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The steel rails which gleamed and glistened in the signal lights led to Woodvale. We entered the room and waited patiently until the operator looked up from the jabbering receiver. "When is the next train to Woodvale?" was my ungrammatical query. "I wish I could tell you," he answered, rather sullenly. He had been on duty hours over time.
"Don't you suppose I know that you were not trying to play that day when you first favoured me with a game at Woodvale?" "You know nothing about it," she laughed. "I have been taking lessons since then." "Tell that to someone who does not understand the difficulty of learning this game," I responded. "Your father for instance.
Nineveh was Spared. The valley of death, twenty-three miles long, practically ends at Nineveh. It begins at Woodvale, where the dam broke, and for the entire distance to this point the mountains make a canyon a water trap, from which escape was impossible. The first intimation this city had of the impending destruction was at noon on Friday, when Station Agent Nunamaker got this despatch:
Possibly his ego is over-developed. "I will present it to the board," I said, preferring to avoid discussion with him while in his then condition. "I don't care a blank whether they accept it or not," he declared with a rising voice. "From this day I shall never step foot in Woodvale." "Better think it over later on," I said.
These two parts of the mill were the only buildings left standing in Woodvale. A man in Kernville, on Friday last, had jet black hair, moustache and beard. That night he had a battle with the waters. On Saturday morning his hair and beard began to turn gray, and they are now well streaked with white. He attributes the change to his awful Friday night's experience. Wounds of the Dead.
"Why did you play so wretchedly that first game in Woodvale?" Old Tom Morris looked back and smiled in sympathy with her joyous laugh. "They told me that you were a confirmed woman hater, and that nothing so exasperated you as to be compelled to play with a girl who was a novice. I wished to see if it were true. You are not a woman hater; are you, Jacques Henri?" "No longer!" I declared.
Then he resumed his advance to the open outer door, doing so with great care and stealth, as if afraid of being heard by the brute. The entrance to the old Woodvale school building was reached by two steps, consisting of the same number of broad high stones worn smooth by the feet of the hundreds of children that had trod them times without number.
Here was a girl who had taken fifteen to make the first hole of Woodvale only a few weeks preceding; who had driven eight of my new balls into a pond which demanded only an eighty-yard carry; who had told me that the one ambition of her golfing life was to drive a ball far enough so that she might have difficulty in finding it; who had repeatedly missed strokes entirely, had mutilated the turf, sliced, pulled and committed all the faults and crimes possible to a novice here was this same young lady playing a game which was well-nigh perfect to the extent of her strength!
It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire. I would rather oh, what's the use of writing that? As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.
Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roof of the platform. I did my best to take her mind away from the dread which possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us. Then we saw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a small army of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us and Woodvale.
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