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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.
Carwell's sister, Miss Mary, keeps The Haven up to date for him. You've been there?" "Once, at a reception. I'm not on the regular calling list, though Miss Viola is pretty enough to " "Look out!" suddenly cried Sharwell, as though appealing to the two automobilists, far off as they were. For the yellow car made a sudden swerve and seemed about to turn turtle.
That was the telegram Colonel Ashley received the day following his acquaintance at the nineteenth hole with Bruce Garrigan and Tom Sharwell. "She stayed away longer than I thought she would," mused the detective, "Yes, sah!" "See if that French chauffeur, Forette, can drive me into town." "Yes, sah, Colonel."
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.
"There were eleven million, four hundred and ten thousand six hundred and six dollars' worth of soya beans imported into the United States in 1917," he added, "which, of course, has nothing to do with the number of cold bottles of champagne the steward, at the nineteenth hole, has on the ice for us. So I suggest that we adjourn and " "I will, on one condition," said Sharwell.
"When does the cup-winners' match start?" asked Bartlett, as the four young men sat about the table under the veranda. "That's the one I'm interested in." "In about an hour," announced Sharwell, as he consulted a card. "Hardly any of the veterans are here yet." "Has Mr.
"He'd been drinking a little too much for a man to play his best, especially on a hot day," ventured another. "He must have been taken ill from that, and the excitement of trying to win over the major, and it affected his heart." "Never knew him to have heart disease," declared Bruce Garrigan. "Lots of us have it and don't know it," commented Tom Sharwell.
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.
"Be quiet, Bruce," said Sharwell in a low voice, but the colonel smiled. There was no affront to his dignity, as the golfer had feared. "I had on a most beautiful catch," said the colonel, "and then what I thought, at first, was the embodied spirit of Izaak Walton suddenly came zipping into the water just as Shag was about to land the beauty, and knocked it off the hook.
"My name is Sharwell Tom Sharwell, and this is Bruce Garrigan. I thought I had seen you at the club. Pray excuse our interruption of your sport. We had no idea any one was fishing here." "It's entirely my fault," declared the colonel, as he removed his cap and bowed, a courtesy the two golfers, after a moment of hesitation, returned. "I was taking chances when I threw in here."
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