toward the clubhouse, stopped, turned back and nodded to his golf bag.
A TOKEN OF
"By the way,
young man," Mr. Hawley said to me, "would you care to have, as a token
of my gratitude, a very fine and extremely expensive set of matched
I said awkwardly.
know," he said. "And I don't blame you one bit. There's no point in
being trapped into doing something you don't like just because a great many
other people seem to—" The old man paused, and he gave me a sharp glance.
"Do you really like public accountancy?"
I said again, even more awkwardly. After all, my boss was standing at my
I thought," my boss's father-in-law said briskly. "Tomorrow morning
when I get to the office, I'll make a couple of phone calls and see what I can
do. Several of my clients, as you know, are in the publishing business,"
Mr. Hawley said. "Don't forget to remind me."
I didn't, and
that disposed of my career as a public accountant. As to my career as a golfer,
there has never been anything to dispose of. Since that day at Mr. Hawley's
club I have never set foot on a golf course. So far as the great game and I are
concerned, we reached, before it had a chance to begin, the end of the