Resort for bad golfers

     "It is a pity," I said, "that you could not have induced Ferdinand to go to Marvis Bay for a month or two."
     "Why?"
     "Because it seems to me, thinking the thing over, that it is just possible that Marvis Bay might cure him. At the hotel there he would find collected a mob of golfers - I use the term in the broadest sense, to embrace the paralytics and the men who play left-handed - whom even he would be able to beat. When I was at Marvis Bay, the hotel links were a sort of Sargasso Sea into which had drifted all the flotsam and jetsam of golf. I have seen things done on that course at which I shuddered and averted my eyes - and I am not a weak man. If Ferdinand can polish up his game so as to go round in a fairly steady hundred and five, I fancy there is hope. But I understand he is not going to Marvis Bay."
     "Oh yes he is," said the girl.

(from "The Heart of a Goof," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)