A dignified English solicitor-widower with a considerable income had long dreamed of playing Sandringham, one of Great Britain’s most exclusive golf courses, and one day he made up his mind to chance it when he was traveling in the area. Entering the clubhouse, he asked at the desk if he might play the course. The club secretary inquired, “Member?”

To which he replied, “No, sir.”

“Guest of a member?” “No, sir.” The answer came back, “Sorry.” As he turned to leave, the lawyer spotted a slightly familiar figure seated in the lounge, reading the London Times. It was Lord Parham. He approached and, bowing low, said, “I beg your pardon, your Lordship, but my name is Higginbotham of the London solicitors Higginbotham, Willinby and Barclay. I should like to crave your Lordship’s indulgence. Might I play this beautiful course as your guest?”

His Lordship gave Higginbotham a long look, put down his paper and asked, “Church?”

“Church of England, sir, as was my late wife.”

“Education?”

“Eton, sir, and Oxford.”

“Sport?”

“Rugby, sir, a spot of tennis and No. 4 on the crew that beat Cambridge.”

“Service?”

“Brigadier, sir, Coldstream Guards. Victoria Cross and Knight of the Garter.”

“Campaigns?”

“Dunkirk, El Alamein and Normandy, sir.”

“Languages?”

“Private tutor in French, fluent German and a bit of Greek.”

His Lordship considered this briefly, then nodded to the club secretary and said, “Nine holes.”