Part 10 (1/2)
”And then?”
”Then you admit it and release him from his engagement.”
She sat for a while in silence. I could see that my words had made an impression.
”I think it's a splendid idea. Thank you very much.” She rose and moved to the door. ”I knew you would suggest something wonderful.” She hesitated. ”You don't think it would make it sound more plausible if I really took the vinaigrette?” she added, a little wistfully.
”It would spoil everything,” I replied, firmly, as I reached for the vinaigrette and locked it carefully in my desk.
She was silent for a moment, and her glance fell on the carpet. That, however, did not worry me. It was nailed down.
”Well, good-bye,” she said.
”_Au revoir_,” I replied. ”I am meeting Mortimer at six-thirty tomorrow. You may expect us round at your house at about eight.”
Mortimer was punctual at the tryst next morning. When I reached the tenth tee he was already there. We exchanged a brief greeting and I handed him a driver, outlined the essentials of grip and swing, and bade him go to it.
”It seems a simple game,” he said, as he took his stance. ”You're sure it's fair to have the ball sitting up on top of a young sand-hill like this?”
”Perfectly fair.”
”I mean, I don't want to be coddled because I'm a beginner.”
”The ball is always teed up for the drive,” I a.s.sured him.
”Oh, well, if you say so. But it seems to me to take all the element of sport out of the game. Where do I hit it?”
”Oh, straight ahead.”
”But isn't it dangerous? I mean, suppose I smash a window in that house over there?”
He indicated a charming bijou residence some five hundred yards down the fairway.
”In that case,” I replied, ”the owner comes out in his pyjamas and offers you the choice between some nuts and a cigar.”
He seemed rea.s.sured, and began to address the ball. Then he paused again.
”Isn't there something you say before you start?” he asked. ”'Five', or something?”
”You may say 'Fore!' if it makes you feel any easier. But it isn't necessary.”
”If I am going to learn this silly game,” said Mortimer, firmly, ”I am going to learn it _right_. Fore!”
I watched him curiously. I never put a club into the hand of a beginner without something of the feeling of the sculptor who surveys a ma.s.s of shapeless clay. I experience the emotions of a creator. Here, I say to myself, is a semi-sentient being into whose soulless carca.s.s I am breathing life. A moment before, he was, though technically living, a mere clod. A moment hence he will be a golfer.
While I was still occupied with these meditations Mortimer swung at the ball. The club, whizzing down, brushed the surface of the rubber sphere, toppling it off the tee and propelling it six inches with a slight slice on it.
”d.a.m.nation!” said Mortimer, unravelling himself.