Part 14

Hollis had walked off with my bagful of clubs. Just then I saw it advancing towards me slung across the back of a disreputable urchin of about twelve or thirteen years of age. Hollis had talked of getting me the smartest caddie procurable. If that little ragamuffin was his idea of smartness, I could only say we differed. Mr Pickard was not unnaturally struck by the incongruity of the association of my beautiful new clubs with that unwashed youngster.

"My gracious!" he exclaimed. "Here's some pretty things! And who might be the owner of these pretty things?"

"They're mine," I explained.

"Yours? Mr Short, have you had a fortune left you? To be sure they look as if they were all of them new."

"They are. I bought them yesterday."

"Did you, indeed? And what have you done with the old lot?"

"I left them behind me."

As a matter of plain fact, the clubs in that bag were the first I had possessed in my life. But in view of that old man's malicious glance, and with a suspicion flashing through my brain that some of the other men were grinning, I did not feel called upon to admit it. Mr Pickard continued,--

"I think, Mr Short, you said that you were a plus man. To a player of your calibre I take it that it doesn't matter how new a club is. Unfortunately, some of us weaklings can't touch a ball with one that isn't an old friend." He turned to a little slip of a man, with an eyeglass and a vacuous smile, and a pair of perfectly ridiculous stockings. "Let me introduce you to Mr Barstow, who is to be my partner in the thrashing you are about to give us."

Mr Barstow's smile expanded. I immediately perceived what Hollis had meant by speaking of him as a perfect ass; though why he had coupled him with me I did not understand.

"I suppose you and I are the duffers," he observed, which was an uncalled-for remark to make. One, moreover, which, so far as he could tell, was without a shadow of justification. "I hope," he added, "that you are a bigger duffer than I am."

"I can only trust that I am not," I retorted with what, I imagine, was some dignity.

The game was started. Mr Pickard hit off, his ball going what seemed to me a terrific distance. Hollis went next, his ball going as far as Mr Pickard's. Then Barstow went. He went through a series of acrobatic contortions which were simply ludicrous. Recorded by the cinematograph they would have been side-splitting. When he did play his ball did not go anything like so far as either of the others.

"Barstow, you've a pretty way of addressing a ball," remarked his partner.

"Yes," he said, "that's the best part of my game."

What Mr Pickard meant by "addressing a ball" I did not know. It appeared to me to be an absurd phrase to use. But I did not doubt that it conveyed a scathing comment on Barstow's performance. My turn followed. Remembering what Hollis had said, I took the club that young ruffian handed me without a word of remonstrance; though it seemed somewhat hard that, as the possessor of such a number--and such an expensive lot--of clubs I was not at liberty to select which one of them I chose; particularly as it seems only reasonable to assume that in such matters each man has his own ideas. However, my cue was to be docile, and to defer, so far as was possible, to the judgment of one whose knowledge of the game was, presumably, greater than mine. Though I did resent being dragooned by an unwashed urchin whose whole attire would have been dear at five shillings; especially as I had a kind of feeling that there was that in his bearing, and in the way in which, out of the corner of his eye, he kept looking at me, and at my clubs, which was positively impertinent.

I had noticed, with that quickness of observation for which I am peculiar, that each of the others had swung his club two or three times through the air before actually striking the ball. I did not know why they had done this. So far as I was able to judge there was no ostensible cause for such a proceeding. But as it was apparently one of the formulas of the game, and I was desirous of avoiding anything approaching to irregularity, I followed their example.

Unfortunately I must have moved my arm before I was quite prepared; and also with more vigour than I had intended. Because, not only did I almost lose my own balance, but the end of the club, not travelling quite in the direction I had meant it should, struck the wretched boy who was carrying my clubs with what, I must admit, was considerable force. He gave a yell which must have been heard a mile off. He dropped to the ground with a degree of promptness which took me quite aback. I was commencing to explain that really the boy ought to have had sense enough to stand farther off, when Hollis cut me short with a brusqueness which was most embarrassing.

