# The Luck of the Devil

From The Century Magazine, Jun 1916.
    "The cause of our grandeur is generally the cause of our downfall," said the fat man, permitting his features to relax dolefully. "And a golf tournament is like a pool of stagnant water: it corrupts itself and everything else in the neighborhood. I suffer so keenly in a golfing atmosphere that I may be offensive to you. In that case—"
The Luck of the Devil
By HOLWORTHY HALL
Author of "Alibi," etc.
I LIKE to monopolize the end section of the club car unless my fellow-passenger is unusually entertaining; naturally, therefore, I was annoyed at the arrival of one too stout for the builder's specifications. Besides, he had a melancholy face.
I don't like to take the initiative, and I doubt if I should have addressed my neighbor if it had n't been for his extraordinary behavior when he saw the paper-bound book I had laid down on the seat beside me. It was a golf guide, and since I happened to be looking at the bulky new-comer just as he happened to glance at the guide, I insensibly connected that harmless compendium with his startling display of deep feeling. First, he grew even redder in the face, if that was possible; next, he turned suddenly toward the window; finally, he snatched from his pocket a voluminous white silk handkerchief, and all at once I was convinced that under pretext of a necessity common enough in that climate he had cleared away the traces of two tears.
Instantly I was attentive. That a man could utter vivid words at the memories engendered by such a volume, that he could flush with shame, that he could writhe in self-contempt, I could easily understand; but that he should shed tears!
Attentive and curious. I offered him the guide.
"Pardon me," I said; "perhaps you'd like to look it over."
His large features registered extreme horror, but his bow was courteous.
"Thank you—no!"
"I beg your pardon; I thought you were interested."
"Golf," said the fat man, "ceased to interest me four years ago. I have played, and I have stopped playing."
"Indeed!" I said. "That's most astonishing. Every one threatens now and then never to swing a club again; I did n't realize that any one ever meant it."
"I meant it!" said the fat man, belligerently. "And I would n't look at that book of concentrated degeneracy for—for a hundred dollars. Oblige me by putting it out of sight. Thank you." Again he carried the white silk handkerchief to his shining face, and seemed relieved.
"Surely," I said, "you must have had great provocation."
"The cause of our grandeur is generally the cause of our downfall," said the fat man, permitting his features to relax dolefully. "And a golf tournament is like a pool of stagnant water: it corrupts itself and everything else in the neighborhood. I suffer so keenly in a golfing atmosphere that I may be offensive to you. In that case—"
"My chief pleasure in the game," I hastened to assure him, "is objective. My handicap is twelve; but as a metaphysicist of the links I'm behind scratch."
He eyed me steadily.
"My reasons for quitting the game were n't technical; they were sentimental." Here I presented an imported cigar of the same structural aspect as that of my vis-à-vis. "Very well," he said, decapitating the cigar fiercely, "if you will have it.
"When you come right down to the determining factors in any man's success or failure, you can't eliminate luck. I defy you to eliminate it! Take the Duke of Wellington. Where would be his place in history if Napoleon had ordered a different menu? Take Newton, and suppose that apple had n't fallen until the next day. Take Watt if his mother had n't made him watch the kettle. Take Columbus if a bit of driftwood had n't floated along. What would have been the result? A Continental empire, a country school-teacher, a village blacksmith, an untimely death by drowning. Pursue the analogy Take anybody you choose; take Brown, for instance.
"This Brown was unique. He could have set down luck as one of his assets and borrowed money on it. If the favorite of fortune is born with a silver spoon in the mouth. Brown was born with a whole tea-service of flat silver in dozen lots. And if he'd had the added luck to be born deaf, dumb, and blind, he'd have been a millionaire before he was old enough to vote. As a matter of fact, he's a millionaire now, but it's taken him thirty-four years because he was n't wise enough to discount what little honest intelligence he had and put all his hope of glory into the hands of Providence.
