John Henry Smith Part 22

"What odds Wallace does not win the game?" sneered LaHume, when Marshall sounded him. "Five to one, up to a thousand dollars!"

Just before they teed off, Marshall put a crisp one-hundred-dollar note belonging to Miss Lawrence in Harding's hands as stakeholder, and LaHume promptly covered it with five bills of the same denomination. There were scores of smaller wagers with no such animus back of them.

Wallace won the toss and took the honour. I doubt if there be any greater mental or nervous strain than that of making the initial stroke in an important golf contest. The player realises that all eyes are on him, and unless he has nerves of steel and an absolute mental poise he is likely to fall the victim of a wave which surges against him as he grasps the shaft of his club.

Wallace's first shot was the poorest I had seen him execute. It went high and to the left, and for a moment I was sure it would not clear the fence, but it did, dropping in as thick a clump of swamp gra.s.s as can be found in Woodvale. It left him fully one hundred and fifty yards from the cup. It-was a most disappointing shot, and I instinctively turned and looked at LaHume.

That young gentleman was satisfied beyond measure. There was something vindictive and repellent in the satisfied expression of his face. I turned and watched Kirkaldy drive a beautiful ball within fifty yards of the cup. The first hole is two hundred and eighty-five yards from the tee.

I found Wallace's ball. It was on a soggy spot of ground, with tall slush gra.s.s in front of it, but luckily there was room to swing a club back of it. He studied it a moment intently. It was a villainous lie. I did not wish to give advice, but could not restrain myself.

"Better play safe," I said. "It will cost you only one stroke."

"I think I can take it out," he said, reaching in the bag for a heavy, old-fas.h.i.+oned lofting iron.

He took one glance at the green, and then came down on that ball as if he intended to drive it into the bowels of the earth. I saw nothing but a shower of mud and a huge divot hurled up by the club-head as the wrists relaxed to save breaking the shaft.

Others saw the ball as it flicked the tips of the menacing gra.s.s and soared high in the air. It struck on the near edge of the green.

"A bonny shot, mon; a guede clean shot as ere were made out thot muck!"

exclaimed Kirkaldy, his face mantled with a grin of frank admiration.

It was a glorious recovery! Miss Lawrence was fairly dancing for joy.

Kirkaldy laid his ball within a foot of the hole, and won it with a three against four for Wallace, the latter making bogy. Wallace is unable to explain how he made a fluke of that first shot, and I am sure I have no idea.

On the second hole both drove perfect b.a.l.l.s over the old graveyard, but Wallace had a shade the best of it in distance and direction. Both were nicely on the green in two, and Wallace missed a putt for a three by a hair, while his opponent was lucky, running down in a long lag for four, halving it in bogy.

Timid players drive short on the third so as to avoid dropping in the brook, but both drove smas.h.i.+ng b.a.l.l.s far over it.

"I don't know much about this game," chuckled Harding, overtaking me at the foot-bridge, "but so far as I can see, this man of Bishop's isn't exactly what you folks call a duffer."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "It struck on the near edge of the green"]

Both took this hole in bogy fours, and both drove the duck pond on the next hole, and we found their b.a.l.l.s fair on the green, 220 yards away and slightly up hill. Wallace rimmed the cup for a two, and both made threes, one stroke better than bogy. It was lightning golf. LaHume's face was a study.

The fifth hole is 470 yards, and both were within easy chopping approach of the green on their second. Wallace had the worst of a bad kick, and Kirkaldy holed a thirty-foot putt for a par four, making him two up. LaHume smiled once again. The next four holes were made in bogy by both players, leaving Kirkaldy two up on both medal and match scores.

Here is the out card:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 KIRKALDY-- 3 4 4 3 4 5 5 5 4--37 WALLACE--- 4 4 4 3 5 5 5 5 4--39

This was three under bogy for Kirkaldy, and one under for Wallace.

"I think this Scotchman of yours will do," Carter said in an undertone, as we neared the tenth tee. "He is executing fairly well for a man playing a course for the first time, fixed up with a strange set of clubs, and getting all the worst of the luck on putts. He is actually outdriving Kirkaldy, but I'm afraid our friend Miss Lawrence will lose that hundred to Percy."

"So am I," I said, "but it is the only bet he will win."

It was at the tenth hole that Miss Lawrence sliced her ball over the fence, and Wallace deftly returned it, as I have mentioned. As he looked over the ground he identified it, and for the first time during the game he took a sweeping glance at the "gallery."

