6
_Ordeal By Golf_
A pleasant breeze played among the trees on the terrace outside theMarvis Bay Golf and Country Club. It ruffled the leaves and cooled theforehead of the Oldest Member, who, as was his custom of a Saturdayafternoon, sat in the shade on a rocking-chair, observing the youngergeneration as it hooked and sliced in the valley below. The eye of theOldest Member was thoughtful and reflective. When it looked into yoursyou saw in it that perfect peace, that peace beyond understanding,which comes at its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.
The Oldest Member has not played golf since the rubber-cored ballsuperseded the old dignified gutty. But as a spectator and philosopherhe still finds pleasure in the pastime. He is watching it now with keeninterest. His gaze, passing from the lemonade which he is suckingthrough a straw, rests upon the Saturday foursome which is strugglingraggedly up the hill to the ninth green. Like all Saturday foursomes,it is in difficulties. One of the patients is zigzagging about thefairway like a liner pursued by submarines. Two others seem to bedigging for buried treasure, unless--it is too far off to becertain--they are killing snakes. The remaining cripple, who has justfoozled a mashie-shot, is blaming his caddie. His voice, as he upbraidsthe innocent child for breathing during his up-swing, comes clearly upthe hill.
The Oldest Member sighs. His lemonade gives a sympathetic gurgle. Heputs it down on the table.
* * * * *
How few men, says the Oldest Member, possess the proper golfingtemperament! How few indeed, judging by the sights I see here onSaturday afternoons, possess any qualification at all for golf except apair of baggy knickerbockers and enough money to enable them to pay forthe drinks at the end of the round. The ideal golfer never loses histemper. When I played, I never lost my temper. Sometimes, it is true, Imay, after missing a shot, have broken my club across my knees; but Idid it in a calm and judicial spirit, because the club was obviously nogood and I was going to get another one anyway. To lose one's temper atgolf is foolish. It gets you nothing, not even relief. Imitate thespirit of Marcus Aurelius. "Whatever may befall thee," says that greatman in his "Meditations", "it was preordained for thee fromeverlasting. Nothing happens to anybody which he is not fitted bynature to bear." I like to think that this noble thought came to himafter he had sliced a couple of new balls into the woods, and that hejotted it down on the back of his score-card. For there can be no doubtthat the man was a golfer, and a bad golfer at that. Nobody who had nothad a short putt stop on the edge of the hole could possibly havewritten the words: "That which makes the man no worse than he was makeslife no worse. It has no power to harm, without or within." Yes, MarcusAurelius undoubtedly played golf, and all the evidence seems toindicate that he rarely went round in under a hundred and twenty. Theniblick was his club.
Speaking of Marcus Aurelius and the golfing temperament recalls to mymind the case of young Mitchell Holmes. Mitchell, when I knew himfirst, was a promising young man with a future before him in thePaterson Dyeing and Refining Company, of which my old friend, AlexanderPaterson, was the president. He had many engaging qualities--among theman unquestioned ability to imitate a bulldog quarrelling with aPekingese in a way which had to be heard to be believed. It was a giftwhich made him much in demand at social gatherings in theneighbourhood, marking him off from other young men who could onlyalmost play the mandolin or recite bits of Gunga Din; and no doubt itwas this talent of his which first sowed the seeds of love in the heartof Millicent Boyd. Women are essentially hero-worshippers, and when awarm-hearted girl like Millicent has heard a personable young manimitating a bulldog and a Pekingese to the applause of a crowdeddrawing-room, and has been able to detect the exact point at which thePekingese leaves off and the bulldog begins, she can never feel quitethe same to other men. In short, Mitchell and Millicent were engaged,and were only waiting to be married till the former could bite theDyeing and Refining Company's ear for a bit of extra salary.
Mitchell Holmes had only one fault. He lost his temper when playinggolf. He seldom played a round without becoming piqued, peeved, or--inmany cases--chagrined. The caddies on our links, it was said, couldalways worst other small boys in verbal argument by calling them someof the things they had heard Mitchell call his ball on discovering itin a cuppy lie. He had a great gift of language, and he used itunsparingly. I will admit that there was some excuse for the man. Hehad the makings of a brilliant golfer, but a combination of bad luckand inconsistent play invariably robbed him of the fruits of his skill.He was the sort of player who does the first two holes in one underbogey and then takes an eleven at the third. The least thing upset himon the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of thebutterflies in the adjoining meadows.