"And then, on the other hand, take Smith. He was unlucky. These two grew up as boys together. When they went skating. Brown fell through the ice, and Smith went after him to pull him out. Smith got pneumonia, and Brown got a medal for life-saving. If they went to steal apples. Smith got caught and whipped, and Brown got away with all the fruit. When an old pupil came back to the school and offered a prize of ten dollars for the best speller, that was the only day in six months that Brown knew his lesson, and he got the ten dollars because Smith had contracted the whooping-cough the day before.
"That was the way it went in college, too. If they had an examination, all the questions were from exactly those few parts of the course that Brown had crammed last night, and Smith had skipped because he was letter-perfect on everything else. The last place on the base-ball team was between the two; while the coaches were deciding in favor of Smith, he was busy in the gymnasium breaking his arm. That afternoon, with the bases full and two out, Brown ducked to get out of the way of a wild pitch; the ball hit his bat, rolled fair, and won the game. So Smith was a substitute for four years.
"Those are merely incidents, but they 're indications. After the two were graduated, they continued the same old procedure. They bought the same speculative stock at the same figure. It dropped eleven points: Smith telephoned his brokers to sell at the market; he'd swallow the loss. Brown tried to telephone, but the line was out of order. When he got down-town in a street-car, the stock had recovered nineteen and a half points. Think it over.
"I could quote a thousand examples, but I won't. My illustrations are typical. Understand, however, that the two men were inseparable. Smith never envied Brown—never. He never allowed himself to be pitied. And Brown invariably refused to capitalize Smith's misfortunes, although, in the light of later years, it is questionable if this was forbearance or simple negligence. Never mind; for many seasons their friendship was rarely beautiful until—you have probably guessed it—they fell in love with the same girl."
The fat man paused, and raised his eyebrows significantly.
"Thank you; a glass of seltzer," I said.
"And for me," he told the attendant, "a glass of French vichy; with the juice of a quarter of a lemon in a separate glass, and one small lump of ice in a saucer, and a spoon. Bring a full bottle of vichy, and uncork it here; and if the ice is n't absolutely clear, I 'll send it back. To resume:
"Yes, in the course of time they fell hopelessly in love with the same girl. None of your knitting, tatting, pink, and peachlike French dolls, with a baby stare and a lapful of Pomeranians and chocolate creams; not a bit of it! She was a dashing, smashing beauty, a big, healthy, athletic girl full of vim, vigor, and vitality. She read the newspapers; she talked politics like a man; she was created to be an executive and a disciplinarian. She could sit a horse like a bronco-buster; but she believed that women are downtrodden and oppressed. The equality of marriage was one of her principles. Obviously, she was n't popular among old-fashioned young men: but Smith and Brown were bowled over simultaneously: they saw what a life partner that girl would make.
"Make no mistake; they were still friends—friends when Smith must have appreciated the almost insuperable obstacles placed in his path by the luck of Brown; friends when Brown must have been sorely troubled to acknowledge as an associate a man who made so many egregious blunders as Smith. Yet I insist that from the very beginning the girl was not averse to Smith.
"Brown? Oh, he was always lucky. We won't waste time with Brown.
"Presently, of course, each asked her to marry him. To each she gave the same answer: sisterly affection and more; she could n't decide between them; time alone would tell. And still they were friends.
"But eventually there is an end to all things. That, I think, is an axiom. And no matter what may be the foundation of friendship between two men, no matter what hardships it may have overcome, no matter how solid and substantial it may seem to be, it cannot withstand the gentlest of all the elements.
"At length Brown said to Smith: "My dear fellow, things have gone crossways with us. Why prolong the agony further?'
"And Smith said to Brown: 'For twenty years, ever since you got a medal because I tried to rescue you, and I got pneumonia for being rescued, you 've come out ahead in every contest. "This time I'm going to win!'
"And Brown: 'But suppose that instead of staying on in this way, watching our friendship beat itself to pieces on the rocks, and politely knifing each other, so that a third party might come along and cut us both out—suppose that we settle the difficulty neatly and promptly. One withdraws; the other has a clear field. Let's make sure that one of us is successful.'
