"Pip" Part 39

"Oh! So you're chosen all right, then?"

"Yes, I'm chosen, but I'm not going to play."

"Great Caesar! Why?"

"Well, I'm a bit stale, and I'm rather off cricket, and--and I want to play golf."

Now Raven Innes was a man of the world. Moreover, he was a married man,--married to a young and pretty wife,--and married men know things that are not revealed to the ordinary un.o.bservant bachelor. Constant female society sharpens their wits. A woman has only one explanation for all male eccentricities, and Raven Innes had been married long enough to know that in nine cases out of ten this explanation is the correct one.

He therefore pursued the conversation on the lines which he felt sure would have been adopted by Mrs. Raven had she been present.

"We have taken a cottage down the road--'Knocknaha,' it's called--so you must come and look us up. No time like the present, so come along now.

By the way, my little sister is staying with us--Elsie. Have you seen her yet?"

The diplomat c.o.c.ked an inquiring eye in the direction of his victim.

Personally he had never noticed anything unusual in Pip's relations with Elsie, but in matters of this kind Raven was guided entirely by his wife, and as that female Hawkshaw, whose feminine instincts were infallible in these cases, had long since informed him that there was something in the wind, he was now embarking upon this elephantine effort of cross-examination.

"No, really?" said Pip, who was lighting his pipe at the moment. "No, I haven't seen her yet."

He threw away the match and walked on, his features as immobile as usual. But his old weakness betrayed him, and he turned a dusky red.

Raven Innes noted this portent, chuckled, and inwardly dug himself in the ribs, as we all do when we find that our natural ac.u.men has unearthed a savoury secret.

Nearly a year had pa.s.sed since Pip returned from "abroad," once more to take his place among his friends and in first-cla.s.s cricket. During that time he had met Elsie only once--at Pipette's wedding; but he had gathered then, by dint of some artful cross-examination, that she would probably be the guest of the Ravens at Port Allan during August. Had Raven Innes realised that their chance meeting on the links that morning had been the result of a fortnight's planning, waiting, and scheming on the part of the enigmatical young man beside him; that the said young man had abandoned first-cla.s.s cricket in the height of the season, and taken the precaution of arriving at Port Allan a full week before he knew Elsie was due there, in order to avoid all appearance of having followed her, and had even endeavoured to give a casual appearance to their prospective and greatly desired meeting by withholding his presence for another three days,--Raven Innes would have realised that a superficial blush may conceal a greater depth of guile than the ordinary male intellect can fathom.

II

There are many kinds of golfer, and there are many kinds of girl, but there are only two kinds of girl with whom it is possible to play golf.

One is the beginner and the other is the expert.

The beginner is wholly irresponsible. Let us imagine that she is taken out in a "mixed" foursome. She refers to her clubs as "sticks," or even "poles." She declines the services of a caddie, with a little scream of apprehension at the very idea of such publicity. For the same reason she refuses to drive her ball from the tee if any one is "looking." Indeed, she has been known to implore her partner to turn even his sympathetic back during that performance. This excessive shyness is maintained all the way to the first hole, and, unless carefully watched, she will arrive at the green, ball in hand, having been unable to endure the critical gaze of two men at least a hundred and fifty yards away, who she feels convinced are laughing at her.

Presently she feels more comfortable. A long drive by her partner elicits a little shriek of astonished admiration, which flatters his manly vanity, and goes far to mitigate the handicap of her a.s.sistance.

She at once begins to imitate his stance and swing, straddles well over the ball, shuts both eyes, gives a mighty swipe, and usually falls down, the necessity of "tackety shoon" being as yet unrevealed to her. On she goes, perfectly at her ease now, though a little hot and fl.u.s.tered, babbling incessantly during the stroke, regardless of the sinister frowns of the man who is endeavouring to play it. Should she miss the ball altogether, she is moved to unnecessary mirth; should she by any chance hit it out of sight, say over a sand-hill, she scampers up the slope after it at a run, and announces its discovery at the top of her voice, upsetting the nerves of all the old gentlemen within earshot. On the green her actions are as characteristic as ever. In running the ball up to the hole she either hits the ground behind it and sends it six inches, or plays a shot which necessitates the departure of her long-suffering partner, niblick in hand and scarlet in the face, to an adjacent bunker. Short putts she invariably holes out by an ingenious and unblushing push-stroke, which no one has the heart to question or the courage to criticise. So the game proceeds. It is not golf, but then you never expected it to be. It is another game, even older, and even better.