It seemed hardly likely that this one kink in an otherwise admirablecharacter would ever seriously affect his working or professional life,but it did. One evening, as I was sitting in my garden, AlexanderPaterson was announced. A glance at his face told me that he had cometo ask my advice. Rightly or wrongly, he regarded me as one capable ofgiving advice. It was I who had changed the whole current of his lifeby counselling him to leave the wood in his bag and take a driving-ironoff the tee; and in one or two other matters, like the choice of aputter (so much more important than the choice of a wife), I had beenof assistance to him.
Alexander sat down and fanned himself with his hat, for the evening waswarm. Perplexity was written upon his fine face.
"I don't know what to do," he said.
"Keep the head still--slow back--don't press," I said, gravely. Thereis no better rule for a happy and successful life.
"It's nothing to do with golf this time," he said. "It's about thetreasurership of my company. Old Smithers retires next week, and I'vegot to find a man to fill his place."
"That should be easy. You have simply to select the most deserving fromamong your other employees."
"But which _is_ the most deserving? That's the point. There aretwo men who are capable of holding the job quite adequately. But then Irealize how little I know of their real characters. It is thetreasurership, you understand, which has to be filled. Now, a man whowas quite good at another job might easily get wrong ideas into hishead when he became a treasurer. He would have the handling of largesums of money. In other words, a man who in ordinary circumstances hadnever been conscious of any desire to visit the more distant portionsof South America might feel the urge, so to speak, shortly after hebecame a treasurer. That is my difficulty. Of course, one always takesa sporting chance with any treasurer; but how am I to find out which ofthese two men would give me the more reasonable opportunity of keepingsome of my money?"
I did not hesitate a moment. I held strong views on the subject ofcharacter-testing.
"The only way," I said to Alexander, "of really finding out a man'strue character is to play golf with him. In no other walk of life doesthe cloven hoof so quickly display itself. I employed a lawyer foryears, until one day I saw him kick his ball out of a heel-mark. Iremoved my business from his charge next morning. He has not yet runoff with any trust-funds, but there is a nasty gleam in his eye, and Iam convinced that it is only a question of time. Golf, my dear fellow,is the infallible test. The man who can go into a patch of rough alone,with the knowledge that only God is watching him, and play his ballwhere it lies, is the man who will serve you faithfully and well. Theman who can smile bravely when his putt is diverted by one of thosebeastly wormcasts is pure gold right through. But the man who is hasty,unbalanced, and violent on the links will display the same qualities inthe wider field of everyday life. You don't want an unbalancedtreasurer do you?"
"Not if his books are likely to catch the complaint."
"They are sure to. Statisticians estimate that the average of crimeamong good golfers is lower than in any class of the community exceptpossibly bishops. Since Willie Park won the first championship atPrestwick in the year 1860 there has, I believe, been no instance of anOpen Champion spending a day in prison. Whereas the
bad golfers--and bybad I do not mean incompetent, but black-souled--the men who fail tocount a stroke when they miss the globe; the men who never replace adivot; the men who talk while their opponent is driving; and the menwho let their angry passions rise--these are in and out of WormwoodScrubbs all the time. They find it hardly worth while to get their haircut in their brief intervals of liberty."
Alexander was visibly impressed.
"That sounds sensible, by George!" he said.
"It is sensible."
"I'll do it! Honestly, I can't see any other way of deciding betweenHolmes and Dixon."
I started.
"Holmes? Not Mitchell Holmes?"
"Yes. Of course you must know him? He lives here, I believe."
"And by Dixon do you mean Rupert Dixon?"
"That's the man. Another neighbour of yours."
