is a merciless "kidder."
"That's right," admitted Peabody.
"If you play the way I saw you doing the other day, there's not a man in
the club has anything on you," asserted Chilvers, winking at me.
"Stranger things have happened," declared Peabody, his face illuminated
by a hopeful grin. "I made the last hole yesterday in five, and that is
as good as Carter or Smith have done it in this year."
Now, as a matter of fact, there was not one chance in five hundred that
Peabody would qualify, and he didn't, but that did not prevent his
starting out with a hope and a sort of a faith that by some bewildering
combination of circumstances he would qualify, and later on bowl over
all of his competitors and carry off the prize with the sweeter honours
of victory.
If there be any soil where hope absolutely runs riot it is in the breast
of a golfer. The fond mother who cozens herself into the faith that her
boy will some day be President of the United States builds on the same
foundation as the duffer who enters a competition in which he is
outclassed.
Personally I can see no reason why I shall not some day win the
international golf championship, and I have strong expectations of doing
so, but know perfectly well that I will not. It is a peculiar but
delightful complication of mind.
Carter had the best qualifying score, making the round in a consistent
eighty. Marshall was second with an eighty-two, Boyd and LaHume were
tied with eighty-four each, and I came in fifth with one more.
Chilvers, Pepper, and Thomas also qualified, but the cup should lie
among the first five.
Candour compels me to admit that on form it should come to a struggle
between Carter and Marshall; but if I get into the finals with either of
these gentlemen I shall play with confidence of winning.
A most astounding thing has happened! If I were incorporating these
events in a narrative or a novel I presume I would reserve the statement
I am about to make until the finish, so as to form an effective
climax--and on reflection I have decided to do so in these notes. So I
will begin at the beginning.
The second day after our visit to Bishop's, Miss Lawrence called me
aside on the veranda, and I could see that some great secret had
possession of her.
"I wish to ask a favour of you, Mr. Smith," she said, after beating
about the brush for a minute.
"Anything at my command is yours," I said.
"I have come to you," she said, "because I know that you are one of the
members of the club who can keep a secret. Not that this is any
tremendous affair," she added, a blush faintly touching her cheek, "but
I don't care to have everybody know it."
I assured her that wild horses could not drag from me any confidence
reposed.
"I want to borrow some of your clubs," she faltered.
"My clubs?"
"Yes; some old ones which you do not use regularly."
"You may have any or all the clubs I have," I assured her. "When do you
wish them?"
"Right now."
She was silent a moment, and I was too mystified to frame any comment.
"I am going to tell you all about it," she impulsively declared, laying
her little hand on my arm. "I want them for Mr. Wallace!"
"Mr. Wallace?" I repeated. At that instant I could not think whom she
meant.
"Mr. Bishop's assistant."
"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed. By a mighty effort I kept from smiling. It was
the first time I had heard a "hired man" called an "assistant," and I
have heard them called many names.
"Do you remember that at the dinner I said Mr. Wallace had promised to
teach me the St. Andrews swing?" she asked, her eyes bright with
excitement.
"Yes."
"I took my first lesson yesterday afternoon. Miss Ross and I went over
to Mr. Bishop's after dinner, as we arranged we should during the dance.
We put our clubs in my auto when no one was looking, and went by a
roundabout way to the big sheep pasture to the east of the farmhouse. Do
you know where it is?"
"Perfectly."
"It was still half an hour from sunset, and Mr. Wallace was there
waiting for us. Mr. Smith," clasping her hands, "you should see that
gentleman play golf!"
"I had an idea he could play from the moment he lofted your sliced ball
over the fence that afternoon," I said.
"Can you go with us?" she asked suddenly. "Miss Ross and I promised Mr.
Wallace we would come over this afternoon an I bring a set of men's
clubs with us, and it would be just splendid for you to go with us. Will
you go, Mr. Smith?"
I assured her it would be a pleasure. At that moment Miss Harding
appeared, and we quickly decided to let her into the secret.
"Mr. Wallace said he would arrange with Mr. Bishop to get away from his
work an hour or so any time we came over this afternoon," explained Miss
Lawrence, "so there will be no deception on his part."
"Oh, you should see him drive!" exclaimed Miss Ross, raising her eyes as
if following a ball which was travelling an enormous distance. "And he
did not dare hit them hard for fear of breaking my club. It was
perfectly lovely!"
