Part 16 (2/2)
She turned to him, her whole face alight with that beautiful smile.
”When I left you, Mortie,” she said, ”I had but one aim in life, somehow to make myself worthy of you. I saw your advertis.e.m.e.nts in the papers, and I longed to answer them, but I was not ready. All this long, weary while I have been in the village of Auchtermuchtie, in Scotland, studying under Tamms McMickle.”
”Not the Tamms McMickle who finished fourth in the Open Champions.h.i.+p of 1911, and had the best ball in the foursome in 1912 with Jock McHaggis, Andy McHeather, and Sandy McHoots!”
”Yes, Mortimer, the very same. Oh, it was difficult at first. I missed my mallet, and long to steady the ball with my foot and use the toe of the club. Wherever there was a direction post I aimed at it automatically. But I conquered my weakness. I practised steadily. And now Mr. McMickle says my handicap would be a good twenty-four on any links.” She smiled apologetically. ”Of course, that doesn't sound much to you! You were a twelve when I left you, and now I suppose you are down to eight or something.”
Mortimer shook his head.
”Alas, no!” he replied, gravely. ”My game went right off for some reason or other, and I'm twenty-four, too.”
”For some reason or other!” She uttered a cry. ”Oh, I know what the reason was! How can I ever forgive myself! I have ruined your game!”
The brightness came back to Mortimer's eyes. He embraced her fondly.
”Do not reproach yourself, dearest,” he murmured. ”It is the best thing that could have happened. From now on, we start level, two hearts that beat as one, two drivers that drive as one. I could not wish it otherwise. By George! It's just like that thing of Tennyson's.”
He recited the lines softly:
_My bride, My wife, my life. Oh, we will walk the links Yoked in all exercise of n.o.ble end, And so thro' those dark bunkers off the course That no man knows. Indeed, I love thee: come, Yield thyself up: our handicaps are one; Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me._
She laid her hands in his.
”And now, Mortie, darling,” she said, ”I want to tell you all about how I did the long twelfth at Auchtermuchtie in one under bogey.”
5
_The Salvation of George Mackintosh_
The young man came into the club-house. There was a frown on his usually cheerful face, and he ordered a ginger-ale in the sort of voice which an ancient Greek would have used when asking the executioner to bring on the hemlock.
Sunk in the recesses of his favourite settee the Oldest Member had watched him with silent sympathy.
”How did you get on?” he inquired.
”He beat me.”
The Oldest Member nodded his venerable head.
”You have had a trying time, if I am not mistaken. I feared as much when I saw you go out with Pobsley. How many a young man have I seen go out with Herbert Pobsley exulting in his youth, and crawl back at eventide looking like a toad under the harrow! He talked?”
”All the time, confound it! Put me right off my stroke.”
The Oldest Member sighed.
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