I confess that my heart sank. It was as if my ball had fallen into thepit which my niblick had digged. I wished heartily that I had thoughtof waiting to ascertain the names of the two rivals before offering myscheme. I was extremely fond of Mitchell Holmes and of the girl to whomhe was engaged to be married. Indeed, it was I who had sketched out afew rough notes for the lad to use when proposing; and results hadshown that he had put my stuff across well. And I had listened many atime with a sympathetic ear to his hopes in the matter of securing arise of salary which would enable him to get married. Somehow, whenAlexander was talking, it had not occurred to me that young Holmesmight be in the running for so important an office as thetreasurership. I had ruined the boy's chances. Ordeal by golf was theone test which he could not possibly undergo with success. Only amiracle could keep him from losing his temper, and I had expresslywarned Alexander against such a man.
When I thought of his rival my heart sank still more. Rupert Dixon wasrather an unpleasant young man, but the worst of his enemies could notaccuse him of not possessing the golfing temperament. From the driveoff the tee to the holing of the final putt he was uniformly suave.
* * * * *
When Alexander had gone, I sat in thought for some time. I was facedwith a problem. Strictly speaking, no doubt, I had no right to takesides; and, though secrecy had not been enjoined upon me in so manywords, I was very well aware that Alexander was under the impressionthat I would keep the thing under my hat and not reveal to either partythe test that awaited him. Each candidate was, of course, to remainignorant that he was taking part in anything but a friendly game.
But when I thought of the young couple whose future depended on thisordeal, I hesitated no longer. I put on my hat and went round to MissBoyd's house, where I knew that Mitchell was to be found at this hour.
The young couple were out in the porch, looking at the moon. Theygreeted me heartily, but their heartiness had rather a tinny sound, andI could see that on the whole they regarded me as one of those thingswhich should not happen. But when I told my story their attitudechanged. They began to look on me in the pleasanter light of aguardian, philosopher, and friend.
"Wherever did Mr. Paterson get such a silly idea?" said Miss Boyd,indignantly. I had--from the best motives--concealed the source of thescheme. "It's ridiculous!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Mitchell. "The old boy's crazy about golf.It's just the sort of scheme he would cook up. Well, it dishes_me_!"
"Oh, come!" I said.
"It's no good saying 'Oh, come!' You know perfectly well that I'm afrank, outspoken golfer. When my ball goes off nor'-nor'-east when Iwant it to go due west I can't help expressing an opinion about it. Itis a curious phenomenon which calls for comment, and I give it.Similarly, when I top my drive, I have to go on record as saying that Idid not do it intentionally. And it's just these trifles, as far as Ican make out, that are going to decide the thing."
"Couldn't you learn to control yourself on the links, Mitchell,darling?" asked Millicent. "After all, golf is only a game!"
Mitchell's eyes met mine, and I have no doubt that mine showed just thesame look of horror which I saw in his. Women say these things withoutthinking. It does not mean that there is any kink in their character.They simply don't realize what they are saying.
"Hush!" said Mitchell, huskily, patting her hand and overcoming hisemotion with a strong effort. "Hush, dearest!"
* * * * *
Two or three days later I met Millicent coming from the post-office.There was a new light of happiness in her eyes, and her face wasglowing.
"Such a splendid thing has happened," she said. "After Mitchell leftthat night I happened to be glancing through a magazine, and I cameacross a wonderful advertisement. It began by saying that all the greatmen in history owed their success to being able to control themselves,and that Napoleon wouldn't have amounted to anything if he had notcurbed his fiery nature, and then it said that we can all be likeNapoleon if we fill in the accompanying blank order-form for ProfessorOrlando Rollitt's wonderful book, 'Are You Your Own Master?' absolutelyfree for five days and then seven shillings, but you must write at oncebecause the demand is enormous and pretty soon it may be too late. Iwrote at once, and luckily I was in time, because Professor Rollitt didhave a copy left, and it's just arrived. I've been looking through it,and it seems splendid."
She held out a small volume. I glanced at it. There was a frontispieceshowing a signed photograph of Professor Orlando Rollitt controllinghimself in spite of having long white whiskers, and then some readingmatter, printed between wide margins. One look at the book told me theprofessor's methods. To be brief, he had simply swiped MarcusAurelius's best stuff, the copyright having expired some two thousandyears ago, and was retailing it as his own. I did not mention this toMillicent. It was no affair of mine. Presumably, however obscure thenecessity, Professor Rollitt had to live.
