
Harry and Fred were playing their Sunday afternoon golf game.  The game, as
always, was close.  They were at the treacherous 12th hole: a par three that
required a perfect first shot over a large pond and onto a tiny green.  There
were sand traps on the other three sides of the green, and a small road 50
feet beyond it.  Harry went first.  He carefully addressed the ball and hit
a good shot that landed just on the edge of the green, narrowly avoiding the
pond.  Just as Fred addressed his ball, he looked up and noticed a funeral
procession along the road just behind the green.  Fred put down his club,
took his hat off, and waited for the entire procession to pass.  As soon as
the cars were gone he put his hat back on and started addressing the ball
again.  Harry said, "Damn, Fred.  That was a really nice thing you did,
waiting for the funeral to pass like that."
	Fred finished his swing, making perfect contact with the ball.  It
was an excellent shot that landed 7 feet from the hole.  "It's the least I
could do," he said, smiling at his shot, "We were married for 22 years,
you know."