"Smith was no fool; he knew that if luck were to swing the balance anyway, he was already beaten.
" 'What's your suggestion?' he asked.
" 'I'm so fond of you, dear boy,' said Brown, 'that upon my word I 'll be almost as happy if you win as I should be if I won myself. I 'll leave it to hazard. I 'll toss you to see which of us stays here, and which of us leaves within ten days for a trip around the world at the expense of the other.'
" 'Hardly!' said Smith.
" 'Well, have you anything to suggest?'
" 'Golf,' said Smith. 'Eighteen holes match play—with a referee.'
" 'It's a bargain,' said Brown. 'Personally I think it's a bit unfair, but it's a bargain. You know very well that the best I ever made was an eighty-nine, and you 've done a seventy-four.'
" 'That does n't signify ,' said Smith. 'You never cracked ninety more than once because you did n't need to. This is different. Your natural luck is coming into action. I 'll hedge. I 'll bet you a thousand dollars you 're eighty-two or better.'
" 'It's a bargain,' said Brown. 'To-morrow at one-thirty?'
" 'I'm content. Who 'll referee?'
" 'Bert Jones?'
" 'It's a bargain,' said Smith. 'But, mind you, we 're going to stick to the rules.'
" 'Also the conditions,' said Brown. 'The loser sails within ten days, to be gone not less than ten months. And that 'll quite clear the situation, because she's admitted that if either one of us had never met her, she'd certainly be married to the other by this time. One-thirty?'
" 'On the dot,' said Smith.
"There is no cause for you to be prejudiced against Smith because he selected golf as the test when the apparent superiority of his game over Brown's was so great. To be sure, Brown never broke ninety, but he was never over ninety-six. Smith had played seventy-four, and he had also played 132. At medal-play Smith would have had a tremendous margin in his favor; at match-play the odds were even. I am telling you this to avoid misunderstanding.
"To resume. At half-past one on the following day Smith and Brown, with Jones, the referee, were on time to the minute. Miss Robinson was also there; somehow the story had leaked out. Possibly two hundred and fifty other members of the club were also there. Smith and Brown, who had expected a quiet little struggle to the death, found themselves in the presence of a gallery better befitting a sectional championship. Too late; their bargain was struck, and neither would relent. The referee tossed a coin; Brown won the honor. He drove."
The fat man regarded me soberly.
"For very good grounds," he said, "I can recall every stroke of that match. If you are bored, say so. I should dislike to bore you."
"Pray proceed," I begged him. "And take another cigar."
"With pleasure. To resume. Brown drove. As usual from the first tee, he sliced. A bunker was placed for the specific purpose of catching a sliced drive from that point. Brown hit the bunker.
" 'Tough luck!' said Smith, who was by far the better sportsman of the two.
"Smith drove perhaps two hundred and fifty yards straight down the course, and the gallery applauded; but Smith ignored them. It was his customary drive.
"The aggregation set itself in motion; on arriving at the bunker Brown began to hunt for his ball.
" 'Over here,' said his caddy, pointing.
"Brown turned, incredulous. The ball was out on the fairway.
" 'How did it get there?' he demanded angrily. 'You did n't lift it, did you?'
" 'No, sir. It hit a rock and bounced back.'
"The gallery spread out in a long V, and Brown hit a good mid-iron shot somewhere near the green.
" 'Where's mine?' asked Smith.
" 'You 're in the brook,' said the referee, Jones.
"It was a fact; Smith's perfect drive had rolled into the water, which was intended to penalize a poor second shot. It had never happened before; it has n't happened since. That two-hundred-and-fifty-yard screamer had crawled another hundred yards over the smooth baked turf.
" 'One up,' said Brown, going to the second tee as soon as Smith had broken his niblick on the small stones of the brook.