"I'm going to start Mitchell on it today. Don't you think this is good?'Thou seest how few be the things which if a man has at his command hislife flows gently on and is divine.' I think it will be wonderful ifMitchell's life flows gently on and is divine for seven shillings,don't you?"
* * * * *
At the club-house that evening I encountered Rupert Dixon. He wasemerging from a shower-bath, and looked as pleased with himself asusual.
"Just been going round with old Paterson," he said. "He was askingafter you. He's gone back to town in his car."
I was thrilled. So the test had begun!
"How did you come out?" I asked.
Rupert Dixon smirked. A smirking man, wrapped in a bath towel, with awisp of wet hair over one eye, is a repellent sight.
"Oh, pretty well. I won by six and five. In spite of having poisonousluck."
I felt a gleam of hope at these last words.
"Oh, you had bad luck?"
"The worst. I over-shot the green at the third with the bestbrassey-shot I've ever made in my life--and that's saying a lot--andlost my ball in the rough beyond it."
"And I suppose you let yourself go, eh?"
"Let myself go?"
"I take it that you made some sort of demonstration?"
"Oh, no. Losing your temper doesn't get you anywhere at golf. It onlyspoils your next shot."
I went away heavy-hearted. Dixon had plainly come through the ordeal aswell as any man could have done. I expected to hear every day that thevacant treasurership had been filled, and that Mitchell had not evenbeen called upon to play his test round. I suppose, however, thatAlexander Paterson felt that it would be unfair to the other competitornot to give him his chance, for the next I heard of the matter was whenMitchell Holmes rang me up on the Friday and asked me if I wouldaccompany him round the links next day in the match he was playing withAlexander, and give him my moral support.
"I shall need it," he said. "I don't mind telling you I'm prettynervous. I wish I had had longer to get the stranglehold on that 'AreYou Your Own Master?' stuff. I can see, of course, that it is the realtabasco from start to finish, and absolutely as mother makes it, butthe trouble is
I've only had a few days to soak it into my system. It'slike trying to patch up a motor car with string. You never know whenthe thing will break down. Heaven knows what will happen if I sink aball at the water-hole. And something seems to tell me I am going to doit."
There was a silence for a moment.
"Do you believe in dreams?" asked Mitchell.
"Believe in what?"
"Dreams."
"What about them?"
"I said, 'Do you believe in dreams?' Because last night I dreamed thatI was playing in the final of the Open Championship, and I got into therough, and there was a cow there, and the cow looked at me in a sadsort of way and said, 'Why don't you use the two-V grip instead of theinterlocking?' At the time it seemed an odd sort of thing to happen,but I've been thinking it over and I wonder if there isn't something init. These things must be sent to us for a purpose."
"You can't change your grip on the day of an important match."
"I suppose not. The fact is, I'm a bit jumpy, or I wouldn't havementioned it. Oh, well! See you tomorrow at two."
* * * * *
The day was bright and sunny, but a tricky cross-wind was blowing whenI reached the club-house. Alexander Paterson was there, practisingswings on the first tee; and almost immediately Mitchell Holmesarrived, accompanied by Millicent.
"Perhaps," said Alexander, "we had better be getting under way. Shall Itake the honour?"
"Certainly," said Mitchell.
Alexander teed up his ball.
Alexander Paterson has always been a careful rather than a dashingplayer. It is his custom, a sort of ritual, to take two measuredpractice-swings before addressing the ball, even on the putting-green.When he does address the ball he shuffles his feet for a moment or two,then pauses, and scans the horizon in a suspicious sort of way, as ifhe had been expecting it to play some sort of a trick on him when hewas not looking. A careful inspection seems to convince him of thehorizon's _bona fides_, and he turns his attention to the ballagain. He shuffles his feet once more, then raises his club. He wagglesthe club smartly over the ball three times, then lays it behind theglobule. At this point he suddenly peers at the horizon again, in theapparent hope of catching it off its guard. This done, he raises hisclub very slowly, brings it back very slowly till it almost touches theball, raises it again, brings it down again, raises it once more, andbrings it down for the third time. He then stands motionless, wrappedin thought, like some Indian fakir contemplating the infinite. Then heraises his club again and replaces it behind the ball. Finally hequivers all over, swings very slowly back, and drives the ball forabout a hundred and fifty yards in a dead straight line.
