One informed in the ways of the sport could have warned her that caddies inevitably become cynical toward all people of the sort one cares to meet.

Compelled by a rigid etiquette to silent, unemotional formality, they boil interiorly with contempt for people of the better sort, not only because their golf is usually atrocious--such as every caddie brilliantly surpasses in his leisure moments--but because the speech provoked by their inveterate failures is commonly all too human.
So the results of Wilbur Cowan's contact with people Winona would approve, enduring for a mercifully brief summer and autumn, were not what Winona had fondly preconceived.

He had first been attracted to the course--a sweet course, said the golf-architect who had laid it out over the rolling land south of town--by the personality of one John Knox McTavish, an earnest Scotchman of youngish middle age, procured from afar to tell the beginning golfers of Newbern to keep their heads down and follow through and not to press the ball.

As John spoke, it was "Don't pr-r-r-r-ess th' ball." He had been chosen from among other candidates because of his accent.

He richly endowed his words with r's, making more than one grow where only one had grown before.