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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Oh, were you speaking to me?" and the colonel seemed wholly awake now. "Not only to you, but in your interests," went on Garrigan, with a smile. "Hope I didn't disturb your nap, but " "Oh, no," the colonel hastened to assure his companion with his usual affability. "I had finished sleeping." "So I inferred.
"It's an old story," went on Bruce Garrigan. "It goes back to the time, about three years ago, when the fair Viola and Harry began to be talked about as more than ordinary friends. Just about then Mr. Carwell lost a large sum of money in a stock deal, or a bond issue, or something I've forgotten what and he always said that Harry and his clique engineered the plan by which he was mulcted."
"Then you don't care for this," and Garrigan waved his hand at the congestion of automobiles and stages which had come to a halt opposite the big windows of the exclusive and fashionable club. It was four in the afternoon, just when traffic both of automobiles and pedestrians is at its height on the avenue. Of horse-drawn equipages they were so few as to be a novelty.
"I'll do it after this," said the colonel, as he reeled in. "You're not going to quit just because I was so unfortunate as to spoil your first catch, are you?" asked Garrigan. "I think I'd better," the colonel said. "I don't believe I could land anything after what happened. The fish must have thought it was a thunderbolt, from the way that ball landed."
"If he was so warned he didn't heed it, for they went out together as much as ever, though I can't say he called at the house very often." "And you think it was about this he and Mr. Carwell quarreled just before Mr. Carwell was stricken?" asked the colonel. "I think so, yes," answered Garrigan. "And I think Harry refuses to admit it, from a notion that it would be dragging in a lady's name.
They insisted I had to put in an appearance at the office merely to take away the salary that's been accumulating for me said it cluttered up the place. So I obliged. Do you know how many automobiles pass this window every twenty-four hours?" Garrigan asked suddenly. "I do not." "Neither do I. It would be interesting to know, however. I think I shall count them, when I have nothing else to do.
Bruce Garrigan, who had a name among the golf club members as a human encyclopaedia, and who, at times, would inform his companions on almost any subject that chanced to come uppermost, tossed away his cigarette and, with Tom Sharwell, watched the oncoming automobile racers. "They're rivals in more ways than one," remarked Sharwell.
Colonel Ashley, roused from his reverie as he sat in his club, gazing out on the busy, fashionable, hurrying, jostling, worried, happy, sad, and otherwise throngs that swept past the big Fifth avenue windows, shifted himself in the comfortable leather chair, and looked at his cigar. It had gone out, and he decided that it was not worth relighting. "Cigars, too!" ordered Bruce Garrigan.
You'll lose out," advised Garrigan. "It can do eighty on fourth speed, and Carwell is sporty enough to slip it into that gear if he needed to." "Um! Guess I'll wait until I get my new machine, then," decided the captain. There was more talk, but Bartlett gradually dropped out of the conversation and went to walk about the club grounds.
She smiled up at him, and then they watched the major swing at his ball. "It's going to be a corking match," murmured more than one member of the gallery, as they followed the players down the field. "If any one asked me, I should say that Carwell had taken just a little too much champagne to make his strokes true toward the last hole," said Tom Sharwell to Bruce Garrigan.
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