It is a method of procedure which proves sometimes a littleexasperating to the highly strung, and I watched Mitchell's faceanxiously to see how he was taking his first introduction to it. Theunhappy lad had blenched visibly. He turned to me with the air of onein pain.
"Does he always do that?" he whispered.
"Always," I replied.
"Then I'm done for! No human being could play golf against a one-ringcircus like that without blowing up!"
I said nothing. It was, I feared, only too true. Well-poised as I am, Ihad long since been compelled to give up playing with AlexanderPaterson, much as I esteemed him. It was a choice between that andresigning from the Baptist Church.
At this moment Millicent spoke. There was an open book in her hand. Irecognized it as the life-work of Professor Rollitt.
"Think on this doctrine," she said, in her soft, modulated voice, "thatto be patient is a branch of justice, and that men sin withoutintending it."
Mitchell nodded briefly, and walked to the tee with a firm step.
"Before you drive, darling," said Millicent, "remember this. Let no actbe done at haphazard, nor otherwise than according to the finishedrules that govern its kind."
The next moment Mitchell's ball was shooting through the air, to cometo rest two hundred yards down the course. It was a magnificent drive.He had followed the counsel of Marcus Aurelius to the letter.
An admirable iron-shot put him in reasonable proximity to the pin, andhe holed out in one under bogey with one of the nicest putts I haveever beheld. And when at the next hole, the dangerous water-hole, hisball soared over the pond and lay safe, giving him bogey for the hole,I began for the first time to breathe freely. Every golfer has his day,and this was plainly Mitchell's. He was playing faultless golf. If hecould continue in this vein, his unfortunate failing would have nochance to show itself.
The third hole is long and tricky. You drive over a ravine--or possiblyinto it. In the latter event you breathe a prayer and call for yourniblick. But, once over the ravine, there is nothing to disturb theequanimity. Bogey is five, and a good drive, followed by abrassey-shot, will put you within easy mashie-distance of the green.
Mitchell cleared the ravine by a hundred and twenty yards. He strolledback to me, and watched Alexander go through his ritual with anindulgent smile. I knew just how he was feeling. Never does the worldseem so sweet and fair and the foibles of our fellow human beings solittle irritating as when we have just swatted the pill right on thespot.
"I can't see why he does it," said Mitchell, eyeing Alexander with atoleration that almost amounted to affection. "If I did all thoseSwedish exercises before I drove, I should forget what I had come outfor and go home." Alexander concluded the movements, and landed a barethree yards on the other side of the ravine. "He's what you would calla steady performer, isn't he? Never varies!"
Mitchell won the hole comfortably. There was a jauntiness about hisstance on the fourth tee which made me a little uneasy. Over-confidenceat golf is almost as bad as timidity.
My apprehensions were justified. Mitchell topped his ball. It rolledtwenty yards into the rough, and nestled under a dock-leaf. His mouthopened, then closed with a snap. He came over to where Millicent and Iwere standing.
"I didn't say it!" he said. "What on earth happened then?"
"Search men's governing principles," said Millicent, "and consider thewise, what they shun and what they cleave to."
"Exactly," I said. "You swayed your body."
"And now I've got to go and look for that infernal ball."
"Never mind, darling," said Millicent. "Nothing has such power tobroaden the mind as the ability to investigate systematically and trulyall that comes under thy observation in life."
"Besides," I said, "you're three up."
"I shan't be after this hole."
He was right. Alexander won it in five, one above bogey, and regainedthe honour.
Mitchell was a trifle shaken. His play no longer had its first carelessvigour. He lost the next hole, halved the sixth, lost the shortseventh, and then, rallying, halved the eighth.