[Illustration: "We ran the auto into the sheep pasture"]
"And approach!" added Miss Lawrence.
"And putt!" declared Miss Ross. "It was grand!"
"Let us see this paragon of all the golfing virtues without delay,"
laughed Miss Harding, and half an hour later our automobile stopped in
front of the Bishop house.
Wallace must have been on the outlook for us, since he appeared
directly. He seemed a bit surprised to see me, but greeted us
pleasantly.
"Miss Lawrence and Miss Ross were so kind as to praise shots I made
yesterday," he explained, "but, as Mr. Smith will understand, the good
ones were more or less lucky, for it is long since I have had a club in
my hand. However, I will do the best I can to illustrate the typical
Scottish swings, as I execute them, but please do not expect too much."
We ran the auto into the sheep pasture, and I presume it was the first
invasion of those haunts by this modern vehicle. At least the sheep
seemed to so regard it, and ran bleating in every direction. It is an
ideal spot for an exhibition of the long game, and Bishop has had many
offers from golf clubs seeking a location for links. That farmer
gentleman appeared shortly after we arrived at the crest of a gentle
hill.
"No trespassin' on these here premises!" he grinned.
"How are ye, everybody? Miss Lawrence tells me that my man Wallace,
here, is a crackerjack drivin' one of them golf balls. You'd ought to
see him drive a team when he first come here. Took him two weeks to
learn the difference between 'gee' and 'haw,' and to tell the 'nigh'
from the 'off' boss, but I suppose drivin' a golf ball is a sight
easier. But I won't bother ye. I'll just stand here and watch. Perhaps I
might learn somethin'."
It was a warm afternoon and Wallace laid aside his thin jacket. He was
dressed in a tennis suit which fitted him perfectly. Bishop called me
aside.
"That chap has two or three trunks full of all kinds of clothes," he
said in a whisper, "but this is the first time I ever saw this one. What
do you call it?"
"That's a tennis suit," I said.
"Tennis!" he grunted. "That's worse than golf, isn't it, Jack?"
I laughed, and then we turned our attention to the young Scotchman.
The moment he grasped my driver and swung it with an easy but powerful
wrist movement I knew he was an expert. You can almost pick the good
golfer by the way he takes a club from a bag. His skill is shown in his
manner of teeing a ball, and no duffer ever "addressed" the sphere or
"waggled" his club so as to deceive those who know the game.
Wallace did not tee the ball on any raised inequality of the turf, but
simply placed it on a smooth spot, such as one would select as the
average brassie lie. If I had any lingering doubt as to his ability,
this one preliminary act dispelled it.
Now that I calmly recall this scene in that sheep pasture, its dramatic
grotesqueness rather appeals to me. Here were three young ladies, all of
them pretty, all wealthy and holding high social positions, watching
with bated breath a farmhand of unknown birth in the act of striking a
golf ball. Surely golf is the great leveller! Perhaps it is the hope of
the ultimate democracy; the germ of the ideal brotherhood of man.
I presume Bishop was thinking that Wallace would better be employed in
running a mowing machine.
"The Scotch method of making a full drive," said Wallace, facing his
interested little audience, and speaking with more enthusiasm than was
his wont, "or, if you prefer it, the St. Andrews style, is distinguished
from most types by what might be termed its exaggerated freedom. It is a
full, free swing with an abandoned follow through. It probably comes
from the confidence which has been handed down from generations of
golf-playing people. The Scotch are a conservative and deliberate people
in most things, but the way they seem to hit a golf ball gives to most
observers the impression of carelessness and lack of considered effort.
That, I should say," he concluded, with a droll smile, "is enough for
the preacher."
[Illustration: "I have never seen a more perfect shot"]
I felt mortally certain Wallace would make a failure of that first shot,
and he told me later he was rather nervous, but he took no unnecessary
chances.
He used a three-quarter swing--at least so it appeared to me--such a one
I should employ to drive a low ball about one hundred and fifty yards.
He seemed to put no effort into it, but the result proved there was not
an ounce of misapplied energy. It all seemed unstudied, but I knew that
every muscle and sinew of his lithe and well-proportioned body was
working to the end that the face of his club should not swerve by one
hair's breadth from the course he had planned for it.
