"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 the
pit which my niblick had digged. I wished heartily that I had thought
of waiting to ascertain the names of the two rivals before offering my
scheme. I was extremely fond of Mitchell Holmes and of the girl to whom
he was engaged to be married. Indeed, it was I who had sketched out a
few rough notes for the lad to use when proposing; and results had
shown that he had put my stuff across well. And I had listened many a
time with a sympathetic ear to his hopes in the matter of securing a
rise of salary which would enable him to get married. Somehow, when
Alexander was talking, it had not occurred to me that young Holmes
might be in the running for so important an office as the
treasurership. I had ruined the boy's chances. Ordeal by golf was the
one test which he could not possibly undergo with success. Only a
miracle could keep him from losing his temper, and I had expressly
warned Alexander against such a man.
When I thought of his rival my heart sank still more. Rupert Dixon was
rather an unpleasant young man, but the worst of his enemies could not
accuse him of not possessing the golfing temperament. From the drive
off 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 faced
with a problem. Strictly speaking, no doubt, I had no right to take
sides; and, though secrecy had not been enjoined upon me in so many
words, I was very well aware that Alexander was under the impression
that I would keep the thing under my hat and not reveal to either party
the test that awaited him. Each candidate was, of course, to remain
ignorant that he was taking part in anything but a friendly game.
But when I thought of the young couple whose future depended on this
ordeal, I hesitated no longer. I put on my hat and went round to Miss
Boyd'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. They
greeted me heartily, but their heartiness had rather a tinny sound, and
I could see that on the whole they regarded me as one of those things
which should not happen. But when I told my story their attitude
changed. They began to look on me in the pleasanter light of a
guardian, 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 the
scheme. "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 a
frank, outspoken golfer. When my ball goes off nor'-nor'-east when I
want it to go due west I can't help expressing an opinion about it. It
is 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 I
did not do it intentionally. And it's just these trifles, as far as I
can 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 the
same look of horror which I saw in his. Women say these things without
thinking. 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 his
emotion 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 was
glowing.
"Such a splendid thing has happened," she said. "After Mitchell left
that night I happened to be glancing through a magazine, and I came
across a wonderful advertisement. It began by saying that all the great
men in history owed their success to being able to control themselves,
and that Napoleon wouldn't have amounted to anything if he had not
curbed his fiery nature, and then it said that we can all be like
Napoleon if we fill in the accompanying blank order-form for Professor
Orlando Rollitt's wonderful book, 'Are You Your Own Master?' absolutely
free for five days and then seven shillings, but you must write at once
because the demand is enormous and pretty soon it may be too late. I
wrote at once, and luckily I was in time, because Professor Rollitt did
have 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 frontispiece
showing a signed photograph of Professor Orlando Rollitt controlling
himself in spite of having long white whiskers, and then some reading
matter, printed between wide margins. One look at the book told me the
professor's methods. To be brief, he had simply swiped Marcus
Aurelius's best stuff, the copyright having expired some two thousand
years ago, and was retailing it as his own. I did not mention this to
Millicent. It was no affair of mine. Presumably, however obscure the
necessity, 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 his
life flows gently on and is divine.' I think it will be wonderful if
Mitchell'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 was
emerging from a shower-bath, and looked as pleased with himself as
usual.
"Just been going round with old Paterson," he said. "He was asking
after you. He's gone back to town in his car."