The ninth hole, like so many on our links, can be a perfectly simplefour, although the rolling nature of the green makes bogey always asomewhat doubtful feat; but, on the other hand, if you foozle yourdrive, you can easily achieve double figures. The tee is on the fartherside of the pond, beyond the bridge, where the water narrows almost tothe dimensions of a brook. You drive across this water and over atangle of trees and under-growth on the other bank. The distance to thefairway cannot be more than sixty yards, for the hazard is purely amental one, and yet how many fair hopes have been wrecked there!
Alexander cleared the obstacles comfortably with his customary short,straight drive, and Mitchell advanced to the tee.
I think the loss of the honour had been preying on his mind. He seemednervous. His up-swing was shaky, and he swayed back perceptibly. Hemade a lunge at the ball, sliced it, and it struck a tree on the otherside of the water and fell in the long grass. We crossed the bridge tolook for it; and it was here that the effect of Professor Rollitt begandefinitely to wane.
"Why on earth don't they mow this darned stuff?" demanded Mitchell,querulously, as he beat about the grass with his niblick.
"You have to have rough on a course," I ventured.
"Wh
atever happens at all," said Millicent, "happens as it should. Thouwilt find this true if thou shouldst watch narrowly."
"That's all very well," said Mitchell, watching narrowly in a clump ofweeds but seeming unconvinced. "I believe the Greens Committee run thisbally club purely in the interests of the caddies. I believe theyencourage lost balls, and go halves with the little beasts when theyfind them and sell them!"
Millicent and I exchanged glances. There were tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Mitchell! Remember Napoleon!"
"Napoleon! What's Napoleon got to do with it? Napoleon never wasexpected to drive through a primeval forest. Besides, what did Napoleonever do? Where did Napoleon get off, swanking round as if he amountedto something? Poor fish! All he ever did was to get hammered atWaterloo!"
Alexander rejoined us. He had walked on to where his ball lay.
"Can't find it, eh? Nasty bit of rough, this!"
"No, I can't find it. But tomorrow some miserable, chinless,half-witted reptile of a caddie with pop eyes and eight hundred andthirty-seven pimples will find it, and will sell it to someone forsixpence! No, it was a brand-new ball. He'll probably get a shillingfor it. That'll be sixpence for himself and sixpence for the GreensCommittee. No wonder they're buying cars quicker than the makers cansupply them. No wonder you see their wives going about in mink coatsand pearl necklaces. Oh, dash it! I'll drop another!"
"In that case," Alexander pointed out, "you will, of course, under therules governing match-play, lose the hole."
"All right, then. I'll give up the hole."
"Then that, I think, makes me one up on the first nine," saidAlexander. "Excellent! A very pleasant, even game."
"Pleasant! On second thoughts I don't believe the Greens Committee letthe wretched caddies get any of the loot. They hang round behind treestill the deal's concluded, and then sneak out and choke it out ofthem!"
I saw Alexander raise his eyebrows. He walked up the hill to the nexttee with me.
"Rather a quick-tempered young fellow, Holmes!" he said, thoughtfully."I should never have suspected it. It just shows how little one canknow of a man, only meeting him in business hours."
I tried to defend the poor lad.
"He has an excellent heart, Alexander. But the fact is--we are such oldfriends that I know you will forgive my mentioning it--your style ofplay gets, I fancy, a little on his nerves."
"My style of play? What's wrong with my style of play?"
"Nothing is actually wrong with it, but to a young and ardent spiritthere is apt to be something a trifle upsetting in being, compelled towatch a man play quite so slowly as you do. Come now, Alexander, as onefriend to another, is it necessary to take two practice-swings beforeyou putt?"
"Dear, dear!" said Alexander. "You really mean to say that that upsetshim? Well, I'm afraid I am too old to change my methods now."
I had nothing more to say.
As we reached the tenth tee, I saw that we were in for a few minutes'wait. Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. Millicent was standing besideme, dejection written on her face. Alexander and young Mitchell weresome distance away from us.
"Mitchell doesn't want me to come round the rest of the way with him,"she said, despondently. "He says I make him nervous."
I shook my head.
"That's bad! I was looking on you as a steadying influence."
"I thought I was, too. But Mitchell says no. He says my being therekeeps him from concentrating."
"Then perhaps it would be better for you to remain in the club-housetill we return. There is, I fear, dirty work ahead."
