"Come with me," said Hollis, "down to Littlestone."
Littlestone? Never heard of it. Didn't know there was such a place.
Told him so.
"I cannot help your ignorance, my dear Short. I can only tell you that
it is the spot for you." He looked me up and down. "For a man of your
build the very spot." What he meant I hadn't the faintest notion. "If
you do there what you ought to do, and what everyone does, it'll get
seven pounds off you inside a week." I began to guess. "Such air, such
breezes, and the finest links in England!"
"Links?" I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, commencing to
perceive that there was something at the back of this man's mind.
"Links, Short, which are links. Better than Sandwich. St Andrews are
not to be compared with them. And as for Wimbledon, bah! You come down
with me to Littlestone and I'll teach you how to play golf--golf, sir!
The Royal and Ancient! The king of games! You'll feel yourself a
different man from the moment your fingers close about a club."
I knew it was all nonsense. Was perfectly aware of it. Entirely
conscious that it was mere flummery to talk about my being a different
man from the moment my fingers closed about a club. But I'm one of the
best-natured souls alive. If a man wanted me to go tobogganing with him
down the icebergs round the North Pole--wanted me strongly
enough--I do believe I should have to go. I should be positively
unhappy if I let him go alone, though I should be a good deal unhappier
if I didn't. There is nothing I dislike so much as cold. Unless it is
tobogganing. I once tobogganed down a hill in Derbyshire. I wish to say
no more except to mention that I am still alive. Though when part of me
reached the bottom of the hill that was all there was to it. To this
hour, when I touch certain portions of my frame I remember.
But I wish to harrow no one's feelings.
I went down to Littlestone. Found it was in a remote corner of Kent.
Travelled by the South Eastern. Dismal, dirty, draughty carriage. Cold
wind blowing. Tried every means of escaping it short of hiding
underneath the seat. Stopped once at each station and twice between
most of them. Changed whenever it occurred to the officials that they'd
like a sort of game of "general post." Arrived at a shed which did duty
as a station, chilled to the bone and feeling as if I had had the
longest journey of my life. Was bumped along in a thing which I imagine
was called an omnibus to Littlestone. Found Hollis awaiting me.
"Welcome to Littlestone, Short! You look another man already." I felt
it. "I'd have come to the station only no one ever knows when those
trains will get in." Mine had been about an hour and three-quarters
late, at least, according to the time-table. "Did one of the best
rounds of my life this afternoon; sixteenth hole in four; stroke under
bogey."
A person who could talk of "rounds" and "bogey" when I felt as I felt
then, I had no use for. I stood before the fire trying to get warm.
Had a pretty bad dinner. Heard more golf in half an hour than during
the preceding ten years. Then more golf afterwards. In ordinary society
one is not supposed to talk of one's own achievements, good, bad or
indifferent. Unless my experience was singular, the people in that
place talked of nothing else. Went to bed as early as possible to
escape it. Dropped off to sleep wondering if the wind would leave
anything of the house standing by the morning.
Forgot to lock the door. Roused by Hollis entering my bedroom. It was
broad day. But it seemed to me that I had only just closed my eyes.
"Come out and have a swim. The water's like ice, brace you up. Strong
current. Man drowned here last week."
"Thank you. I've no intention of being the man who's drowned here this
week. I prefer a tub."
Had a tub. Went down to survey the scene. Never more surprised in my
life. Road. Strip of rusty grass in front. Vast quantities of stones
beyond. Then sea. Confronted by perhaps twenty houses. Cheap stuccoed
structures of the doll's-house type of architecture. Beyond, on either
side, desolation. A flat, rank, depressing, stony wilderness. Whether
Nature or man was most to blame for making things as bad as they seemed
under those leaden, before-breakfast skies, it would have needed an
expert to determine.
No one was in sight. Until Hollis appeared I was the only idiot about.
His teeth were chattering.
"Not a pretty place," I observed.