"If you hadn't hit him you'd have hit someone else. Haven't you sense enough to know that you ought to see that you're well clear of everyone before you start to swing? You'll be committing murder next."

I need hardly say that I did not like being addressed, in public, in that way, by one who called himself my friend. Nor was my sensation of annoyance lessened when it was discovered, as of course it was discovered, that the boy had been scarcely touched. Presently, getting up, through his grimy tears he expressed his willingness to continue to carry my clubs, though, so far as I was concerned, I was quite ready to let someone else carry them. Under the circumstances, the way in which Hollis spoke to him was unnecessary.

"You're a well-plucked lad," he said. "Never mind, bear up! If you've luck you'll get round without being killed."

If Hollis's words were unnecessary, which, I hold, they were, Mr Pickard's interposition was monstrous.

"That ought to cost you five shillings, Mr Short. I shouldn't like you to hit me a crack like that for a good deal more than twice the money."

In pecuniary matters the stinginess of Scotchmen is proverbial; which was perhaps the reason why he was disposed to make so free with other people's money. I said nothing. One had only to glance at my bagful of clubs to perceive that it was going to cost me enough to play golf as it was. If I had to pay five shillings, or anything like five shillings, every time some clumsy boy chose to place himself where I did not expect him to be, and where, therefore, he ought not to be, golf, as a game, would be placed out of my reach on the mere ground of expense only.

In silence I approached the little heap of sand on the summit of which my too-obvious caddie had planted my ball. I prepared to hit it. Before doing so I glanced round in order to make sure that, this time, no one was within reach; and was gratified to find that, taking, as it were, the hint, everyone had withdrawn to a respectful distance; though I could not see why they need have moved either so fast or so far.

"We're giving you plenty of room, old chap," said Hollis.

Since there was no one within perhaps twenty yards of me I could see that for myself, so that that was another unnecessary remark which he thought it worth his while to make. Then I made my stroke.

There is more in hitting a golf ball than some might imagine. There is more, even, in swinging a club--with anything, that is, approximate to ease. It is not so easy to do either as it seems to be when you watch other people doing it. When I saw Hollis and Pickard hitting their balls, what struck me most was the simplicity of the thing. Barstow's comparative failure to hit his had caused me to regard him almost with contempt. To begin with, it was only when I got the club into my own hands, and was making ready to strike with it, that I realised how long it was, how uncomfortably long. I had to put myself into quite an ungainly attitude in order to swing it clear of the ground. After what had already occurred I did not wish to say anything; but had I been left to myself, I should have gone carefully through that bag of clubs, and selected one the mere handling of which did not fill me with a feeling of comparative helplessness.

Then again, it was only when I stood in front of it that it was brought home to my sense of perception how small the ball was, how unreasonably small. The two things seemed so out of proportion; the long, unwieldy club, the minute ball. It was difficult to make up one's mind just where to stand in order to reach it to the best advantage. If you stood straight over it you not only could not see it, but you had to hold the club half-way down the butt in order to strike with it at all. If, on the other hand, you stood at a little distance, it seemed to me not easy, owing to the size of the ball, and its peculiar situation, to make sure of hitting anything but the vacant air.

I own that, actuated by these considerations, I tried first one position and then another, and then, possibly, a third, and soon, in order to ascertain by actual experience, which would suit me best; but my legitimate anxiety did not afford Hollis a ghost of an excuse for still one more of his unnecessary remarks.

"Make up your mind what you are going to do, Short. I think I told you lunch was at two."

Without another moment's hesitation I made my stroke, in what I may almost speak of as an access of temper. I closed my eyes and let fly. Quite what had become of the ball I could not say, but I was conscious of having hit it; and when I opened my eyes again I found that everyone was gazing to the right of where I was standing with what was evidently a considerable amount of interest.