It was the ball which we less-favoured golfers dream shall some day be
ours to command; the ball which starts low, rises in a concave curve,
and ends its trajectory in a slight slant to the left--the low, hooked
ball. It was not a phenomenally long drive; about two hundred yards, I
should say, but for the apparent effort expended I have never seen a
more perfect shot.
"Why in thunder don't you hit it hard, Wallace?" demanded Bishop. "Soak
it, man, soak it! That was only a love tap."
I would rather have stood in the shoes of that "hired man," and listened
to the comments of those three girls, than to rival the eloquence of
Demosthenes, and withstand the surges of the applause of admiring
thousands.
"Let me drive two or three easy ones, Mr. Bishop," Wallace said, placing
another ball on the turf, "and then I will press a bit, and see if I
have lost the feel of a full swing."
It was a wonderful exhibition of clean, long driving. He teed a dozen
balls, and I doubt if one of them fell fifteen yards outside the line of
the lone walnut tree which had been selected as the target. The ground
was fairly level, and Mr. Bishop and I paced the distance to the outer
ball. We agreed that it was about two hundred and forty yards from the
point driven, and seven of the twelve balls were found within a radius
of fifteen yards. In fact all of them would have been on or near the
edge of a large putting green.
I have seen longer driving, but nothing equalling it in accuracy or
consistency.
"It is very much better than I had expectation of doing," said Wallace.
"That is a well-balanced club of yours, Mr. Smith, but a bit too short
and whippy for me."
He good-naturedly consented to try lofting and approaching shots. On the
start he was a little unsteady, due probably to lack of familiarity with
my clubs, which are made to conform with some of my pet hobbies. After a
few minutes' practise he got the hang of them and did really brilliant
work.
With a mashie at one hundred and twenty yards he dropped ball after ball
within a short distance of a stake which served to indicate a cup. He
picked them clean from the turf, lofting them with that back-spin which
causes them to drop almost dead. It was the golf I have always claimed
to be within the range of possibility, but I never hoped to see it
executed. Even Bishop was impressed with the skill displayed by his
employee, and as the balls soared true from his club, like quoits from
the hand of a sturdy expert, the farmer grinned his appreciation.
"I don't know much about this here game, Jack," he said, as Wallace
rejoined us, "but it looks to me as if this man of mine has you Woodvale
fellows skinned a mile. Tell you what I'll do! I'll back him for ten
dollars against any man you've got."
"I am not eligible to play in Woodvale," observed Wallace, a peculiar
smile hovering on his lips, "so it is useless to discuss that."
"You shall play as my guest," declared Miss Lawrence. "I have a perfect
right to--"
"I should be glad to extend that courtesy to Mr. Wallace at any time," I
interrupted, fearing that she might say something which would be
misconstrued.
"I thank both of you, but it is out of the question," said Wallace with
quiet dignity, and Miss Harding with her usual tact changed the topic by
asking Wallace to illustrate a certain point relating to the short
approach shot.
On our way back to the auto I walked with Mr. Bishop, and of a sudden a
thought occurred to me.
"I am in an important competition for a trophy presented to the club by
Mr. Harding," I explained, "and I wish you to do me a favour."
"What kind of a favour?"
"If I can arrange with Wallace to give me a few lessons in driving and
approaching, will you have any objections? It would put some extra money
in his pocket."
"Not after he is through with his work," Bishop said, hesitating a
moment. "But I can't have you folks takin' up his time as a regular
thing when he should be out in the field. This thing to-day is all right
enough, and I'm glad to accommodate Miss Lawrence and the rest of ye,
but of course, as you know, Jack, it breaks up his day's work, and this
is a busy season on a farm like this. But as a rule he is through his
chores at half-past six, and there's lots of sunlight after that."
I managed to get Wallace aside before we left the farmhouse. I told him
of the club competition and of my desire to win the Harding trophy.
"Mr. Bishop tells me your time is your own after half-past six in the
evening," I said. "Would you be willing to give me a few lessons after
that hour? I will bring clubs and balls and meet you where we were this
afternoon."
"I will tell you anything I know, Mr. Smith," he said, "but I fear I
shall prove a poor instructor."
"I shall expect to pay for your time, Mr. Wallace, and if you can
improve my drive you will find it worth your while," I said, glad of a
chance to do something in an honourable way for a chap who certainly has
not been favoured with his share of good fortune.
"If I accept pay I will become a professional golfer, will I not, Mr.