"No, it isn't."
"Neither the place nor its surroundings seem to have many claims in the
direction of the picturesque."
"It's a beastly hole. That's what we want."
"You want it to be a--beastly hole?"
I looked at him askance. Wondering, for the moment, if he was joking.
But he wasn't.
"Rather. Crowds of people would come if we made it attractive. Place'd
be ruined."
"Ruined?"
"For golf. As it is the place is packed in summer. People come from all
over the place. Can't play on our own links. Regular mob. Confound 'em,
I say. Why, this last summer a man brought his wife with him. She rowed
him like anything when she found out what sort of place it was. Had
brought a lot of pretty dresses with her, and that sort of thing.
Didn't see being left alone all day with nothing to do except sit on
the beach and throw stones in the sea. That wasn't her idea of a
holiday. We should have a lot of women of that sort about if we didn't
take care."
Unreasonable some women are who do not golf. Especially when they are
attached to men who do. So selfish on their part to even hint that they
have ideas, or tastes, of their own.
At breakfast the great theme was broached. Hollis regarded me with what
I was dimly conscious was a cold and a scornful eye. I had had no idea
that he was the kind of man he really appeared to be. Or I should
certainly never have come. In a manner of speaking our acquaintance, of
some fifteen or sixteen years' standing, had been merely superficial. I
was beginning to wish that it had continued on those lines.
"I believe you've never played."
"I've handled a club."
So I had. I had once been round some fields with six balls and a club.
I brought the club back--that is, most of it; the man from whom I had
borrowed it seemed to be tolerably satisfied, on the whole; though I
had, as it were, scattered the balls about me as I went. Amazing the
capacity those six golf balls had for losing themselves. I was without
a caddie. Grass was long. Even when I managed to hit one, I seldom saw
where it went. That is, with sufficient precision to be able to lay my
hand upon it afterwards. With balls at a shilling apiece I concluded
that golf might prove expensive.
Hollis read more meaning into my words than I actually intended.
"That's all right. I didn't know you'd gone as far as that." I did not
propose to correct him; though without an adequate understanding of
what it was that he might mean. "What's your handicap?"
"I can't say that I have one."
"I suppose you belong to a club."
"Well, not exactly."
"Not exactly? What do you mean? Either you do or you don't. Speak up,
man, and say what you mean."
His manner was positively warm. I endeavoured to explain. It was not
the last explanation I did endeavour to make.
"You see, it was this way. I thought of putting up for a club--"
"What club?"
"Oh, a little local one; nothing of any account; a sort of place where
people in the neighbourhood go and mess about."
"Mess about?"
"I fancy the word adequately describes what takes place. They've
knocked up a course of a kind on some local common-land, it's quite
rudimentary. I don't think that any serious play takes place. It was
that, in a measure, which actuated me."
"Weren't you elected?"
"Elected? I never put up. I'd no doubt that they'd have been delighted
to have me, only I didn't go so far. I only thought of doing so."
Something in the expression of his face induced me to hasten on. "My
dear Hollis, you may take it for granted that in everything which
concerns golf I'm a novice."
"There are novices and novices. I call a man with a handicap of
eighteen a novice."
"You may certainly credit me with a handicap of eighteen. I would
remind you that you asked me to come to Littlestone in order that you
might teach me golf."
"I'll teach you, if the thing's to be done." He regarded me in a manner
which I did not altogether like. I do not know why people are apt to
look at me in a peculiar way when I propose to make myself proficient
in some branch of athletics. "I have arranged a foursome with old
Pickard. He has a friend who ought to be about your mark. I'm told that
he's a perfect ass." I imagine that Mr Hollis perceived that there was
something on my countenance which made it desirable to throw light upon
words which distinctly needed it. "I mean, of course, in a golfing
sense only. I daresay that in any other sense he's all that could be
desired, as you are, old man."