"That was a fine drive!" exclaimed Mr Pickard. "It must have had a carry of a couple of hundred yards."

"It's about that distance off the line," said Hollis.

What he meant I could not tell. I was finding myself at a continual disadvantage in not being acquainted with the technical terms of the game; but from a certain sourness in his tone I suspected him of being jealous of a more generous player's commendation. He and Pickard and Barstow started off, each with a caddie in attendance; while, apparently ignoring their movements, my wretched boy started off in quite a different direction. I heard Hollis's coarse laugh, and Pickard's Scotch chuckle, and Barstow's vacuous snigger. Wondering what was amusing them, I called after my caddie, who was walking away, totally oblivious of the fact that I was standing still.

"Boy, where are you going to?"

Without troubling himself to stop, or even to glance in my direction, he answered me over his shoulder as if, instead of being his employer, I was not a person of the least importance.

"I'm going after your ball. Don't you want it?"

The youngster's impertinence was so marked that a stranger who was standing beside me was moved to nearly uncontrollable merriment. When I turned and stared at him he offered what he possibly meant for an explanation.

"I fancy you'll find your caddie's right, sir; you sent your ball in that direction."

Refraining from a reply--the man was beneath my notice--I strode on after the boy. On and on we went, and the farther we went the farther we were from Hollis and the others.

"It must have been a tremendous hit," I observed, "if the ball came all this way."

"The hole's not over here," was all that boy condescended to say. Then he added, as if by way of an afterthought, "You might as well have hit it behind you. Now you'd better drive it back to the sandbox, if you can do it. It's the shortest road to the green--and the easiest."

When at last we reached the ball we found that it was in a wholly inaccessible position, amid uneven ground, at the bottom of a small hole, surrounded by grass and weeds, principally thistles, which were almost breast-high.

"It is unfortunate that it should have stopped just here," I remarked.

That boy said nothing. He looked at me. He handed me a club, which was rather shorter than the one I had used at first, and had a piece of metal at the lower end, with an air which was partly sulky and partly something worse. Then, with a sort of hop, skip and jump, which was grotesque in the extreme, he withdrew himself ten or twelve feet from where I was, and waited in the apparent expectation that, with that ridiculous implement, I was going to strike the ball just where it was. As this was evidently a boy who needed keeping in his place, I addressed him with a certain degree of sternness, holding out the club which he had given me.

"What do you call this thing?"

"That's your lofting iron."

"It might have been of some use if you had given it me when I made my first shot--"

"You can't drive with a lofting iron."

"Can't I! I don't know how it is that you are in a position to say what I can or what I can't do. You have never seen me play before."

"No, that I never have."

He said this with an emphasis which was in itself an impertinence. I eyed him with an even greater sternness than at first.

"It occurs to me, my boy, that you're not the sort of lad I should have chosen for a caddie had I myself had a voice in the matter. Let me give you fair warning that I am not a person whom it is safe to trifle with, so be careful. Lift that ball--at once, and place it in a position where it will be more convenient for me to strike it."

"Lift the ball!"

His eyes and mouth opened wide. I might have said something amazing.

"I told you to lift the ball; and I added, at once."

"Lift the ball!" he echoed, with parrot-like stupidity. "If I was to do it they might never let me on the links again."

"Don't talk nonsense. And don't attempt to take advantage of my inexperience. I am not so simple as you may imagine, as you will shortly learn. Do you suppose that I, or anyone else, with a thing like this, can hit a ball out of a hole like that?"

"You have only to give it a bit of a twist and it'll come flying out."

"Will it? Indeed. That is your opinion, it isn't mine. However, since I emphatically do not wish to bandy words with a mere child like you, I will give you a practical demonstration of the truth of what I assert."

