Chapter 2
The mirror on the bathroom door, a full-length, blue pane of glass, reflected Maurice's upper torso as he wielded the putter. He glanced at himself momentarily. It did look ridiculous-a man practicing golf on the rug in his living room. Surely there had to be other ways to sharpen your eye or get in shape; he was tired of the daily yoga and sitting-up exercises, though.
His wife looked up from her book as she sat in the maple colonial chair. "Try to keep the rug from becoming shredded wheat, darling. They cost money."
"Golf balls?"
"No. I'm talking about carpets. Why you insist upon a silly sport I'll never know."
"I happen to like it." He hit the ball into a rubber quoit on the floor near the lamp.
"At one time you were quite a fiend for collecting coins, too. I preferr
