John Henry Smith Page 3

  ENTRY No. I

  Miss HARDING Is COMING

  "Heard the news?" demanded Chilvers, approaching the table whereMarshall, Boyd, and I were smoking on the broad veranda of the WoodvaleGolf and Country Club. We shook our heads with contented indifference.It was after luncheon, and the cigars were excellent.

  "Where's LaHume?" grinned Chilvers. "Where's our Percy? He must hearthis."

  "LaHume and Miss Lawrence are out playing," languidly answered Marshall."What's happened? Don't prolong this suspense."

  Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield turned the corner and Chilvers saw them.Chilvers is married, but has lost none of his effervescence andconsequently retains his popularity.

  "Come here," he called, motioning to these two charming young ladies."I've got something for you! Great news; great news!"

  "What is it?" asked Miss Ross, her deep-brown eyes brightening withcuriosity.

  "Another heiress coming!" announced Chilvers, with the bow of a jewellerdisplaying some rare gem "--another heiress on her way to Woodvale! Thisis going to be a hard season for such perennial bachelors as Smith,Boyd, Carter, and others I could name. You girls will have your work cutout when this new heiress unpacks her trunks and sets fluttering thehearts of these steel-plated golfers."

  "Who is it?" impatiently demanded the chorus. Chilvers has all the artsof an actor in working for a climax.

  "Miss Grace Harding; that's all!" said Chilvers.

  "The famous beauty?" cried Miss Ross.

  "Last season's society sensation in Paris and London?" exclaimed MissDangerfield.

  "Daughter of the great railway magnate?" asked Marshall.

  "The one to whom Baron Torpington was reported engaged?" I added.

  "You all have guessed it the first time," laughed Chilvers. "She's theonly daughter of Robert L. Harding, magnate, financier, Wall Streetgeneral, the man who recently beat the pirate kings down there at theirown game. How much is Harding supposed to be worth, Smith?"

  "Thirty millions or so," I replied.

  "Well, I wish I had the 'so.' That would keep me in golf balls for awhile," Chilvers continued, turning his attention to the ladies. "Whatshow have you unfortunate girls against a combination like that? Andthink of Percy LaHume! What will that poor boy do? Percy heads for therichest heiress of each season with that same mighty instinct whichleads a boy to cast wistful glances at the largest cut of pie. Hethought the heiresses had quit coming, and now this happens; but he hasgone so far in his campaign for the hand and cheque-book of MissLawrence, that he cannot stop quick without dislocating his spine. Idoubt if that poor little Lawrence girl will ever have more than fivemillions."

  "Never mind Percy and his prospects," said Marshall. "Who told you thatMiss Grace Harding is coming to Woodvale?"

  "Carter told me," replied Chilvers. "Carter knows them. The wholeHarding family is coming, which includes Croesus, his wife, and theirfair daughter, aged nineteen or thereabouts. Ah! why did I marry sosoon?"

  Mrs. Chilvers was standing back of him and soundly boxed his ears.

  "How does it happen that the Hardings are coming here?" asked Mrs.Chilvers, when told the cause of this excitement. "Are they Mr. Carter'sguests?"

  "Mr. Harding is a charter member of Woodvale," I informed her. "Forsome unknown reason he joined the club when it started, but has neverbeen here, and I doubt if he has ever played golf. He is the owner ofthe majority of the bonds issued against this clubhouse."

  "I wonder if Miss Harding plays golf?" said Boyd.

  "Golf is not among the list of accomplishments mentioned by thosewriters who pretend to know all about her," remarked Chilvers. "I havebeen forced to learn from a casual reading of society events that thisremarkable heiress is without an equal as an equestrienne, that shepaints, sings, drives a sixty-horse-power Mercedes with a skill and acourage which discourages the French chauffeurs, and does other athleticand artistic feats, but I have yet to learn that she golfs."

  "I presume," I said, "that she will take up the game, and also the turf.The three Hardings doubtless will form one of those delightful familyparties which add so much to the merriment of a golf course. I can shutmy eyes and see them hacking their way around the links; the daughterpretty and more anxious to show off the latest Parisian golfing costumesthan to replace a divot; the father determined, perspiring, and red offace, and the mother stout and always in the way."

  "Isn't Mr. Smith the incorrigible woman-hater?" exclaimed Mrs. Chilvers."You did not talk that way before you became so infatuated with golf,Mr. Smith."