After a few such rounds as this the dread seriousness of the game descends upon her, and she loses some of her charm. She never speaks, for she knows now that there is a rule on the subject. Her irresponsible gaiety is gone; she is actually nervous; and after missing an easy stroke (which she does quite as frequently as before), she looks piteously at her partner, and even sighs enviously as the lady on the other side, whom she has. .h.i.therto regarded as a mere example of how clothes should not be worn, plays a perfect approach out of a bad lie.

In short, she has reverted to the status of the ordinary duffer, and as such she ceases to be anything but a common nuisance--unless, of course, sir, you take a special interest in her, in which case you will find her quite as attractive, and infinitely less exhausting, over a quiet game of croquet or spilikins.

But when--or rather if--she attains to the degree of a real golfer; if she can drive off before a crowd without giggling or blushing, and can be trusted not to shut her eyes when taking a full swing,--then she is indeed a pearl of price, for she is now a congenial companion, from the golfing as well as the other point of view. She is neither childishly frivolous nor grimly determined. She looks upon golf neither as a glorified form of croquet nor as woman's one mission in life. Behold her as she walks across the links to begin her morning round. She calls up her favourite caddie with a little nod of her head, and gives you a cheery good-morning when she finds you waiting at the first tee. (A pretty girl-golfer is about as nearly perfect as a woman can be, but even that cannot make her punctual.) She is neatly turned out: she has abandoned kid boots with high heels, and wears trim shoes with plenty of nails in them. Her head is usually bare, or perhaps she wears a motor-veil tied under her chin; at any rate, the unstable edifice of former days no longer flaps in the breeze and obscures her vision. She is independent too. She does not take the first club the caddie offers: she chooses her own, and rates the boy for not having cleaned it better.

No longer does she put her ball in her pocket for fear of keeping back the green; on the contrary, she drives repeatedly (and I am afraid purposely) into a steady-going foursome in front. It is useless to remind her of a by-law which says that ladies must invariably give way to gentlemen and allow them to pa.s.s.

"Real gentlemen," she remarks, "would invariably give way to ladies and allow _them_ to pa.s.s." And her iron-shot b.u.mps past the head of an octogenarian who is trying to hole out a long putt on the distant green.

To look at her now you would never guess that she was once a shrinking _debutante_, a hewer of turf, and a drawer of water from the eyes of the green-keeper. Her putting is still erratic, and she is rather helpless in heavy sand; but, given a clean lie and a fair stance, she will handle her light clubs to some purpose, and her swing is a "sicht for sair een." If you are at all off your game she will beat you; therefore it is advisable to offer her points before beginning the match, not so much because she needs them as to preserve your masculine self-respect in the event of a "regrettable incident."

Miss Elsie Innes combined all the virtues of the girl-golfer in her own graceful young body. Though she had "filled out" considerably since we last saw her, she was anything but a hobnailed, masculine woman. She was neither heavily built nor muscular; she looked almost too fragile to play at all. But she handled her light clubs with a suppleness and dexterity usually given only to a schoolboy of fourteen, and the length of her drive was amazing. She was always graceful, always cool, and, as Pip once noted to himself, "never got either hot or hairy."

