 75 yards long. To get over it you have to hit a ball 120 yards on the fly and extremely straight.
There are traps on both sides of the green and woods directly behind it. There are woods, in fact, all around the lake except for a strip of shallow rough in the middle of the right side.
Since the wind was gusty and mainly blowing toward us, I advised her to use a five-wood. It turned out she didn't have one, and mine was too heavy—it is too heavy for most men—so she used a six-iron.