John Henry Smith Part 18

"This darned woollen yarn," observed Marshall.

"You're all right, Socks," declared Chilvers. "I only wish I could get as good a press agent as our friend Bishop. When I was a kid I used to push 'em into the pond and run, and let someone else fish them out."

"If a man were to do an act as brave as that," a.s.serted Miss Harding, "the world would acclaim him a hero, and not pile ridicule on him."

"All of which proves that no boy is a hero to another boy," commented Mr. Harding, "and that is as it should be. Boys get their heroes out of books, and as a rule they are fighters and pirates rather than of the self-sacrificing type."

I was glad when Miss Lawrence changed the topic of conversation.

"What do you think?" she exclaimed, addressing no one in particular, "I have discovered that Mr. Wallace knows how to play golf, and that he learned the game on some of the famous old courses of Scotland. He has promised to teach me the St. Andrews swing."

LaHume's face was a study as Miss Lawrence made this rather startling announcement. Surprise, disgust, and anger were reflected in his eyes and in the lines of his mouth.

"You have played St. Andrews?" asked Carter of Wallace.

"Yes, many a time," said this remarkable "hired man." "I was born hard-by the old town," he added.

"Indeed?" sneered LaHume. "What were you while there; caddy or professional?"

I thought I detected a flash of anger in the eyes of the young Scotchman, but if offended he controlled himself admirably. Not so with Miss Lawrence, who glared indignantly at LaHume.

"I doubt if I knew enough of the game," said Wallace, quietly, "to be either. I merely played there and at other places when I had the opportunity."

"Mr. Wallace says that St. Andrews does not compare with some of the newer links in Scotland," declared Miss Lawrence, ignoring LaHume.

"Which ones, for instance?" asked Carter, who has played over most of the fine courses in Great Britain.

"Muirfield and Prestwick offer better golf than St. Andrews, and are not so crowded," replied Wallace. "The farther you get from St. Andrews the greater its reputation, but it is too rough for perfect golf. A long, straight drive is often penalised by a bad lie, and an indifferent shot favoured by a good one, which is more luck than golf."

Carter smiled, and he afterwards told me it struck him as odd that a farmhand should converse in such words and on so peculiar a topic.

Wallace good-naturedly and modestly answered a number of questions, but evaded telling the cla.s.s of his game.

I wonder where Miss Lawrence will receive those lessons which will enable her to acquire the "St. Andrews swing"? I doubt if our rules will permit this remarkable farm labourer to play over Woodvale, even as the guest or at the request of Miss Lawrence. I shall watch developments with much interest.

Wallace asked to be excused, observing with a laugh that it was milking time, and a few minutes later we saw him pa.s.s the window, clad in blue overalls and a "jumper."

"Tell you what I'll do with you, LaHume," said Chilvers, who never misses an opportunity to stir up trouble. "I'll bet you a box of Haskells that our Scotch friend, who is now out there milking, can outdrive you twenty yards, and I never saw him with a club in his hands."

"I am not his rival in that or in any other capacity," warmly declared LaHume.

At this instant our hostess arose, giving the signal that the dinner was ended, and we adjourned to the lawn. LaHume said something to Miss Lawrence; she laughed scornfully, and left him and joined Miss Harding.

After cigars and pipes we inspected the new red barn. It is a huge structure, modern in every particular, and Bishop was properly proud of it. The lofts were partially filled with sweet clover hay, and the odour combined with that of the new pine lumber was delicious. The floor had been planed smooth, and oiled and waxed so as to make an excellent s.p.a.ce for dancing. The uprights were twined with ivy and decorated with wild flowers, and the effect was pleasing.

The guests were already arriving in all sorts of vehicles, from farm wagons to automobiles.

An "orchestra" of five pieces was on hand, and the musicians took their places beneath a cl.u.s.ter of Chinese lanterns. There were fully a hundred on the floor at nine o'clock, when Mr. Harding and Mrs. Bishop led off in the grand march. I had secured Miss Harding as my partner, and LaHume and Miss Lawrence were behind us. Carter was with some village beauty, but I saw nothing of Wallace in the grand march.