After their first meeting at Raven's cottage Pip and Elsie saw each other constantly. They played a round of golf every day, usually between tea and dinner, the hour when the ardent male golfer relaxes from his noonday strenuousness and turns to thoughts of mixed foursomes. Usually Pip and Elsie played Mr. and Mrs. Raven. Raven was a far better golfer than Pip, but then Elsie was very much the superior of Mrs. Raven, which made matters even. Many were the battles that raged between the two couples. At first victory favoured the married pair. Raven, besides being a scratch golfer, was a good general, and his unruffled coolness and unerring advice made the most of his wife's limited powers. Pip and Elsie, on the other hand, did not "combine" well. Elsie, who (strictly between ourselves) fancied her golf not a little, insisted on dictating the line of action to be followed on each occasion, and more than once told Pip what club to use. Pip, though relatively her inferior, declined at first to be trampled upon by a female, even a high-spirited G.o.ddess with fair hair and a swing like an archangel. But few men in Pip's condition argue the point long: after a brief struggle to a.s.sert the predominance of man he subsided completely, and, as he thought, rather diplomatically. There he was wrong. The sage of antiquity who composed the uncomplimentary proverb about "a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree"

knew something of life, and the course of Pip's true love might have run a good deal smoother if he had put down his masculine foot a little more frequently. However, there is no doubt that after his capitulation their golfing efforts reached a higher level than before. After a series of matches extending over a week, each side stood with three games to its credit, Pip and Elsie just managing to draw level by winning a match on the last green on Sat.u.r.day evening.

Sunday golf is not encouraged in Scotland. Consequently next morning Elsie accompanied her relatives to one of the numerous places of worship in Port Allan, which ancient township possessed its full complement of Auld Licht, Established, United, and Wee Free kirks, and other homes of religious controversy. Pip stayed on the hotel veranda and smoked, watching them pa.s.s but lacking nerve to join them. He summoned up sufficient courage, however, to put in an appearance at Knocknaha during the afternoon. He was even more silent than usual, though he made a hearty tea.

After that meal he invited Elsie to come for a walk with him. She consented, and they set off together, followed by the amused glances of Mr. and Mrs. Raven.

It was a glorious August afternoon. The North Sea, blue and placid, lapped gently against the red cliffs, or ran with a slow hiss up the slope of yellow sand which bordered the Links of Eric. There was hardly any wind--just enough, in fact, to keep the air clear; and Pip and Elsie, as they lounged luxuriously in a hollow at the top of a sand-hill,--their walk had been strictly limited to a Sabbath day's journey,--could see the smoke of a steam-trawler on the horizon though they could not see the ship herself.

"This is nice," murmured Elsie luxuriantly, as she arranged her holland skirt to cover up as much of her tan boots as possible--her Sunday frock had found its way back to her wardrobe soon after church. "Sunday really does feel like a day of rest if one plays golf all the week."

"Talking of golf," said Pip, "you haven't played me yet."

"I've played with you all the week," replied Elsie.

"With me, not against me," said Pip.

"Oh, I see. All right; I'll play with Raven to-morrow against you and Ethel. We shall beat you horribly, though."

Elsie was in a very perverse mood.

"Yes, but I want a single--a match," explained Pip.

"Oh!" said Elsie.

There was a pause. Pip lit his pipe, which had somehow gone out, and continued,--

"Shall we say to-morrow morning?"

"Afraid not," said Elsie. "I rather think I promised to play one of the men in the hotel."

This was not strictly true, but Elsie was in a curious frame of mind that evening. There was no reason why she should not have played Pip his match, nor was she particularly averse to doing so. But some flash of feminine intuition, infallible as ever, was unconsciously keeping her in the defensive att.i.tude natural to women in such cases.

"Is it Anstruther?" inquired Pip.

"Yes," said Elsie rashly.

"In that case your match is off, for he has had a wire, and must go to-morrow morning."

"It's not Mr. Anstruther," said Elsie. "I had forgotten he was going away." (This was strictly true.)

"Is it Gaythorne?" asked Pip.

Elsie regarded him covertly, through conveniently long lashes. She suspected another trap.

"No," she said at last.

"That's queer," remarked Pip meditatively. "He was saying only last night that he expected to play you to-morrow morning."

Elsie, who had fallen into the not uncommon error of underrating her adversary, was for the moment quite flabbergasted by this bold stroke.

Then, quickly noting the joint in her opponent's harness, she interposed swiftly,--