Almost immediately after breakfast, Hollis and I started for the links,
where we were to meet our antagonists. As we had but a short distance
to go we walked, each of us carrying a bag full of clubs. After we had
gone a few steps I became conscious that Hollis was regarding my bag
with what I could not but feel was a considerable amount of interest.
"You seem to have a newish lot of clubs."
"They're brand new, all of them. I bought them on purpose to come down
here."
During the interval of silence which followed, Hollis stroked his
moustache. I had an idea that he was smiling; though I did not know
what at. I was not aware that I had said anything humorous.
"You seem to have a goodish few."
"I told the assistant at the shop to let me have everything that was
requisite. I must admit that he seems to have interpreted my intentions
in a generous spirit. I appear to have more clubs than you do. I don't
know if that's an advantage or not."
Rather to my surprise Hollis stood still and turned to me.
"I say, you know, that friend of Pickard's has played."
"So I gathered."
"He's not a regular idiot."
"I thought you said he was."
"Well, there are degrees even in idiots. And Pickard himself is a bit
short-tempered."
"If he has a wife, if that is the case, I am sorry for her. Otherwise I
don't see how the fact of his good or bad temper can concern me."
"No? Perhaps not. He can control himself. After all, a foursome has to
give way for a twosome. I think I ought to tell you that we're lunching
at two."
"At two? That's all right. Why, it's only just past ten."
There was that in Hollis's words and manner which I could not but
regard as cryptic; though I did not feel disposed, at the moment, to
point this out to him. Presently he asked a question.
"By the way, what club do you use for your tee-shot?"
"The tee-shot?" I had heard the expression. I have no doubt that, if I
had had a little time for reflection, I should have recalled in what
connection. As it was, feeling a trifle flustered, I--if I may put it
in that way--hedged. "It depends upon the--eh--position of the ball
and--so on. What club do you use?"
"I always use a putter."
"A putter? Do you? Indeed. I can't say that I invariably use--ah--a
putter, not for a tee-shot. What are you laughing at?"
Hollis had burst into a loud, and so far as I could perceive, wholly
unprovoked guffaw. The man was developing a keenness of scent for what
was funny with which I had not credited him. I wondered if I had said
anything which was unintentionally amusing. In my pocket was a little
manual of terms used at golf. I was disposed to refer to it with a view
of ascertaining exactly what a putter was; but I refrained.
"Short," continued Hollis, "I'll get you the smartest caddie
obtainable. If you'll take my strong advice, you'll act on any hint he
may happen to drop; and, in particular, you'll use each club as he
hands it you without a word."
Again there was that something in Hollis's words and manner which I can
only once more describe as cryptic. Indeed, I will go further and say
that I found it a little disconcerting. We had but another hundred and
fifty yards to go. While we were traversing that short distance I was
almost moved to suggest that I was not feeling altogether inclined to
play that morning; and that, therefore, if a substitute could be found
to fill my place he had better find him. I wish I had suggested it. It
was merely the desire not to spoil Hollis's game which stayed my hand.
And a lamentable lack of gratitude, to speak of nothing else, he
displayed. I have seldom had a more uncomfortable experience. To think
that I had gone to that wretched place, out of the purest
good-nature, simply and solely to allow myself to be subjected to such
treatment. Nothing could have been more unexpected. To say not a word
about the money which I had expended on that bagful of clubs. Quite a
sum.
We came to a spot where three or four men were hanging about, and where
one man was hitting at a ball.
"Is this where we start?" I asked.
"This is the first tee."
"The first tee? Oh! Indeed."
I wish to state here, before going further, that that was the first
time I had ever been on a golf course in my life. The desire was borne
in upon me very strongly to mention this to Hollis before any
misunderstanding could possibly arise; because I foresaw, even then,
that misunderstandings might arise, in consequence of which I might
find myself in a false position. But, for one thing, I felt that Hollis
might possibly think that the moment was ill-chosen to make such a
communication; and then, striding up to the other men, he began talking
to them as if he had known them all their lives; and so, since I could
hardly interrupt him, the opportunity was lost. Which I have ever since
regretted.