  "I am not a woman-hater," I protested, "but I--I don't like to----"

  "Some day Smith will meet a fair creature on the golf links and lose hisdrive and his heart at the same time," declared Chilvers. "That was theway I was tripped up and carried into bondage," he added, his handwandering to his wife's waist.

  "With the exception of Mrs. Chilvers," I said, and I came very nearmaking no exceptions, Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield having leftus--"with the exception of Mrs. Chilvers, I have yet to see the womanwho shows to advantage with a golf regalia. If Miss Harding is beautifulenough to overcome the handicap which always attaches to the female golfduffer, she can give Venus odds and beat her handily."

  "You will meet a golfing Venus some day," smiled Mrs. Chilvers, willingthat her sex should be attacked so long as she was exempt.

  "That's what he will," added Chilvers; "I'm agile, but I slipped."

  "The artists who depict the woman golfer as graceful and attractive," Icontinued, "must draw from imagination rather than from models. In myhumble opinion a woman shows to better advantage climbing a steep flightof stairs than in any possible posture in striking a golf ball."

  "The ladies--God bless 'em--and keep them off the links!" mutteredMarshall.

  "Why, Charlie Marshall!" exclaimed Mrs. Quivers. "I shall see that yourwife hears that!"

  "Don't tell her; she'll beat him terribly," warned Chilvers. "Did youever hear, Boyd, why our friend Smith is so sour when he sees a lady onthese links?"

  Chilvers has told that story on me many times, but Boyd declared he hadnot heard it.

  "As you know," began Chilvers, "Smith was born on this farm. It's theancestral Smith homestead, and Smith's relatives were very indignantwhen he leased it to the Woodvale Golf and Country Club. What was thename of that maiden aunt of yours, Smith?"

  "My Aunt Sarah Emeline Smith," I replied.

  "Yes, yes! Well, Aunt Sarah Emeline was especially incensed over thisact of sacrilege on Smith's part," continued this historian, and hefollowed the facts closely, "and only once since has she stepped foot onthe broad acres where her happy girlhood was spent. It was mygood-fortune to meet her on that occasion, and I shall never forget it."

  "Neither shall I," I said.

  "On her visit here Aunt Sarah Emeline persisted in wandering over thelinks. She had on a wonderful bonnet, and through it she glareddisdainfully at the members of the club who yelled 'Fore!' at her. Shewas headed for the old mill, which now is used as a caddy house. I wasplaying the last hole and thought she was well out of line of a brassey,so I fell on that ball for all I was worth. I sliced it; yes, I slicedit badly."

  "... and threw it in the pond"]

  Chilvers paused and seemed lost in thought.

  "Did it hit her?" asked Boyd.

  "Of course it hit her," resumed Chilvers. "Aunt Sarah Emeline is morethan plump, and since it did not hit her in the head I can't see how itcould have hurt her. She certainly was able to stoop down, pick up thatball and throw it in the pond--and it was a new ball. I ran toward herand apologised the best I could, and what she said to me made a lastingimpression. I suppose, Smith, that it was the most expensive sliced ballever driven on these links?"

  "Very likely," I sadly replied. "The following day I received a letterfrom Aunt Sarah Emeline informing me that she had cut me out of herwill. And you still slice abominably, Chilvers."

  "Thus you see that Smith has solid reasons for his prejudice against thegen
tler sex as golfists," concluded Chilvers.

  I entered a general denial, and the conversation drifted into otherchannels. As a matter of fact, my dislike of the woman golfer is basedon different grounds.

  A pretty woman is a most glorious creature, and I yield to no one in myadmiration of the fair sex, but a woman is out of her proper environmentwhen she persists in frequenting a golf course designed for men who areexperts at the game.

  When I see women on the broad verandas of the Woodvale Club, or when Isee them strolling along the shaded paths or indulging in tennis,croquet, and other games to which they are physically fitted, I knowthat they possess tact and discrimination, but when I see them ahead ofme on the golf links--well, it is different.

  Women may gain in health by attempting to play golf, but they do so atthe expense of shattered masculine nerves and morals. When our board ofmanagement decided to permit the ladies to have free use of the courseat all times except when tournaments are in progress, I resigned asdirector, but what good did it do?

  A woman never is so tenacious of her rights as when she is in the wrong.I wonder if that is original?

  I know of no agony more acute than to be condemned to play golf withwomen when there is a chance to get in a foursome with good scratch men.The dyspeptic compelled to fast while watching the progress of abanquet, must suffer similar torture.

