Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 August 1906 — The Record [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Record

By MARGARET MUZZEY

Copi/rigtU, by P. C. Eautmcnt

The midsummer golf tournament was about to begin at the Maston Country club. A handsome cup had been given to the president of the club to be played for by all the members, and a crescent pin set with pearls was put up especially for the ladies by ‘•Millionaire Miller,” a rich old bachelor. Tom Price, aged sixteen, had declined to enter for the tournament. He stood no chance of winning without a big handicap and despised that sort of victory. If he were able to play scratch like Mr. Sloan—but that contingency was too far in the future to be considered. So, holding aloof from competition, Tom felt entitled to Indulge in disinterested criticism. Joe Smith, instructor for the club, was his chosen confidant. “Mr.—Mr. Sloan ought to get the cup. He—he hate bo-bogied the course twice,” stuttered Tom. . “He is a cracker jack,” said Joe. “Who goes around with Mi-Miss Benson—l mean to ve-verify her score?” “I’d send Mr. Sloan if he were not playing himseif,” said Joe, with a wink. “He—he wouldn’t believe his eyes if be saw her tricks. It is a bloo-bloom-Ing shame that Just because a girl Is pretty and knows how to flirt nobody wants to accuse her of che-che-cheat-ing.” “You are catching cold, my boy,” said Sloan, coming up behind him. “What is this mysterious conversation between yon and Joe?” “We were discus-cus-cussing one of the players in the tournament,” said

Tam, mid after Sloan made a pruetlce drive to the edge of the green, “It is awful to think of a man who can do that being mashed on a girl who 1sJsn’t square.” “Hound girls are prettier,” said Joe. “It is no joke. Something ought to be—tie done. Listen. Why not seud the cu-cu-curate around with her? He ■would not dare li-lie about her score.’’ “The very tiling!" Joe exclaimed. The clubhouse piazza was crowded with guests to sis? the players in the tournament drive. The “game with no age limit” Included child rising against parent aud grandchild against grandparent. The tirst to drive was Millionaire Miller. He took plenty of time to arrange Ills knees, shoulders, elbows, wrists, hunds and lingers, gave his body a mighty twist and, us if boring for oil with the toes of his right foot, swung his club hissing through the nir. The spectators were breathless. ' Shading his eye with one hand, Miller strained eagerly forward. “I didn't follow through,” he said excitedly. “Where did it go?” “i see it, sir.” said the caddy, surreptitiously picking up the ball a foot from the tee to lin*l it 175 yards away. He understood his business. He was Mllier’s favorite caddy. Pretty Mary Benson came next, looking the picture of innocent girlhood In white linen, the pulled up sleeves showing her plump arms below the elbow. Mr. Morse, the earnest little curate, was delighted to keep her score and followed along, talking eagerly In his high pitched voice. Tom had brought his huge concert hall graphophone to the clubhouse and set It up iu one corner of the parlor to play baud music for nii Impromptu dance in the evening, and he came out on to the piazza just as Mary Benson was about to drive; then he cut across the links on a run and when she and Morse reached the third tee was, to all human appearance, looking for a lost ball some distance off the course. “Third” was a bad place to drive from, with the brook at the bottom of a sharp Incline not fifty yards alieud, and Mary sent her ball—where? The caddy looked In the long grass at one side, and the curate, who admired her b«%uty, and Tom, who did Dot admire her at all, looked at Mary. She poked among the stones by the brook with 'her driver for a minute; then, glancing at Morse, who was apparently adding

the score, but really watching her from the corner of his eye, she stooped over, and a ball emerged from the puff above her left elbow, “Here it Is,” she called, and, sure enough, there it was on a little flat stone. “An easy He,” thought Tom, “in two senses.” At that moment Mr. Morse had a surprising accident. He started toward Mary, stumbled at the top of the bank and, unable to stop himself, ran straight into her with sucb force that they were both hustled into the brook up to their knecß and were spattered with muddy water to the tops of their heads. Tom rolled over behind the bushes in an ecstnsy of delight. “By—by Jingo! That parson will be an ar-ar-archdeacon yet,” be said. Half an hour Inter Tom climbed in at the rear window of the clubhouse parlor. He had composed some verses that be meant to record in his graphophoue and spring on the company later. He adjusted the blank cylinder, recorder and small horn and was about to repeat them when in walked the Kev. Mr. Morse looking like an evolution from a rummage sale in garments hastily snatched from various lockers. He laughed ruefully. “I suppose you saw what happened?” he said. “Wouldn’t have missed it for a dl-dia-mond sunburst." “You did not see anything peculiar, of course, except the accident?” asked Morse anxiously. “One accident—two de-designs,” said Tom promptly. The curate groaned. “I simply had to throw her out of the game some way. I could not countenance her score and had not the courage to expose her deceit before so many people.” “It was grand,” said Tom. “If she’s the 811-sli” “She certainly Is sly,” interrupted the curate. “slightest good she knew she was 11-11” “The same as lying,” put in the oarate. “likely to get caught,” finished Tom. “I trust you, my boy,” said Morse, laying his hand on Tom’s shoulder, “but it occurred to me you might tell what you saw to your favorite, Mr. Sloan.” “I shan’t say a word, but he ought to know. He might marry her and tl-fl-find out afterward.” “She will never marry him,” said Morse. “He—he thinks she will,” said Tom. “I started to tease her about him, and She made fun of him—imitated his slow way of speaking. A girl may disclaim or protest about a man she really cares for, but ridicule—never! Besides, she gave me to understand she is engaged to Mr. Miller. Here comes Sloan. Ido not wish to meet him just now.” And the curate escaped from the window. The handsome young athlete found Tom fussing over his graphophone, taking off the small horn and putting on the big “morning glory.” “Who won the ladies’ pin?” ho asked. “Your grandmother,” said Sloan, laughing. “My wh-wh-what?” “She hod a handicap of forty-five on the nine holes and came out ahead of Miss Brown, the English girl, who played the whole course in forty-five.” The crowd on the piazza was cheering and calling for Sloan to present him witli the cup which he had won. “Bring me u drink, Tom, will you? I am chokiug with thirst and must go outside a minute,” said Sloan, throwing himself on the divan. “That’s right—ll-li-lie down,” said Tom. “You will need to." And, giving the graphophone a final touch that started it going, lie left the room. The blank cylinder intended for Toni's verses had recorded his conversation with the curate, and every word was reproduced for Sloan’s benefit. When Tom returned the room was empty. Sloan had avoided them all, cutting across the fields to town, and neither Toni nor any of his fellow golfers saw him again until he returned from Europe a year later after Miss Benson was married to Millionaire Miller.

THEY WERE BOTH HUSTLED INTO THE BROOK.