THERE comes a period when our golf shows unmistakable evidence of improvement; a soul-satisfying time when we entertain no serious doubt as to our ability to execute a plain shot in the correct way. The hardest part of the golfer's life is that stage in his novitiate when his only faith is in his capacity for foozling. He swings beautifully without the ball, but directly that object is placed in front of him, the difficulties of hitting it properly rush into his mind like a raging torrent. For the first second he wonders whether he will succeed. Before he has finished addressing the ball, his sentiments present a mixture of resignation and desperate hope. That is the period when instruction by voice has an excellent moral effect. The professional may do nothing more than say repeatedly: - "You'll hit it all right if you do what I tell you"; but those words seem to breed a lot of confidence in the doubter. I must confess, however, that the instructor occasionally has to exercise a lot of restraint in order to produce the desired results. I once knew a man who constantly needed this vocal encouragement, and who invariably raised a side-issue by saying in response: - "Yes; but if I hit it, I'm sure to laugh so much that I shan't be able to do it again." That was very trying. It is easy enough to tell a person not to move his head, but to tell him not to laugh for joy at his triumphs seems almost inhuman. The worst of it was that he had good ground for fear as to the danger of his risible tendencies. Whenever he made a good shot, he was so elated, and he laughed so gaily about it, that it was out of the question to expect him to do anything equally satisfactory for quite a long while.

Sooner or later, however, the earnest golfer attains that degree of proficiency when he knows that the accomplishment of an ordinary stroke is within his power. His mistrust in his own abilities (that greatest and most natural handicap of the novice) has disappeared. Now is the time for him to start learning what is, I think, the most valuable shot in golf. It is called the push-shot.

I suppose it is true that the standard of amateur golf has fallen below that of professional golf. Mr H. H. Hilton very nearly beat all of us in the open championship at Sandwich in 1911, and I have poignant recollections of waiting for an hour round the home green while he was engaged in an effort which was very perturbing to me in particular; but, save for that performance by a truly great player, the data provided during recent years support the general impression that the leading professionals have maintained a higher degree of skill than the leading amateurs. There have been many discussions as to the reason for this state of affairs. I venture to say, that the explanation is to be found almost exclusively in the fact that the professionals make the most of the push-shot. That is the great secret of their success, and if amateurs would practise that stroke more assiduously, I believe that the disparity between the two sections of the golfing community would be greatly lessened. Some amateurs do play the push-shot, and play it well. But they are a small company; the great majority do not appreciate either its scientific beauties or its practical possibilities. The professionals resort to it in many situations, and find it invaluable. They even play it with a niblick in bunkers, when the ball is lying cleanly. Sometimes you will hear a spectator remark when following a couple of professionals: - "I can't imagine how these fellows manage to get so far out of bunkers." The push-shot is the solution to the mystery. Its feature on all occasions when it is properly executed is that it makes the ball rise sharply, and yet prevents it from flying high, and so losing distance. It is clear that we could not hope for a ball played out of a bunker to behave in a manner better than that indicated. We want it to ascend quickly, so as to escape the face of the hazard; we also want it to go a long way. The push-shot compels it to do these two things. The back-spin is the influence that works for so much good. For a moment after the impact, that spin is so powerful that the ball, revolving rapidly in the direction opposite to that in which it is travelling, necessarily goes up sharply into the air. It is trying to whirl back, as it were, to the player; but the power of the forward movement is too much for it. The conflict of the two forces naturally causes it to rise sharply. Almost immediately, however, they come to an amicable understanding. The ball, having been struck cleanly with anything up to a three-quarter swing, insists upon going forward. It cannot be denied. But the velocity of the impact having been spent, the back-spin makes the shot "flatten out" so to speak. So, again, we have the two influences operating in unison for the good of the player. The ball must necessarily go in the direction in which it has been hit; but the spin keeps it low and, moreover, maintains its flight in one plane for an astonishingly long time. On and on it goes until its power is spent; then it drops as sharply as it has risen, and runs very few yards. It is wonderful how far one can get out of a bunker by playing this shot with a niblick. As I have previously mentioned, the ball must be lying cleanly; if it be even slightly buried, the stroke which is the subject of this chapter cannot be considered within the range of practical politics. However, we are not supposed to make the acquaintance of bunkers. Human nature being frail, we do come into contact with them at intervals, so that it is necessary to consider the best way of emerging triumphantly from their grasp; but it is more comforting when discussing the push-shot, to suppose that we are always on the fairway. By a skilful golfer who practises it assiduously, it can be executed successfully and profitably with any club. James Braid often plays it from the tee with his driver. Not long ago I had thirty-six holes with him at Walton Heath. Nothing in my golfing life has impressed me more than the way in which Braid executed the push-shot with all kinds of clubs on that occasion. I honestly do not think that he has any equal at it. It is my own favourite stroke (in the days of the guttapercha ball I simply worshipped it, and made myself, I think, pretty good at it), but I fear I do not often play it now as I played it in former days. It is the master stroke in the game, and is worthy the earnest study of every golfer who is approaching the region of scratch form. It demands great accuracy and a perfect synchronization of several unusual movements, but it is within the reach of anybody who has confidence in his ability to perform a shot properly. It comes with diligent practice. The person of medium handicap may find that he possesses the knack of doing it. If not, I would recommend him to perfect himself at the plain strokes before tackling the more intricate ones.