I gave him one, which, as I expected, was entirely successful. I made at least a dozen attempts to get the ball out of that hole, while he stood looking on, with feelings which I do not attempt to depict. Really serious attempts, which increased in vigour as they multiplied. I struck at it with all the force of which I was capable, repeatedly, again and again. But so far from it "flying out," to adopt that ignorant lad's ignorant phrase, I doubt if I moved it so much as an inch. I sent the sand and dust "flying," but I sent nothing else. It was not for want of perseverance, because I kept on hitting until I not only became hot, but until I realised that, if I persisted in my futile efforts much longer, I, a man of the world, of ripened years, of good social and commercial position, might run the risk of becoming a ridiculous spectacle in the eyes of that soapless little vagabond. So, snatching up the ball out of its preposterous position, with it in one hand, and the useless implement which that boy had given me in the other, I started at a good round pace towards where Hollis and the others were waiting for me at a distance of a quarter of a mile.

I need scarcely mention that, by the time I reached them, I was hotter than ever; hot, also, in more senses than one. It was very present to my mind that I had not gone to Littlestone for that kind of thing. I had gone to play golf, and not with the intention of performing a series of monkey-like antics in front of a dirty little ragamuffin who--to all intents and purposes--had been thrust upon me against my will. Such being my dominant sensation it will easily be believed that I was not inclined for badinage, whatever shape it might take. However, with complete indifference to what my feelings might be, Hollis began practically as soon as I was within shouting range.

"I hope we haven't hurried you, Short. I think I told you lunch was at two."

Even under difficult circumstances I was dignified.

"I hope, gentlemen, that I have not kept you waiting."

"We're blocking the course, but we will devoutly trust that that doesn't matter. Two men who passed us just now--after waiting, they declared, a quarter of an hour--seemed disposed to think strong thoughts, but some men are like that. We were afraid we'd seen the last of you. You went with your ball for a trip into the country, and you seemed disposed to stay there. What's happened? Have you holed out in two?"

Completely ignoring the singularity of Hollis's manner I did my best to make clear how the delay had been caused.

"I am a stranger here, so it is far from my wish to make any complaint; so I will only say that the lad who is supposed to act as my caddie has totally disregarded my instructions, and thus much time has been lost."

"What is it that the young rascal wouldn't do? We noticed that you seemed to be enjoying a little discussion; we wondered how long it was going to last."

I explained, or rather, I had better put it that I endeavoured to, because after events proved that I endeavoured in vain.

"My ball was lying in a position in which it was perfectly impossible for anyone to hit it; yet when I asked him to place it somewhere where it would be more get-at-able, I won't say he refused, but he certainly didn't do it."

"Do you mean to say he wouldn't put your ball somewhere where you could get an easy whack at it?"

"At least he didn't. As a consequence I have been pounding away at it in the most ridiculous manner, so that, finally, rather than lose any more time I picked up the ball myself, and I've brought it with me."

The three men looked at each other in a way which was significant of something, though I was not able positively to decide of what. There was a momentary silence. Then Hollis remarked, with an air of gravity which was almost too portentous to be real,--

"So you brought it with you, and that is it in your hand; I see. Perhaps you adopted the shortest way of getting it here. Short, you're a more remarkable player than I suspected. Pickard, I think we'll give you this hole. We may have better fortune with the next--that is, if Short is lucky."

We all marched forward in a body. Not a word was spoken. For some reason no one seemed to be in a conversational mood. Beginning to feel the silence almost irksome, I was trying to think of some appropriate remark with which to start the ball of conversation rolling, when, without the slightest warning, one of the caddies--not my caddie, but one of the others--stopped short, and began to emit yell after yell of laughter. What had caused him to behave in that unseemly way I could not even guess. I was amazed. I stared at him.

"What is the matter with him?" I asked.

Directly I did so Mr Pickard clapped his hands to his sides and began to yell even louder than the caddie. And Mr Barstow joined him. And the other caddies, even my own. There they were, all of them, doubled up--positively doubled up--by uncontrollable mirth, caused goodness alone knew by what. Hollis and I were the only persons who preserved our gravity; and, as I glanced at Hollis, I noticed that his features seemed to be distorted by pain.