Smith?" he asked, and for the life of me I did not know what to say.
"I would be willing to pay you five dollars a lesson," I said, ignoring
his question, trusting that the figure named would outweigh scruples, if
he really had any.
"It is more than I would take, though I thank you for the offer," he
said. "I do not doubt that golf is an honourable profession--in fact I
know it is--but for reasons which will not interest you I prefer to
maintain my amateur standing. It will be a pleasure to play with you,
sir, and to help your game if I can, but I would rather not accept
money."
"Very well," I said, "I'll find some other way to repay you. Suppose I
take the first lesson to-morrow evening?"
"To-morrow evening at half after six o'clock," he said, and we shook
hands in parting to bind the agreement.
I had already formed a plan by which I could even matters without the
direct passing of money. It strikes me as odd that this farmhand should
object to becoming a professional golfer, but it tends to prove the
accuracy of my original opinion that he is some college chap, probably
of good family, who is at the end of his resources.
We had no sooner started from Bishop's than Miss Lawrence turned her
batteries on me.
"You think you are very sly, do you not, Mr. Smith?" she began.
"In what way, Miss Lawrence?"
"You think to steal my golf instructor from me," she declared. "That is
just like a man; they are the meanest, most selfish things ever
created."
"Listen to me--"
"I did listen to you," declared that young lady with a triumphant laugh.
"I did listen to you, and I have sharp ears. You are to have your first
exclusive lesson to-morrow evening. I make the discovery that Mr.
Wallace knows more of golf than all of you Woodvale boys together, and
then you seek to monopolise his skill. That's what he did, girls, and he
dare not deny it! What do you think of him?"
"Monster!" laughed Miss Harding, our fair chauffeuse on this return
trip, raising her eyes for an instant to mine.
"Ingrate!" hissed Miss Ross, leaning forward from the tonneau.
"What shall we do with him?" demanded Miss Lawrence.
"Make him take us with him!" they chorused, and I assured them that
nothing would give me more pleasure.
And thus it happened that Wallace acquired four pupils instead of one,
and for three successive evenings we had a jolly time in the old sheep
pasture taking our lessons from this most remarkable "hired man." We had
to let Mr. Harding into the secret the second evening, but he promised
not to "butt in" to our class, so he and Bishop sat on a side hill and
smoked and laughed and seemed to enjoy the exhibition hugely.
These little excursions to the old sheep pasture excited increasing
curiosity in the club. I enjoyed them immensely, since it gave me a
chance to walk slowly home with Miss Harding.
After the first visit we discarded the auto, since its use threatened
too much publicity. There was no real reason for keeping the affair a
secret, except that it is a pleasure to hold an interest in a mystery,
and I think most of us will confess to this harmless weakness. In
addition I was steadily improving my short game, which has been my great
handicap when pitted against Carter.
And besides, as I have noted, I enjoyed the companionship of Miss
Harding--and, of course, that of the others of our little group.
I am of the opinion that LaHume followed and spied upon us on the
occasion of our second trip, and very likely on the succeeding one. I am
sure I saw someone raise his head above a scrubby knoll to the south,
and am reasonably certain I recognised LaHume's gray cap. He was not
about the club that evening until after our return, and the same thing
happened on the following evening. His manner led me to believe he knew
more than he cared to tell. He was sullen almost to the point of
insolence.
After having been ignored once or twice by Miss Lawrence, LaHume left
our little group on the veranda and pulled a chair to the side of
Carter, who was reading his evening paper. It is not safe to interrupt
Carter while thus engaged, but after LaHume said a few words the other
laid aside the paper and listened intently. They talked for some time,
and in view of what happened later I have an idea of the subject of
their conversation.
Carter called me aside the next evening.
"I understand," he said, "that you have retained the services of a
private golf tutor."
"Who told you that?" I was thunderstruck.
"Never mind who told me," laughed Carter. "Trying to steal a march on
the rest of us, eh? Foxy old Smith; foxy old Smith!"
There was nothing I cared to say, and I said it.
"Is he any good?" Carter asked.
"Is who any good?" I parried.
"Wallace, of course. Oh, I know all about it. You, Miss Lawrence, Miss
Ross, and Miss Harding have been taking lessons from Wallace for several
evenings over in Bishop's sheep pasture. What I wish to know is this:
does this Scotch chap of Bishop's really know anything about the game,
or are the girls carried away with him because he is a handsome dog who
has seen better days and is now playing in bad luck?"