Presently I was aware that Hollis was calling the attention of one of
the strangers to me.
"This is my friend Short. Short, this is Pickard. Pickard, Short's a
dark horse; one of those unattached men who have no handicaps."
"I take it that you're a plus man, Mr Short."
I perceived at once that Mr Pickard was a Scotchman. I do not desire,
in any illiberal spirit, to say that I object to Scotchmen as a nation;
but I do not hesitate to affirm that I realised, on the instant, that
this was the type of Scotchman with whom I was not likely to find
myself in sympathy. He was six feet high and grey-bearded, and had a dry
way of speaking which made it difficult to determine, especially for a
stranger, what it was he really did mean, and a trick of looking at you
from under his beetle brows, which was actually threatening. I did not
know what a plus man was, but I supposed that he was endeavouring to
perpetrate something in the way of a joke, so I made an effort to fall
in with what I imagined to be his humour.
"Oh, yes, Mr Pickard, I'm a plus man." Directly I said it Mr Pickard
looked at me a little oddly, and as the other men who were within
hearing turned towards me as if I had said something surprising, not
knowing what it was I really had said, I tried to pass it off, as it
were, with a little joke of my own. "That's to say, I'm a surplus man."
Nobody laughed except myself, and I only did it with difficulty.
Hollis had walked off with my bagful of clubs. Just then I saw it
advancing towards me slung across the back of a disreputable urchin of
about twelve or thirteen years of age. Hollis had talked of getting me
the smartest caddie procurable. If that little ragamuffin was his idea
of smartness, I could only say we differed. Mr Pickard was not
unnaturally struck by the incongruity of the association of my
beautiful new clubs with that unwashed youngster.
"My gracious!" he exclaimed. "Here's some pretty things! And who might
be the owner of these pretty things?"
"They're mine," I explained.
"Yours? Mr Short, have you had a fortune left you? To be sure they look
as if they were all of them new."
"They are. I bought them yesterday."
"Did you, indeed? And what have you done with the old lot?"
"I left them behind me."
As a matter of plain fact, the clubs in that bag were the first I had
possessed in my life. But in view of that old man's malicious glance,
and with a suspicion flashing through my brain that some of the other
men were grinning, I did not feel called upon to admit it. Mr Pickard
continued,--
"I think, Mr Short, you said that you were a plus man. To a player of
your calibre I take it that it doesn't matter how new a club is.
Unfortunately, some of us weaklings can't touch a ball with one that
isn't an old friend." He turned to a little slip of a man, with an
eyeglass and a vacuous smile, and a pair of perfectly ridiculous
stockings. "Let me introduce you to Mr Barstow, who is to be my partner
in the thrashing you are about to give us."
Mr Barstow's smile expanded. I immediately perceived what Hollis had
meant by speaking of him as a perfect ass; though why he had coupled
him with me I did not understand.
"I suppose you and I are the duffers," he observed, which was an
uncalled-for remark to make. One, moreover, which, so far as he could
tell, was without a shadow of justification. "I hope," he added, "that
you are a bigger duffer than I am."
"I can only trust that I am not," I retorted with what, I imagine, was
some dignity.
The game was started. Mr Pickard hit off, his ball going what seemed to
me a terrific distance. Hollis went next, his ball going as far as Mr
Pickard's. Then Barstow went. He went through a series of acrobatic
contortions which were simply ludicrous. Recorded by the cinematograph
they would have been side-splitting. When he did play his ball did not
go anything like so far as either of the others.
"Barstow, you've a pretty way of addressing a ball," remarked his
partner.
"Yes," he said, "that's the best part of my game."