"Don't--don't!" he gasped, waving his hands feebly in the air. "You'll put me off my game!"

"What's the matter with them? What's the joke?" I inquired with, I am sure, the most exemplary mildness.

Hollis's reply was extraordinary.

"Don't speak to me like that, Short--don't--or the consequences may be serious! My suffering's internal."

What he meant I had not a notion. Few things are more annoying than to feel that individuals in whose society you are are revelling in a joke the entire identity of which is hidden from you. In my judgment, in such a situation, it is someone's plain duty to drop some sort of a hint as to where the jest comes in. However, once more, I refrained from comment.

We reached the starting-place for the second hole. They wanted me to commence, but I declined. So they had their strokes, and then my turn came. I had very carefully noticed how they managed, so that I approached the ball feeling that I had picked up several more or less valuable hints, of which I promised myself that I would not be slow to take advantage. And I have little doubt that I should have done very well had not Hollis chosen that moment to make some more, to say the least of it, unnecessary remarks.

"Let me point out to you, Short, that the second hole lies over there, and that therefore you should drive your ball neither to the right nor the left, but as straight in front of you as you can, because the straighter you drive, the nearer to the hole your ball will be, and the object is to reach the hole in as few strokes as possible. And I may take this opportunity to observe that it is not one of a caddie's duties to place a player's ball in the exact position in which the player would like it to be placed."

Again someone laughed. I fancy more than one, but I did not look to see who. I began to suspect that this was a case of actual bad manners.

"I can't play with this thing!" I exclaimed, eyeing the club which that impudent boy had given me.

"What's wrong with it? The gentleman whom you requested to provide you with every requisite for the game has supplied you with a liberal assortment of drivers; you ought to have no difficulty in finding one to suit you."

I myself chose a club from those in the bag.

"That's a niblick. You can hardly drive with a niblick."

"Why not? Is it an essential condition of the game that you should play a certain stroke with a particular club?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Still, I cannot but think that you will hardly do yourself justice if you drive with a niblick. If you are in search of a little variety why not drive with a putter? These are the clubs with which one generally drives."

He gripped half a dozen clubs, all of them more or less like the one with which I had played my first shot.

"But they are so long--and so unwieldy."

"That you should be of that opinion is unfortunate. Still, one generally drives with them. However, as you please. Drive with what you jolly well like. Only drive. Not only is lunch at two, but we are still blocking the course."

As it happened, two other men had come up, with their caddies. One of them said,--

"If you gentlemen are not in a hurry perhaps you won't mind our going on."

"Not in the least. Time is of no object to us. We are here for the day. You will probably find us still here when you come round again, should you propose to do a second round. Go on, please."

While they went on I examined the clubs which Hollis had suggested; finally deciding on one, though it was not at all to my taste.

"Mind you, this is much too long for me."

"It does not look as if it were the kind of club to which you're accustomed. Perhaps you would prefer a hockey-stick. Should I send for one while we're waiting?"

"I thought," growled Pickard, "that we'd come here to play golf."

With that I let fly. I did not propose to wait for the repetition of such an insinuation as that; emanating, moreover, from a complete stranger. I did not pause to consider, to take aim, for anything. Scarcely were the words out of that unmannerly Scotchman's lips than I made my stroke. Owing, no doubt, to the haste to which I was impelled, I hit nothing but the vacant air, though I had used such force that I myself almost tumbled to the ground.

"That would have been a good shot," commented Hollis, "if you had hit the ball. It's a pity you missed it. Have another go."

I immediately repeated my stroke, hardly giving myself time to recover my equilibrium. Not at all to my surprise, in view of the excessive length of the club, I struck the end of it against the earth so violently as to break it clean in two, to say nothing of the jarring sensation which went right up to my shoulder.