"I cannot speak for the young ladies," I replied realising that I might
as well tell the truth, "but I am smitten with the way he hits a ball,
and also with his genius in explaining it to me. Carter, I tell you this
fellow Wallace is a wonder!"
Carter was silent a moment.
"I wonder if he would like a job as golf professional?" he said.
"Golf professional?" I repeated. "Where?"
"Right here in Woodvale," declared Carter.
"To take Kirkaldy's place?"
"Yes, to take Kirkaldy's place. Kirkaldy handed me his resignation
to-night to take effect on Saturday. A rich uncle has died in Scotland,
and our young friend will buy his own golf balls in future, instead of
winning them from you and me. Now you and I constitute the majority of
the house committee, and if this Wallace is as good as you say, and I do
not doubt your judgment in the least, what's the matter with offering
him Kirkaldy's place? A man who can drive a dozen balls two hundred
yards and tell how he does it is squandering his time and cheating
humanity by serving as hired man."
I told him what Wallace said when I offered him money.
"That's all nonsense," declared Carter. "He can be a professional and
return to the amateur ranks after he has gone into some other avocation.
That is the rule not only here but in Great Britain. Kirkaldy can now
become an amateur, and doubtless will. Get your hat and we'll go over
and talk to this chap right now."
"How about LaHume?" I asked. LaHume is the third member of the house
committee.
"Never mind about LaHume," laughed Carter. "I imagine there are reasons
why LaHume might oppose the selection of Wallace, but if we are
satisfied LaHume will have to be."
The Bishops had retired when we reached the old house, but Wallace came
to the door, book in hand. Naturally he was surprised to see us at that
hour, and he was even more surprised when Carter told him the object of
our visit.
"We are not authorised to make you a definite offer to-night," said
Carter. "I am chairman of the committee, and if you care to consider the
matter seriously we suggest that you play a round with our present
professional, Kirkaldy, to-morrow afternoon. If your work is
satisfactory, as I have no doubt it will be from what Smith has said of
you, the place is yours at the same salary and the same perquisites
received by Kirkaldy."
"And what are these?" asked Wallace, a twinkle in his eye which I had
noticed on several occasions. It was a peculiar combination of
shrewdness, curiosity, and amusement, but one could not take offence at
it. He certainly is an odd fish, and I like him even if I do not
understand him.
"One hundred dollars a month with room and board, and all you can earn
giving lessons," said Carter. "Kirkaldy averages three hundred dollars a
month, and could have made more had he not been lazy."
"That certainly is a tempting chance for one who is getting twenty
dollars a month," observed Wallace, after a long pause. "I like it here,
and will not leave Mr. Bishop without due notice, but if you can obtain
my release and can positively assure me that my amateur standing will
not be impaired I will try to qualify for the position you offer. I
don't mind telling you," he added, and I noticed the same odd twinkle in
his eyes, "that there was a time, and I hope it will recur, when I
thought much of playing the game in a non-professional capacity. That,
however, is amongst ourselves, and if I become your professional I shall
attend strictly to my business."
The following morning I saw Mr. Bishop, who informed me that Wallace had
already related the purport of our visit the preceding evening.
"I'll tell you how I look at it, Jack," the old man said. "He's not an
awful good hired man, but he's willin' and eager to learn, and has the
makings of the best one in the county, but mor'n that he is a real
gentleman, and good company for mother and me, and I hate like the
mischief to lose him. But Lord bless ye, if he can make three hundred
dollars a month teaching you fools how to hit a ball with a stick, why
I ain't got no call to keep him here. That's as much money as I make out
of this whole blamed farm, and I have to work and not play for a livin'.
If Wallace is the man you want, take him, and I won't put a straw in his
way. Only I hope you'll sorter hint to him that we'd take it kindly if
he'd make it a point to drop over here once in a while and take supper
with mother and me, and stay all night, if he'd care to. Will you do
that, Jack?"
I heartily promised I would, and felt as guilty as if I had stolen some
of Bishop's prize sheep. I went down the fields and told Wallace the old
man had consented to release him, and that Kirkaldy would be on hand at
the club to play a trial round at two o'clock.
I will describe that game and some other happenings in my next entry.
ENTRY NO. XIII