What Mr Pickard meant by "addressing a ball" I did not know. It
appeared to me to be an absurd phrase to use. But I did not doubt that
it conveyed a scathing comment on Barstow's performance. My turn
followed. Remembering what Hollis had said, I took the club that young
ruffian handed me without a word of remonstrance; though it seemed
somewhat hard that, as the possessor of such a number--and such an
expensive lot--of clubs I was not at liberty to select which one of
them I chose; particularly as it seems only reasonable to assume that
in such matters each man has his own ideas. However, my cue was to be
docile, and to defer, so far as was possible, to the judgment of one
whose knowledge of the game was, presumably, greater than mine. Though
I did resent being dragooned by an unwashed urchin whose whole attire
would have been dear at five shillings; especially as I had a kind of
feeling that there was that in his bearing, and in the way in which,
out of the corner of his eye, he kept looking at me, and at my clubs,
which was positively impertinent.
I had noticed, with that quickness of observation for which I am
peculiar, that each of the others had swung his club two or three times
through the air before actually striking the ball. I did not know why
they had done this. So far as I was able to judge there was no
ostensible cause for such a proceeding. But as it was apparently one of
the formulas of the game, and I was desirous of avoiding anything
approaching to irregularity, I followed their example.
Unfortunately I must have moved my arm before I was quite prepared; and
also with more vigour than I had intended. Because, not only did I
almost lose my own balance, but the end of the club, not travelling
quite in the direction I had meant it should, struck the wretched boy
who was carrying my clubs with what, I must admit, was considerable
force. He gave a yell which must have been heard a mile off. He dropped
to the ground with a degree of promptness which took me quite aback. I
was commencing to explain that really the boy ought to have had sense
enough to stand farther off, when Hollis cut me short with a
brusqueness which was most embarrassing.
"If you hadn't hit him you'd have hit someone else. Haven't you sense
enough to know that you ought to see that you're well clear of everyone
before you start to swing? You'll be committing murder next."
I need hardly say that I did not like being addressed, in public, in
that way, by one who called himself my friend. Nor was my sensation of
annoyance lessened when it was discovered, as of course it was
discovered, that the boy had been scarcely touched. Presently, getting
up, through his grimy tears he expressed his willingness to continue to
carry my clubs, though, so far as I was concerned, I was quite ready to
let someone else carry them. Under the circumstances, the way in which
Hollis spoke to him was unnecessary.
"You're a well-plucked lad," he said. "Never mind, bear up! If you've
luck you'll get round without being killed."
If Hollis's words were unnecessary, which, I hold, they were, Mr
Pickard's interposition was monstrous.
"That ought to cost you five shillings, Mr Short. I shouldn't like you
to hit me a crack like that for a good deal more than twice the money."
In pecuniary matters the stinginess of Scotchmen is proverbial; which
was perhaps the reason why he was disposed to make so free with other
people's money. I said nothing. One had only to glance at my bagful of
clubs to perceive that it was going to cost me enough to play golf as
it was. If I had to pay five shillings, or anything like five
shillings, every time some clumsy boy chose to place himself where I
did not expect him to be, and where, therefore, he ought not to be,
golf, as a game, would be placed out of my reach on the mere ground of
expense only.
In silence I approached the little heap of sand on the summit of which
my too-obvious caddie had planted my ball. I prepared to hit it. Before
doing so I glanced round in order to make sure that, this time, no one
was within reach; and was gratified to find that, taking, as it were,
the hint, everyone had withdrawn to a respectful distance; though I
could not see why they need have moved either so fast or so far.
"We're giving you plenty of room, old chap," said Hollis.
Since there was no one within perhaps twenty yards of me I could see
that for myself, so that that was another unnecessary remark which he
thought it worth his while to make. Then I made my stroke.