A choking sob escaped the unhappy girl.
"I'm afraid so. There is an apple tree near the thirteenth hole, andMitchell's caddie is sure to start eating apples. I am thinking of whatMitchell will do when he hears the crunching when he is addressing hisball."
"That is true."
"Our only hope," she said, holding out Professor Rollitt's book, "isthis. Will you please read him extracts when you see him gettingnervous? We went through the book last night and marked all thepassages in blue pencil which might prove helpful. You will see notesagainst them in the margin, showing when each is supposed to be used."
It was a small favour to ask. I took the book and gripped her handsilently. Then I joined Alexander and Mitchell on the tenth tee.Mitchell was still continuing his speculations regarding the GreensCommittee.
"The hole after this one," he said, "used to be a short hole. There wasno chance of losing a ball. Then, one day, the wife of one of theGreens Committee happened to mention that the baby needed new shoes, sonow they've tacked on another hundred and fifty yards to it. You haveto drive over the brow of a hill, and if you slice an eighth of an inchyou get into a sort of No Man's Land, full of rocks and bushes andcrevices and old pots and pans. The Greens Committee practically livethere in the summer. You see them prowling round in groups, encouragingeach other with merry cries as they fill their sacks. Well, I'm goingto fool them today. I'm going to drive an old ball which is justhanging together by a thread. It'll come to pieces when they pick itup!"
Golf, however, is a curious game--a game of fluctuations. One mighthave supposed that Mitchell, in such a frame of mind, would havecontinued to come to grief. But at the beginning of the second nine heonce more found his form. A perfect drive put him in position to reachthe tenth green with an iron-shot, and, though the ball was severalyards from the hole, he laid it dead with his approach-putt and holedhis second for a bogey four. Alexander could only achieve a five, sothat they were all square again.
The eleventh, the subject of Mitchell's recent criticism, is certainlya tricky hole, and it is true that a slice does land the player ingrave difficulties. Today, however, both men kept their drivesstraight, and found no difficulty in securing fours.
"A little more of this," said Mitchell, beaming, "and the GreensCommittee will have to give up piracy and go back to work."
The twelfth is a long, dog-leg hole, bogey five. Alexander pluggedsteadily round the bend, holing out in six, and Mitchell, whose secondshot had landed him in some long grass, was obliged to use his niblick.He contrived, however, to halve the hole with a nicely-judgedmashie-shot to the edge of the green.
Alexander won the thirteenth. It is a three hundred and sixty yardhole, free from bunkers. It took Alexander three strokes to reach thegreen, but his third laid the ball dead; while Mitchell, who was on intwo, required three putts.
"That reminds me," said Alexander, chattily, "of a story I heard.Friend calls out to a beginner, 'How are you getting on, old man?' andthe beginner says, 'Splendidly. I just made three perfect putts on thelast green!'"
Mitchell did not appear amused. I watched his face anxiously. He hadmade no remark, but the missed putt which would have saved the hole hadbeen very short, and I feared the worst. There was a brooding look inhis eye as we walked to the fourteenth tee.
There are few more picturesque spots in the whole of the countrysidethan the neighbourhood of the fourteenth tee. It is a sight to charmthe nature-lover's heart.
But, if golf has a defect, it is that it prevents a man being awhole-hearted lover of nature. Where the layman sees waving grass andromantic tangles of undergrowth, your golfer beholds nothing but anasty patch of rough from which he must divert his ball. The cry of thebirds, wheeling against the sky, is to the golfer merely something thatmay put him off his putt. As a spectator, I am fond of the ravine atthe bottom of the slope. It pleases the eye. But, as a golfer, I havefrequently found it the very devil.
The last hole had given Alexander the honour again. He drove even moredeliberately than before. For quite half a minute he stood over hisball, pawing at it with his driving-iron like a cat investigating atortoise. Finally he despatched it to one of the few safe spots on thehillside. The drive from this tee has to be carefully calculated, for,if it be too straight, it will catch the slope and roll down into theravine.
