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Updated: June 11, 2025
Blossom should have attended to it, but he did not, it seems, and Won't you tell them?" she appealed to Captain Poland. "Certainly," he responded. "It is a simple matter," he went on. "Mr. Carwell, as all of us do at times, borrowed money from his bank, giving certain securities as collateral for the loan.
The scene at the links was portrayed, the little excitement among the parked cars, caused, as developed later, by a blaze in a machine standing next the big red, white, and blue car belonging to Mr. Carwell, and then the sudden collapse of Carwell as he make his winning stroke.
Carwell?" "I have not," was the frank answer. "I have been searching for something to prove that the debt was paid, as I knew of its contraction. It was not canceled as far as I can find." "Yet Captain Poland says it was paid," said Bartlett, "and that he sent you the receipt." "I never got it!" insisted LeGrand Blossom.
It was late that afternoon when Colonel Ashley, having seen Miss Mary Carwell and Viola walking at the far end of the garden, went softly up the stairs to the room of the girl who had summoned him to The Haven. With a skill of which he was master he looked quickly but carefully through Viola's desk, which was littered with many letters and telegrams of condolence that had been answered.
"He did tell me some things, and only to-day something came up that makes me think Oh, I don't know what to think now!" "What is it?" asked Dr. Lambert, quietly but firmly. "It is best to know the worst at once." "I can't say that it is the 'worst," replied Miss Carwell; "but there was something about a loan to the bank, and not enough collateral to cover Mr.
Golf is an uncertain game, especially when there's a match on among the old boys like Horace Carwell and the crowd of past-performers and cup-winners he trails along with. He's just as likely to pull or slice as the veriest novice, and once he starts to slide he's a goner. No reserve comeback, you know." "Oh, I've not so sure about that.
Flora Carwell? Very easy for people who knew Shrewsbury to identify Mrs. Pyneweck, if once put upon the scent; and had he not stormed and worked hard in that case? Had he not made it hard sailing for the prisoner? Did he not know very well what the bar thought of it? It would be the worst scandal that ever blasted Judge. So much there was intimidating in the matter but nothing more.
But now those last rites were over, the clubhouse was the same gay place it had been. Though more than one veteran member sat in silent reverie over his cigar as he recalled the friend who never again would tee a ball with him. "It certainly is queer why Harry Bartlett doesn't come out and say what it was that he and Mr. Carwell had words about," commented Sharwell.
Carwell closed around to help him to his feet-to render what aid was needed. Among them were Captain Poland and Harry Bartlett, and as the latter stepped forward he glanced up, for an instant, at the blue sky. Far above the Maraposa golf links circled a lone osprey on its way to the inlet or ocean.
Carwell arrived?" asked Captain Poland, as he raised his glass and seemed to be studying the bubbles that spiraled upward from the hollow stem. "You'll know when he gets here," answered Bruce Garrigan. "How so?" asked the captain. "Does he have an official announcer?" "No, but you'll hear his car before you see it." "New horn?" "No, new car-new color-new everything!" said Garrigan.
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