There is more in hitting a golf ball than some might imagine. There is
more, even, in swinging a club--with anything, that is, approximate to
ease. It is not so easy to do either as it seems to be when you watch
other people doing it. When I saw Hollis and Pickard hitting their
balls, what struck me most was the simplicity of the thing. Barstow's
comparative failure to hit his had caused me to regard him almost with
contempt. To begin with, it was only when I got the club into my own
hands, and was making ready to strike with it, that I realised how long
it was, how uncomfortably long. I had to put myself into quite an
ungainly attitude in order to swing it clear of the ground. After what
had already occurred I did not wish to say anything; but had I been
left to myself, I should have gone carefully through that bag of clubs,
and selected one the mere handling of which did not fill me with a
feeling of comparative helplessness.
Then again, it was only when I stood in front of it that it was brought
home to my sense of perception how small the ball was, how unreasonably
small. The two things seemed so out of proportion; the long, unwieldy
club, the minute ball. It was difficult to make up one's mind just
where to stand in order to reach it to the best advantage. If you stood
straight over it you not only could not see it, but you had to hold the
club half-way down the butt in order to strike with it at all. If, on
the other hand, you stood at a little distance, it seemed to me not
easy, owing to the size of the ball, and its peculiar situation, to
make sure of hitting anything but the vacant air.
I own that, actuated by these considerations, I tried first one
position and then another, and then, possibly, a third, and soon, in
order to ascertain by actual experience, which would suit me best; but
my legitimate anxiety did not afford Hollis a ghost of an excuse for
still one more of his unnecessary remarks.
"Make up your mind what you are going to do, Short. I think I told you
lunch was at two."
Without another moment's hesitation I made my stroke, in what I may
almost speak of as an access of temper. I closed my eyes and let fly.
Quite what had become of the ball I could not say, but I was conscious
of having hit it; and when I opened my eyes again I found that everyone
was gazing to the right of where I was standing with what was evidently
a considerable amount of interest.
"That was a fine drive!" exclaimed Mr Pickard. "It must have had a
carry of a couple of hundred yards."
"It's about that distance off the line," said Hollis.
What he meant I could not tell. I was finding myself at a continual
disadvantage in not being acquainted with the technical terms of the
game; but from a certain sourness in his tone I suspected him of being
jealous of a more generous player's commendation. He and Pickard and
Barstow started off, each with a caddie in attendance; while,
apparently ignoring their movements, my wretched boy started off in
quite a different direction. I heard Hollis's coarse laugh, and
Pickard's Scotch chuckle, and Barstow's vacuous snigger. Wondering what
was amusing them, I called after my caddie, who was walking away,
totally oblivious of the fact that I was standing still.
"Boy, where are you going to?"
Without troubling himself to stop, or even to glance in my direction,
he answered me over his shoulder as if, instead of being his employer,
I was not a person of the least importance.
"I'm going after your ball. Don't you want it?"
The youngster's impertinence was so marked that a stranger who was
standing beside me was moved to nearly uncontrollable merriment. When I
turned and stared at him he offered what he possibly meant for an
explanation.
"I fancy you'll find your caddie's right, sir; you sent your ball in
that direction."
Refraining from a reply--the man was beneath my notice--I strode on
after the boy. On and on we went, and the farther we went the farther
we were from Hollis and the others.
"It must have been a tremendous hit," I observed, "if the ball came all
this way."
"The hole's not over here," was all that boy condescended to say. Then
he added, as if by way of an afterthought, "You might as well have hit
it behind you. Now you'd better drive it back to the sandbox, if you
can do it. It's the shortest road to the green--and the easiest."
When at last we reached the ball we found that it was in a wholly
inaccessible position, amid uneven ground, at the bottom of a small
hole, surrounded by grass and weeds, principally thistles, which were
almost breast-high.
"It is unfortunate that it should have stopped just here," I remarked.
That boy said nothing. He looked at me. He handed me a club, which was
rather shorter than the one I had used at first, and had a piece of
metal at the lower end, with an air which was partly sulky and partly
something worse. Then, with a sort of hop, skip and jump, which was
grotesque in the extreme, he withdrew himself ten or twelve feet from
where I was, and waited in the apparent expectation that, with that
ridiculous implement, I was going to strike the ball just where it was.