Mitchell addressed his ball. He swung up, and then, from immediatelybehind him came a
sudden sharp crunching sound. I looked quickly in thedirection whence it came. Mitchell's caddie, with a glassy look in hiseyes, was gnawing a large apple. And even as I breathed a silentprayer, down came the driver, and the ball, with a terrible slice onit, hit the side of the hill and bounded into the ravine.
There was a pause--a pause in which the world stood still. Mitchelldropped his club and turned. His face was working horribly.
"Mitchell!" I cried. "My boy! Reflect! Be calm!"
"Calm! What's the use of being calm when people are chewing apples inthousands all round you? What _is_ this, anyway--a golf match or apleasant day's outing for the children of the poor? Apples! Go on, myboy, take another bite. Take several. Enjoy yourself! Never mind if itseems to cause me a fleeting annoyance. Go on with your lunch! Youprobably had a light breakfast, eh, and are feeling a little peckish,yes? If you will wait here, I will run to the clubhouse and get you asandwich and a bottle of ginger-ale. Make yourself quite at home, youlovable little fellow! Sit down and have a good time!"
I turned the pages of Professor Rollitt's book feverishly. I could notfind a passage that had been marked in blue pencil to meet thisemergency. I selected one at random.
"Mitchell," I said, "one moment. How much time he gains who does notlook to see what his neighbour says or does, but only at what he doeshimself, to make it just and holy."
"Well, look what I've done myself! I'm somewhere down at the bottom ofthat dashed ravine, and it'll take me a dozen strokes to get out. Doyou call that just and holy? Here, give me that book for a moment!"
He snatched the little volume out of my hands. For an instant he lookedat it with a curious expression of loathing, then he placed it gentlyon the ground and jumped on it a few times. Then he hit it with hisdriver. Finally, as if feeling that the time for half measures hadpassed, he took a little run and kicked it strongly into the longgrass.
He turned to Alexander, who had been an impassive spectator of thescene.
"I'm through!" he said. "I concede the match. Good-bye. You'll find mein the bay!"
"Going swimming?"
"No. Drowning myself."
A gentle smile broke out over my old friend's usually grave face. Hepatted Mitchell's shoulder affectionately.
"Don't do that, my boy," he said. "I was hoping you would stick aroundthe office awhile as treasurer of the company."
Mitchell tottered. He grasped my arm for support. Everything was verystill. Nothing broke the stillness but the humming of the bees, themurmur of the distant wavelets, and the sound of Mitchell's caddiegoing on with his apple.
"What!" cried Mitchell.
"The position," said Alexander, "will be falling vacant very shortly,as no doubt you know. It is yours, if you care to accept it."
"You mean--you mean--you're going to give me the job?"
"You have interpreted me exactly."
Mitchell gulped. So did his caddie. One from a spiritual, the otherfrom a physical cause.
"If you don't mind excusing me," said Mitchell, huskily, "I think I'llbe popping back to the club-house. Someone I want to see."
He disappeared through the trees, running strongly. I turned toAlexander.
"What does this mean?" I asked. "I am delighted, but what becomes ofthe test?"
My old friend smiled gently.
"The test," he replied, "has been eminently satisfactory.Circumstances, perhaps, have compelled me to modify the original ideaof it, but nevertheless it has been a completely successful test. Sincewe started out, I have been doing a good deal of thinking, and I havecome to the conclusion that what the Paterson Dyeing and RefiningCompany really needs is a treasurer whom I can beat at golf. And I havediscovered the ideal man. Why," he went on, a look of holy enthusiasmon his fine old face, "do you realize that I can always lick thestuffing out of that boy, good player as he is, simply by taking alittle trouble? I can make him get the wind up every time, simply bytaking one or two extra practice-swings! That is the sort of man I needfor a responsible post in my office."
"But what about Rupert Dixon?" I asked.
He gave a gesture of distaste.
"I wouldn't trust that man. Why, when I played with him, everythingwent wrong, and he just smiled and didn't say a word. A man who can dothat is not the man to trust with the control of large sums of money.It wouldn't be safe. Why, the fellow isn't honest! He can't be." Hepaused for a moment. "Besides," he added, thoughtfully, "he beat me bysix and five. What's the good of a treasurer who beats the boss by sixand five?"