  "What's the use of sitting here and talking?" demanded Chilvers. "It hascooled off; let's have a foursome. Marshall and I will play you andBoyd, Smith. What do you say?"

  At this instant the head waiter appeared and said Mr. Thomas wished meto come to his table for a moment. Thomas was on the other side of theveranda, but I had a suspicion of what was in store for me and arosewith a sinking heart.

  Thomas is the only good player in the club who is willing to make up afoursome with women, or, as it is most properly called, a "mixedfoursome." I never saw one which was not mixed before many holes hadbeen played.

  Just as I anticipated, I found Thomas at a table with Miss Ross and MissDangerfield. Both are so pretty it is a shame they attempt to play golf.

  "We are planning a foursome and Miss Dangerfield has chosen you for herpartner," began Thomas, who knows exactly how I feel about such mattersand who delights to lure me into trouble.

  "If you and Miss Dangerfield will give Miss Ross and me two strokes,"proposed Thomas, "we will play you for the dinners."

  I felt sure it was a put-up job, but what could I say?

  "I did not dare choose you for my partner, Mr. Smith," interposed MissDangerfield. "I know it is tiresome for a good player to go potteringaround the links with women at his heels, and only suggested a game ifyou had no other engagements."

  "Mr. Smith dare not plead another engagement," asserted Miss Ross, herdark eyes flashing a challenge. She is a lovely girl, but digs up theturf terribly.

  "Smith has no game on. He has been over there talking for an hour,"added Thomas, before I could say a word. I could have murdered him.

  "I am delighted, and it is kind of you to ask me," I lied mosteffusively. "It is an easy game for us, Miss Dangerfield."

  "Do not be too sure," scornfully laughed Miss Rosa. "Mr. Thomas is asplendid player."

  "But he cannot equal Mr. Smith," declared my loyal partner. "Oh, Mr.Smith, I have heard so much of your long drives and wonderful approachshots! It is so good of you to play with us."

  "It is an unexpected pleasure," I replied, rather ashamed of myself.

  I have no patience to describe in detail the game which followed. I amusually sure on a drive, but I topped five out of the eighteen andpopped half of the others into the air.

  Miss Dangerfield distinguished herself by missing her ball foursuccessive times from the tee. This is not the female record for thisfeat, so I am informed, but it is a very creditable performance for ayoung lady who selects a scratch player for her partner.

  Miss Ross played my ball by mistake on two occasions, and on one of themsucceeded in almost cutting it in half. It is a mystery to me why awoman cannot keep track of her own ball, when as a rule she does notknock it more than twenty yards.

  The ball she hits is usually a dirty, hacked-up object, but when shegoes to look for it she imagines that by some miracle it has beentransformed into a clean, white, and unmarked sphere, which has beendriven for the first time.

  Carter arrived at the club shortly after our "mixed foursome" hadstarted out. He took my place, he and Boyd playing Marshall andChilvers. Our orbits crossed several times.

  Miss Dangerfield found three balls. One of them belonged to Chilvers,and he saw her find it, but he is a perfect gentleman and did not say aword. It was the one redeeming incident in the game.

  Miss Dangerfield confided to me that she is making a collection ofballs.

  "I am awfully lucky," she said, looking critically at Chilvers' ball."Whenever I find one I keep it as a memento of the game; that is, ofcourse, if it is nice and clean like this one."

  "As a memento?" I inquired.

  "Certainly," she declared. "I have a cute little brush and some watercolours. I paint the date of discovery on the ball and add it to mycollection. Sometimes I paint flowers on the ball, and sometimes birdsand other things. You should see my collection! Don't you think it's areal cute idea?"

  "It is startlingly original," I said, and her bright and innocent smileshowed her appreciation of the compliment. "How many have you in yourcollection?"

  "Fore there! hay there!!"]

  "Oh, lots and lots of them," she said. "I am to have a portrait ofmyself done in oil, showing me in a golfing costume just about to knockthe ball as far as I can, and the frame will be composed of golf balls Ihave found. Oh, here's another lost ball!" and she started for one whichwas lying on the fair green not many yards away. I knew to whom itbelonged.

  "Fore! Fore! Hi, hay there; drop it; that's my ball!" yelled a clubmember named Pepper, coming on a run from behind a bunker. Pepper is amarried man, near the fifty-year mark, and he is extremely nervous andeven irritable when any one approaches his ball.