As this was evidently a boy who needed keeping in his place, I
addressed him with a certain degree of sternness, holding out the club
which he had given me.
"What do you call this thing?"
"That's your lofting iron."
"It might have been of some use if you had given it me when I made my
first shot--"
"You can't drive with a lofting iron."
"Can't I! I don't know how it is that you are in a position to say what
I can or what I can't do. You have never seen me play before."
"No, that I never have."
He said this with an emphasis which was in itself an impertinence. I
eyed him with an even greater sternness than at first.
"It occurs to me, my boy, that you're not the sort of lad I should have
chosen for a caddie had I myself had a voice in the matter. Let me give
you fair warning that I am not a person whom it is safe to trifle with,
so be careful. Lift that ball--at once, and place it in a position
where it will be more convenient for me to strike it."
"Lift the ball!"
His eyes and mouth opened wide. I might have said something amazing.
"I told you to lift the ball; and I added, at once."
"Lift the ball!" he echoed, with parrot-like stupidity. "If I was to do
it they might never let me on the links again."
"Don't talk nonsense. And don't attempt to take advantage of my
inexperience. I am not so simple as you may imagine, as you will
shortly learn. Do you suppose that I, or anyone else, with a thing like
this, can hit a ball out of a hole like that?"
"You have only to give it a bit of a twist and it'll come flying out."
"Will it? Indeed. That is your opinion, it isn't mine. However, since I
emphatically do not wish to bandy words with a mere child like you, I
will give you a practical demonstration of the truth of what I assert."
I gave him one, which, as I expected, was entirely successful. I made
at least a dozen attempts to get the ball out of that hole, while he
stood looking on, with feelings which I do not attempt to depict.
Really serious attempts, which increased in vigour as they multiplied.
I struck at it with all the force of which I was capable, repeatedly,
again and again. But so far from it "flying out," to adopt that
ignorant lad's ignorant phrase, I doubt if I moved it so much as an
inch. I sent the sand and dust "flying," but I sent nothing else. It
was not for want of perseverance, because I kept on hitting until I not
only became hot, but until I realised that, if I persisted in my futile
efforts much longer, I, a man of the world, of ripened years, of good
social and commercial position, might run the risk of becoming a
ridiculous spectacle in the eyes of that soapless little vagabond. So,
snatching up the ball out of its preposterous position, with it in one
hand, and the useless implement which that boy had given me in the
other, I started at a good round pace towards where Hollis and the
others were waiting for me at a distance of a quarter of a mile.
I need scarcely mention that, by the time I reached them, I was hotter
than ever; hot, also, in more senses than one. It was very present to
my mind that I had not gone to Littlestone for that kind of thing. I
had gone to play golf, and not with the intention of performing a
series of monkey-like antics in front of a dirty little ragamuffin
who--to all intents and purposes--had been thrust upon me against my will.
Such being my dominant sensation it will easily be believed that I was
not inclined for badinage, whatever shape it might take. However, with
complete indifference to what my feelings might be, Hollis began
practically as soon as I was within shouting range.
"I hope we haven't hurried you, Short. I think I told you lunch was at
two."
Even under difficult circumstances I was dignified.
"I hope, gentlemen, that I have not kept you waiting."
"We're blocking the course, but we will devoutly trust that that
doesn't matter. Two men who passed us just now--after waiting, they
declared, a quarter of an hour--seemed disposed to think strong
thoughts, but some men are like that. We were afraid we'd seen the last
of you. You went with your ball for a trip into the country, and you
seemed disposed to stay there. What's happened? Have you holed out in
two?"
Completely ignoring the singularity of Hollis's manner I did my best to
make clear how the delay had been caused.
"I am a stranger here, so it is far from my wish to make any complaint;
so I will only say that the lad who is supposed to act as my caddie has
totally disregarded my instructions, and thus much time has been lost."
