I
When the returns were all in, a lot of people congratulated the winners
of the mixed-foursome cups, after which the weak-minded ones sympathised
with Mary Brooke and Russell Davidson.
Sympathy is a wonderful thing, and so rare that it should not be wasted.
Any intelligent person might have seen at a glance that Mary didn't need
sympathy; and as for Russell Davidson, there never was a time when he
deserved it.
And in all this outpouring of sentiment, this hand-shaking and
back-patting, nobody thought to offer a kind word to old Waddles. Nobody
shook him by the hand and told him that he was six of the seven wonders
of the world. It seems a pity, now that I look back on it.
Possibly you remember Waddles. He was, is, and probably always will be,
an extremely important member of the Yavapai Golf and Country Club.
Important, did I say? That doesn't begin to express it.
Omnipotent--that's better.
To begin with, he is chairman of the Greens Committee, holding dominion
over every blade of grass which grows on the course. He is intimately
acquainted with every gopher hole, hoofprint and drain cover on the club
property. Policing two hundred broad acres is a strong man's job, but
Waddles attends to it in his spare moments. He waves his pudgy hand and
says: "Let there be a bunker here," and lo! the bunker springs up as if
by magic. He abolishes sand traps which displease him, and creates new
ones. The heathen may rage, and sometimes they do, but Waddles holds on
the even tenor of his way, hearing only one vote, and that vote his own.
Then again, he is the official handicapper--another strong man's
job--with powers which cannot be overestimated. Some handicappers are
mild and apologetic creatures who believe in tempering justice with
mercy and pleasing as many people as possible, but not our Waddles.
Heaven pity the wily cup hunter who keeps an improved game under cover
in order that he may ease himself into a competition and clean up the
silverware!
Waddles hates a cup hunter with a deep and abiding hatred and deals with
him accordingly. There was once an 18-handicap man who waltzed blithely
through our Spring Handicap, and his worst medal round was something
like 85. His fat allowance made all his opponents look silly and he
took home a silver water pitcher worth seventy-five dollars.
This was bad enough, but he crowned his infamy by boasting openly that
he had outwitted Waddles. The next time the cup hunter had occasion to
glance at the handicap list he received a terrible shock.
"Waddy," said this person--and there were tears in his eyes and a sob in
his voice--"you know that I'll never be able to play to a four handicap,
don't you?"
"Certainly," was the calm response.
"Then what was the idea of putting me at such a low mark?"
"Well," said Waddles with a sweet smile, "I don't mind telling you, in
strict confidence: I cut you down to four to keep you honest."
The wretched cup hunter howled like a wolf, but it got him nothing. He
is still a four man, and if he lives to be as old as the Dingbats he
will never take home another trophy.
Not only is Waddles supreme on the golf course but he dominates the
clubhouse as well. He writes us tart letters about shaking dice for
money and signs them "House Committee, per W." Really serious matters
are dealt with in letters signed "Board of Directors, per W." The old
boy is the law and the prophets, the fine Italian hand, the mailed fist,
the lord high executioner and the chief justice, and if he misses you
with one barrel he is sure to get you with the other.
You might think that this would be power enough for one weak mortal. You
might think that there are some things which Waddles would regard as
beyond his jurisdiction. You might think that the little god of love
would come under another dispensation--you might think all these things,
but you don't know our Waddles. He is afflicted with that strange malady
described by the immortal Cap'n Prowse as "the natural gift of
authority," and such a man recognises no limits, knows no boundaries,
and wouldn't care two whoops if he did. Come to think of it, the Kaiser
is now under treatment for the same ailment.
Since I have given you some faint conception of Waddles and his
character I will proceed with the plain and simple tale of Mary Brooke,
Bill Hawley and Russell Davidson. Beth Rogers was in the foursome too,
but she doesn't really count, not being in love with any one but
herself.