Our Annual Handicap is the blue-ribbon event of the year so far as most
of us are concerned. The star players turn up their noses at it a bit,
but that is only because they realise that they have a mighty slim
chance to carry off the cup. The high-handicap men usually eliminate the
crack performers, which is the way it should be. What's the good of a
handicap event if a scratch man is to win it every year?
Sixty-four members qualify and are paired off into individual matches,
which are played on handicaps, the losers dropping out. The man who
"comes through" in the top half of the drawing meets the survivor of the
lower half in the final match for the cup, which is always a very
handsome and valuable trophy, calculated to rouse all the cupidity in a
cup hunter's nature.
When the pairings were posted on the bulletin board Kitts was in the
upper half and Windy in the lower one. Kitts had a handicap of 8
strokes, and was really entitled to 12, but Cupid wouldn't listen to his
wails of anguish. Windy was a 12 man, and nobody figured the two
renegades as dangerous until the sixty-four entrants had narrowed down
to eight survivors. Kitts had won his matches by close margins, but
Windy had simply smothered his opponents by lopsided scores, and there
they were, in the running and too close to the finals for comfort.
We began to sit up and take notice. Cupid read the riot act to Dawson,
who was Windy's next opponent, and also had a talk with Aubrey, who was
to meet Kitts. "Wilkins and Kitts must be stopped!" raved Cupid. "We
don't want 'em to get as far as the semi-finals, and it's up to you
chaps to play your heads off and beat these rotters!"
Dawson and Aubrey saw their duty to the club, but that was as far as
they got with it. Windy talked from one end of his match to the other
and made Dawson so nervous that any one could have beaten him, and Kitts
pulled the book of rules on Aubrey and literally read him out of the
contest.
After this the interest in the tournament grew almost painful.
Overholzer and Watts were the other semifinalists, and we told them
plainly that they might as well resign from the club if they did not win
their matches. Overholzer spent a solid week practicing on his approach
shots, and Watts carried his putter home with him nights, but it wasn't
the slightest use. Windy tossed an 83 at Overholzer, along with a lot of
noisy conversation, and an 83 will beat Overholzer every time he starts.
Poor Watts went off his drive entirely and gave such a pitiful
exhibition that Kitts didn't need the rule book at all.
And there we were, down to the finals for the beautiful handicap cup,
sixty-two good men and true eliminated, and a pair of bounders lined up
against each other for the trophy!
"This," said Cupid Cutts, "is a most unfortunate situation. I can't root
for a sure-thing gambler and daylight highwayman like Wilkins, and as
for the other fellow I hope he falls into a bunker and breaks both his
hind legs off short! Think of one of those fellows carrying home that
lovely cup! Ain't it enough to make you sick?"
It made us all sick, nevertheless quite a respectable gallery assembled
to watch Wilkins and Kitts play their match.
"Looks like we're goin' to have a crowd for the main event!" said Windy,
who had put in the entire morning practicing tee shots. "In that case
I'll buy everybody a little drink, or sign a lunch card--whatever's
customary. Don't be bashful, boys. Might as well drink with the winner
before as well as after, you know!"
At this point Adolphus came in from the locker room and there was an
embarrassed silence, broken at last by Windy. "Somebody introduce me to
my victim," said he. "We've never met."
"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Cupid. "Of all the men in this club, I'd
think you fellows ought to know each other! Kitts, this is
Wilkins--shake hands and get together!"
Among the other reasons for not liking him, Adolphus had a face. I'm
aware that a man cannot help his face, but he can make it easier to look
at by wearing a pleasant expression now and then. Kitts seldom used his
face to smile with. As he turned to shake hands with Windy I noticed
that his left hip pocket bulged a trifle, and I knew that Adolphus was
taking no chances. That's where he carries the book of rules.
"How do," said Kitts, looking hard at Windy. "I'm ready if you are,
sir."
"Oh, don't be in such a hurry!" said Wilkins. "We've got a lot of drinks
comin' here. Sit down and have one."
"Thank you, I never drink," replied Adolphus.
"Well, then, have a sandwich. Might as well load up; you've got a hard
afternoon ahead of you."
"Thanks, I've had my lunch."
"Then let's talk a little," urged Windy. "Let's get acquainted. This is
the first time I ever had a whack at a cup, and I don't know how to act.
I play golf by main strength and awkwardness, but I get there just the
same. They tell me you're a great man for rules."
Windy paused, but Kitts didn't say anything, and Cupid stepped on my
foot under the table.
"Now, I don't go very strong on the rules," continued Windy wheedlingly.
"I like to play a sporty game--count all my shots, of course--but damn
this technical stuff is what _I_ say. For instance, if you should
accidentally tap your ball when you was addressin' it, and it should
turn over, I wouldn't call a stroke on you. I'd be ashamed to do it. If
I win, I want to win on my _playin'_ and not on any technicalities.
Ain't that the way you feel about it, hey?"
Kitts looked uncomfortable, but he wouldn't return a straight answer to
the question. He said something about hoping the best man would win, and
went out to get his clubs.
"Cheerful kind of a party, ain't he?" said Windy. "I've told him where I
stand. _I_ ain't goin' to claim anything on him if his foot slips, and
he oughtn't to claim anything on _me_. If he's a real sport, he won't.
What do you boys think?"
We thought a great deal, but nobody offered any advice.
"Well," said Windy, getting up and stretching, "he's got to start me 2
up, on handicap, and I'm drivin' like a fool. I should worry about his
technicalities!"