"What is it that the young rascal wouldn't do? We noticed that you
seemed to be enjoying a little discussion; we wondered how long it was
going to last."
I explained, or rather, I had better put it that I endeavoured to,
because after events proved that I endeavoured in vain.
"My ball was lying in a position in which it was perfectly impossible
for anyone to hit it; yet when I asked him to place it somewhere where
it would be more get-at-able, I won't say he refused, but he certainly
didn't do it."
"Do you mean to say he wouldn't put your ball somewhere where you could
get an easy whack at it?"
"At least he didn't. As a consequence I have been pounding away at it
in the most ridiculous manner, so that, finally, rather than lose any
more time I picked up the ball myself, and I've brought it with me."
The three men looked at each other in a way which was significant of
something, though I was not able positively to decide of what. There
was a momentary silence. Then Hollis remarked, with an air of gravity
which was almost too portentous to be real,--
"So you brought it with you, and that is it in your hand; I see.
Perhaps you adopted the shortest way of getting it here. Short, you're
a more remarkable player than I suspected. Pickard, I think we'll give
you this hole. We may have better fortune with the next--that is, if
Short is lucky."
We all marched forward in a body. Not a word was spoken. For some
reason no one seemed to be in a conversational mood. Beginning to feel
the silence almost irksome, I was trying to think of some appropriate
remark with which to start the ball of conversation rolling, when,
without the slightest warning, one of the caddies--not my caddie, but
one of the others--stopped short, and began to emit yell after yell of
laughter. What had caused him to behave in that unseemly way I could
not even guess. I was amazed. I stared at him.
"What is the matter with him?" I asked.
Directly I did so Mr Pickard clapped his hands to his sides and began
to yell even louder than the caddie. And Mr Barstow joined him. And the
other caddies, even my own. There they were, all of them, doubled
up--positively doubled up--by uncontrollable mirth, caused goodness
alone knew by what. Hollis and I were the only persons who preserved
our gravity; and, as I glanced at Hollis, I noticed that his features
seemed to be distorted by pain.
"Don't--don't!" he gasped, waving his hands feebly in the air. "You'll
put me off my game!"
"What's the matter with them? What's the joke?" I inquired with, I am
sure, the most exemplary mildness.
Hollis's reply was extraordinary.
"Don't speak to me like that, Short--don't--or the consequences may be
serious! My suffering's internal."
What he meant I had not a notion. Few things are more annoying than to
feel that individuals in whose society you are are revelling in a joke
the entire identity of which is hidden from you. In my judgment, in
such a situation, it is someone's plain duty to drop some sort of a
hint as to where the jest comes in. However, once more, I refrained
from comment.
We reached the starting-place for the second hole. They wanted me to
commence, but I declined. So they had their strokes, and then my turn
came. I had very carefully noticed how they managed, so that I
approached the ball feeling that I had picked up several more or less
valuable hints, of which I promised myself that I would not be slow to
take advantage. And I have little doubt that I should have done very
well had not Hollis chosen that moment to make some more, to say the
least of it, unnecessary remarks.
"Let me point out to you, Short, that the second hole lies over there,
and that therefore you should drive your ball neither to the right nor
the left, but as straight in front of you as you can, because the
straighter you drive, the nearer to the hole your ball will be, and the
object is to reach the hole in as few strokes as possible. And I may
take this opportunity to observe that it is not one of a caddie's
duties to place a player's ball in the exact position in which the
player would like it to be placed."
Again someone laughed. I fancy more than one, but I did not look to see
who. I began to suspect that this was a case of actual bad manners.
"I can't play with this thing!" I exclaimed, eyeing the club which that
impudent boy had given me.
"What's wrong with it? The gentleman whom you requested to provide you
with every requisite for the game has supplied you with a liberal
assortment of drivers; you ought to have no difficulty in finding one
to suit you."