Later he appeared and danced a waltz with Miss Ross, and they made a handsome couple. The "hired man" was as well dressed as any gentleman in the room, and I have never seen a more graceful dancer than that tall, young Scotchman. LaHume watched him like a hawk. When Wallace claimed Miss Lawrence for a schottische the glum LaHume stood by the door and looked as if he would rather fight than dance. Chilvers told him he was making an a.s.s of himself.

It was a glorious night beneath the radiance of a full moon which silvered the lace-work of a mackerel sky. I never fully realised what dancing was until Miss Harding favoured me with a polka. And then we wandered out into the moonlight, talked about the moon, and hunted for the Great Dipper.

Even a plain woman looks pretty when with eyes and chin lifted she gazes at the star-studded heavens, her face profiled against the gleaming orb of a full moon, but no words of mine can describe the splendid beauty of Miss Harding in that att.i.tude. I tried to think of something to say, but was under a spell and could think of nothing, and it was perhaps just as well. I composed some ripping good sentences before I went to sleep that night, but it was too late to use them, and I shall not record them here.

And then we met Wallace and Miss Lawrence, her arm drawn through his, her face lifted toward his, and her tongue going when she was not laughing. They were "walking out" a dance, and evidently enjoying it.

Mr. Harding had the time of his life. He danced with stout farm wives, slender village maidens, and executed a clog dance which made the barn shudder on its foundations. He led the singing, told stories to groups of farmers who shouted with laughter, and refused to go home until Mrs.

Harding took him by the arm and fairly dragged him away.

I walked home with Miss Harding.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mr. Harding ... executed a clog dance"]

ENTRY NO. XII

THE ST. ANDREWS SWING

A week has pa.s.sed since I made the last entry in this diary, and a number of peculiar things have happened.

My brokers have brought an additional 10,000 shares of N.O. & G., which brings my speculative holdings to a total of 25,000 shares. They acquired the last block at an average price of 65, and the market closed to-night at 63. If I were to settle at this figure I would be loser to the amount of $150,000, not including the $23,000 lost on the first two thousand shares purchased, on which I have taken my losses. Counting commissions and interest I am about $175,000 to the bad, but am not in the least worried.

My brokers are now placing their orders through houses in other cities, and I am certain the extent of my operations is a secret beyond the slightest question.

The qualifying round for the "Harding Trophy" brought out the largest field of players in the history of our club compet.i.tions. Of course most of those who started declared that they had no expectation of winning, or even of qualifying in the first sixteen. For instance, there was Peabody, whose best medal score is 112.

"Are you going to play for that bronze gent?" demanded Chilvers, as Peabody came to the first tee.

"Thought I might just as well enter," said Peabody. "Of course I know I haven't a chance in the world to win."

"You never can tell," said Chilvers, his face solemn as an owl. Chilvers is a merciless "kidder."

"That's right," admitted Peabody.

"If you play the way I saw you doing the other day, there's not a man in the club has anything on you," a.s.serted Chilvers, winking at me.

"Stranger things have happened," declared Peabody, his face illuminated by a hopeful grin. "I made the last hole yesterday in five, and that is as good as Carter or Smith have done it in this year."

Now, as a matter of fact, there was not one chance in five hundred that Peabody would qualify, and he didn't, but that did not prevent his starting out with a hope and a sort of a faith that by some bewildering combination of circ.u.mstances he would qualify, and later on bowl over all of his compet.i.tors and carry off the prize with the sweeter honours of victory.

If there be any soil where hope absolutely runs riot it is in the breast of a golfer. The fond mother who cozens herself into the faith that her boy will some day be President of the United States builds on the same foundation as the duffer who enters a compet.i.tion in which he is outcla.s.sed.

Personally I can see no reason why I shall not some day win the international golf championship, and I have strong expectations of doing so, but know perfectly well that I will not. It is a peculiar but delightful complication of mind.

Carter had the best qualifying score, making the round in a consistent eighty. Marshall was second with an eighty-two, Boyd and LaHume were tied with eighty-four each, and I came in fifth with one more.