In Muirfield

A bonny sun shone, a gentle breeze blew, the Firth of Forth sparkled bright as hard by it they played for the British amateur-golf championship down the dour long fairways of Muirfield (near Edinburgh).

England's St. Georges were gathered to slay a brood of dragons--the invading U. S. Walker Cup team--of eight, and a few free-lancing U. S. golfers--as well as to try to carry the title south of the Tweed from Champion Robert Harris.

Play had not gone far before major casualties occurred. Hammering hooks, ripping off slices, hewing up divots like graveslabs, ponderous Cyril Tolley of England duffered out of the tournament with a suddenness and completeness that boded ill to Britain's Walker Cup chances later on, for Tolley is the British team's captain. But then U. S. Captain Robert Gardner spent a morning "hitting the ball on the roof" (i. e., topping shots) and dishonors were even. As one despatch paraphrased it: "His driving was singular and putting plural...."

Scottish links patriarchs plodded wide-eyed after young Roland Mackenzie of Washington, D. C., who was hitting terrific drives. They hemmed and mumbled among themselves about the firmness and precision of square shouldered young Watts Gunn of Atlanta, Ga, They despaired silently when brilliant Roger Wethered of England had an off morning and lost to the equally brilliant but less reliable Robert Scott Jr. of Glasgow. Wethered was one of the Isles' best hopes against the Americans. And Sir Ernest Holderness was another. Sir Ernest lost to another untried youngster, Robert Peattie, whose father is postmaster of Perth. That really left Champion Robert Harris as the only man of calibre sufficient for a brave final, for even the Irish champion, Dr. John McCormack, had been put out by Jess Sweetser. U. S. A.

Of course the Americans were slaughtering each other too. Sweetser had beaten dangerous Francis Ouimet, who had previously eliminated George Von Elm. But Bobby Jones, playing at the top of his game, stood between Harris and the demi semifinal. Their match, the first meeting in title play of a U. S. and a British champion, was the most spectacular of the tournament. At the very third stroke Jones holed an approach for a birdie. He made five more birdies in the next eleven holes. He trounced Harris eight up and six to go, and Harris was by no means off form that afternoon.

Perhaps the shower that fell that afternoon gave Bobby a crick in the neck. Many thought so, though he refused to admit it. Or perhaps it was just one of those inexplicable lapses that the best of players cannot escape. At all events, it was a different Jones that hooked to the rough and traps, sent his approaches wide and missed diminutive putts the next day against 21-year-old Arthur Jamieson Jr., whose work around the greens more than earned him his place in the semifinal. There Jamieson was trimmed by S. F. Simpson, while Jess Sweetser was demonstrating, by a tremendously hard fought win over the Hon. W. G. Brownlow of Ireland, his undoubted superiority over anyone left in the tournament since the departure of Jones. Handicapped by a wrenched knee, the blond strapper turned in a 75 for the 6,738-yd., par 74 course.

Solemn British journalists who reported the meeting between Mr. Simpson and Mr. Sweetser wrote about everything but golf. They wrote about the clear day and the blue heather and the crowd of 6,000 lords, ladies, and gentlemen. When they found it necessary to mention the game that was being played that day, they said that Sweetser was a champion and that Simpson was a good golfer. There was really nothing more to be said. If Mr. S. F. Simpson of Glasgow joined your foursome next Sunday, you would admire his game. You would remember him as an exceptionally quiet man who teed his ball very high, who fell back on his heels after driving, and who was a deadly putter. His approach shots might be a little worse than yours if you were playing' well. Still, Mr. Simpson would probably have the best ball all the way around unless the local professional happened to be the fourth man of your foursome, in which event Mr. Simpson would probably be beaten. After playing him you would not go home and break your clubs and say "I can never be a golfer ..." You might if you played Mr. Sweetser.

Par for the first nine holes at Muirfield is 38. That was Sweetser's score. Par for the second nine is 36. Sweetser's score was 37. And that morning Mr. Simpson went around in 81; so even at luncheon it was realized that the title would move across the water.

As everyone knows, Travis, an Australian, represented the U. S. in 1904, but Sweetser is the first U. S.-born golfer to loft over the championship hazard.

It was four summers ago that Jess Sweetser, then a Yale undergraduate, came to fame by winning first the Metropolitan title and then, at Brookline, Mass., the national amateur championship. At Flossmoor, Ill., in 1923, he relinquished his national title to Max Marston of Philadelphia only after 38 holes of amazing competitive golf. Possessed of a slightly unorthodox style, he is more given to "spells" of brilliance or mediocrity than some other golfers, but his courage and resourcefulness are of an extremely high order. His opponents never feel secure against the "impossible" shots that it is his habit to bring off. . . . Siwanoy Club (Mount Vernon, N. Y.) prepared a triumph for its illustrious son and his bride of four months, the former Agnes Isabel Lewis of Toronto.

*Eight amateur golfers are chosen by Britain and the U. S. to play for the Walker Cup, emblematic of the world's team championship. The matches are held after the amateur championship alternately in each country. This year's team: Gardner (Capt.), Jones, Von Elm, Guilford, Mackenzie, Sweetser, Ouimet, Gunn.