His eyes met those of Miss Lawrence, and I saw him make a gesture with his hand as if to remind her that this was the spot where he first had seen her. She answered with a smile and a nod, and then said something to Miss Harding and Miss Rose, at which the three of them laughed.

Then the machine-like Kirkaldy drove his usual accurate long ball.

It is a dangerous hole, this tenth, with a deep cut through which the country road runs to the right, and dense woods and rock-strewn underbrush to the left. The cautious player does not hazard making the narrow opening, but Wallace smashed that ball a full 250 yards as straight as a rifle shot. It is a 450-yard hole, and it has been the ambition of every player in the club to reach it in two. Kirkaldy had never done it, but Wallace had made a record-breaking drive. Could he reach the green?

Kirkaldy bra.s.sied and was short, but in good position. Wallace did not have a good lie, but I told him it was a full 200 yards, and the fore caddy gave him the direction. It was uphill almost all the way to the hole. He used a full bra.s.sie, going well into the turf, and I knew when the ball started it would reach the green.

We climbed the hill breathless with curiosity. I came in sight of the green. A new, white ball lay within a foot of the cup! All records on "Mount Terrible" had been shattered!

Kirkaldy smiled grimly and was short on his approach, but got down in two more, losing the hole with a five against that phenomenal three.

Five is bogy and par for this hole, and sevens more common than fives.

The medal score was even.

They halved the eleventh, Wallace won the twelfth and lost the fourteenth, both making threes on the tricky thirteenth. Wallace took the medal lead by winning the fifteenth in another perfect three, and the sixteenth produced fours for both of them. It was Kirkaldy's turn to register a three on the next, this bringing them to the last hole all square on medal score, with Kirkaldy one up on match play. It was intensely exciting!

The eighteenth hole is 610 yards. By wonderful long work both were on the green in three, but Kirkaldy was on the extreme far edge and away.

His approach putt was too strong, overrunning the cup by twelve feet.

Wallace laid his ball dead within six inches of the cup, and putted down in five, one under bogy. This insured him at least a tie for the medal score, but the match honours would go to Kirkaldy if he could hole that long putt. We held our breaths! He went to the left by a slight margin, halving the match by holes. Here is the card coming in:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 KIRKALDY-- 5 4 6 3 4 4 4 3 6--39 WALLACE--- 3 4 5 3 5 3 4 4 5-36

[Ill.u.s.tration: "LaHume ... stalking toward the club house"]

Wallace therefore won the medal round by a score of 75 against 76 for Kirkaldy, and honours were even on holes. It was a match to make one's blood tingle; a clean, honest contest between two clear-headed and muscle-trained athletes.

Kirkaldy was the first to grasp Wallace's hand, and in the blue eyes of our tried and popular golf mentor there was naught but sincere goodwill and unaffected admiration.

"Ye'll do, my laddy, ye'll do!" Kirkaldy exclaimed. "I dinna ken who taught ye, but he was a guede mon; a guede mon!"

As Kirkaldy's ball stopped rolling, and it was known Wallace had won the medal score, the breathless gallery found their voices and gave vent to their feelings. The silent and motionless circle came to life, and, as it were, exploded toward its centre. We found ourselves in the vortex of cheering men, laughing girls, fluttering 'kerchiefs, and the excited clatter of a hundred voices.

I looked for LaHume and saw him stalking toward the club house. Someone clutched me by the sleeve, and I looked into the beautiful and happy eyes of Miss Lawrence.

"Wasn't it glorious!" she said. "Isn't he a splendid player! Did you ever see anything like that tenth hole? And I won! I just thought I should scream when Mr. Wallace lay dead for a five on this hole!"

"Say, he's all right, eh, Smith!" said Mr. Harding, handing me a roll of money. "Here's your share of the plunder. It was like picking it up in the street after a cyclone has. .h.i.t a national bank. I'm going to blow mine in giving a dinner to Wallace and Kirkaldy, and everybody is invited."

We had that dinner, and right royally did we welcome the new and speed the parting professional. And this is how Tom Wallace, "Bishop's hired man," came to Woodvale as its golf professional.

After the dinner in honour of our professionals Kirkaldy made me a present of his famous driver. It is a beauty, and I confidently expect to lengthen my drive by at least ten yards with it. For the first time in my life I am now reasonably sure with my cleek shots. I do not know when I have been so well satisfied with my prospects.

My apparent stock losses to date foot up to $202,000.

ENTRY NO. XIV