  "Don't touch it!" shouted Pepper, now on a dead run. "You'll make melose the hole! Don't you know the make of the ball you're playing? Mineis a Kempshall remade."

  "Oh, this is not my ball," frankly declared Miss Dangerfield. "My ballis over there, but I thought this was one which had been lost."

  "I pitched it out of that trap a moment ago," insisted Pepper, "and didnot take my eyes off it."

  "I am sure I do not want it if it is yours!" haughtily declared MissDangerfield, turning indignantly away.

  "Thank you," said Pepper, politely as he knows how, and we went on ourway leaving him to recover his composure as best he could. I looked backand noted that he fumbled his next shot.

  "If I thought as much as that of a mere golf ball I would never playthe game," pouted Miss Dangerfield. "I think he is horrid, and I shallnever speak to him again!"

  "If he had lost the ball he would have lost the hole," I explained,anxious to extenuate Pepper's offense as much as possible.

  "Suppose he did lose the old hole!" exclaimed the wronged young lady."What does it amount to if you lose one insignificant hole when thereare eighteen in all?"

  I could think of nothing else to say, and had the tact to change theconversation to the unique frame for her portrait with its "lost ball"border.

  "You will save material and secure a more artistic effect," I suggested,"by having an artisan cut the balls in halves. They will then lie flatto the frame, and one ball will do the service of two."

  Miss Dangerfield was so taken with this idea that she speedily forgotthat brute Pepper.

  Coming in we were passed by Marshall, Chilvers, Carter, and Boyd. How Ienvied them! We stood and silently watched while each made ripping longdrives. There is nothing which contributes more to a man's good opinionof himself than to line a ball straight out two hundred yards when abevy of pretty girls is watching him.

  The tendency of the woman golfer to frankly express her ad
miration forthe strength and skill of a man who can drive a clean and long ball isher great redeeming trait when on the links.

  The man who is careless of the praise of his male peers is prone to beraised to the seventh heaven of golf bliss when listening to thelong-drawn chorus of "Oh!" "Wasn't that splendid!" "I could just die ifI could drive like that!" and similar expressions from dainty maidenswho do not know the difference between a follow through and a jigger.

  An ideal golf course would be one where the members of the fair sex arecontent to group themselves about the driving tees and award an honestmeed of praise and applause to their fathers, husbands, or sweethearts.

  "You're up, Thomas," I said when the crack foursome was out of range.

  Thomas basted out a screecher, and Miss Ross followed with the best shotshe ever made. Miss Dangerfield missed as usual.

  "I'm awfully sorry," she said, "but I'm sure you will do better than Mr.Thomas."

  In my anxiety to verify her prediction I pressed, topped my ball, and itrolled into the bunker. Chilvers looked back and grinned and then saidsomething to Marshall at which both of them laughed.

  Of course we were beaten, and beaten disgracefully. Miss Dangerfield didnot take it the least to heart, but the dinner did not cost herthirty-two dollars. Not that I care for the money, but it is the firsttime this year that my score has been more than ninety.

  I can take Thomas out alone and beat him so badly he will not dare turnin his score, but in a mixed foursome he can put it all over me.

  It does not take much to throw a man off his golf game. For instance: Myprivate secretary came up from the city early this morning. Among othermatters he called my attention to the fact that my N.O. & G. railwaystock has dropped three points during the week. I seldom indulge instock speculation, but was induced to buy two thousand shares of thissecurity on what I believed to be inside information. The stock is nowselling at five points below my purchase price, a paper loss of $10,000.

  "Your brokers inform me that unless you desire to take your losses itwill be necessary to put up a ten-point margin," said my secretary.

  "That means a cheque for $20,000, I presume," I observed, making ahurried calculation. He said it did, and I gave it to him.

  As soon as he had gone I went out with Kirkaldy, our club professional,and played a few holes before luncheon, hoping to get that confoundedN.O. & G. stock affair out of my mind so that I could play a good gamein the afternoon. I made the fifth hole in five, which reminded me thatthe cursed stock had dropped five points. As a consequence I drove wideon the next hole, and Kirkaldy won half a dozen balls from me.

  In order to play a perfect game of golf one's mind must reflect nooutside matter, and I shall sell that miserable stock the moment I canget out without serious loss. This should be a lesson to me.

  I saw Carter a few minutes ago and he tells me he understands that thefamous Grace Harding does play golf. My worst fears are confirmed.

  I shall now clean my clubs and go to bed.