"The second hole was about two furlongs; Brown topped into the tall grass, opened his mouth to discuss the shot, remembered Miss Robinson in the gallery, and let the profanity ooze through his pores. Smith sent out another magnificent drive, and counted the hole as won. Unfortunately, nothing but skill and courage were on his side; Brown had the luck. Brown attacked that tall grass with a brassy, something that Vardon himself would n't have done, and got enormous distance—something else that Vardon would n't have done. He was still away; he played an approaching clerk, ran into a sand trap, hopped out to the green, and was dead in three.
" 'Great work!' said Smith, without sarcasm.
"He himself played dead to the hole. Brown went down in four. Smith addressed the ball with a putter.
" 'You touched it!' said Brown. Every one looked toward the referee.
" 'Did it move?' inquired Jones.
" 'It did,' said Brown.
" 'I yield to the judgment of the referee,' said Smith.
" 'I think it moved,' declared Jones. 'It costs one stroke.' Whereupon Smith also holed in four.
" 'Still one up,' said Brown, grinning idiotically. 'Now all I 've got to do is to halve sixteen more holes, and the match is mine.' He swung easily as he spoke. The hole was a short one; but his iron was wild, and the ball swerved sharply to the left.
" 'Oh, hard luck! hard luck!' said Smith.
" 'Wait a second!' snapped Brown. His Crescent Colonel had ricochetted amazingly from the trunk of an oak-tree. He was not only safe; he had a sure three. 'Beat that if you can!'
" 'I 'll do my best,' conceded Smith, modestly, and with never a thought of the breathless crowd behind him, he drove in perfect form. He could n't have placed the ball more accurately if he'd gone down to the terraced green and dropped it from his hand. It was six feet from the cup. Brown got his three, and as one or two of his personal friends cheered lustily, he took off his cap in salutation. Smith had taken his stance; Brown's cap hit him on the shoulder, and with innate consideration Smith moved aside.
" 'Pardon me, old fellow,' he said.
"A roar went up from the gallery: Smith had accidentally stepped on his ball.
" 'I'm sorry, Smith,' said the referee. 'Rule Twelve—costs you a stroke.'
" 'Does it?' flashed Miss Robinson, coming forward. 'That is n't fair!'
" 'These gentlemen are playing according to the rules,' explained Jones. 'Smith has a chance for the half.' He got it.
"At this juncture the gallery was pretty evenly divided. Public sentiment generally rules in favor of a good loser, but public sentiment always inclines toward the good fellow who has a little luck. It was about half and half. The merits of the case were still in abeyance.
"Once more Brown drove poorly, and once more Smith cracked out a shot with the trajectory of a bullet. Nevertheless, both were on in three. Brown putted, and Smith prepared to putt. The club went back in the pendulum stroke; it descended; the ball traveled straight for the cup.
" 'My hole!" said Brown, gaily.
" 'How's that?'
" 'My ball had n't stopped moving.'
"Smith looked at the referee. You may judge of his emotions. 'Is that a fact?'
"The referee nodded sorrowfully.
" 'But I distinctly saw it stop,' said Smith, not in the way of a protest, but rather as a minority report.
" 'It virtually stopped,' said Jones, 'but the wind must have taken it. It surely was oscillating when you played. You lose the hole, and Brown's two up.'
"It was noticeable that Miss Robinson had left her proper position among the spectators, and had moved up to the side of the referee. She was breathing hard, and seemed to be seriously affected by the trend of the match. Afterward it was claimed that she disputed that decision.
" 'Now, then!' cried Brown, waving his driver. 'Fore!' There was no one in front of him; the warning was for the evident purpose of attracting attention, although the man who's driving has usually more attention than he likes. Not so with Brown. Furthermore, his drive was n't remarkable for anything but its height. Oh. yes, it was straight—for the first time that day. But Smith outdistanced him by twenty rods. That's conservative.
"'Over the ditch from here!' bragged Brown, selecting a heavy brassy.
" 'Look here, old fellow,' said Smith, 'that is n't golf! You can't carry it from here. Play safe for a half. You 're throwing it away.'
" 'Keep your eye on Uncle Cyrus!' said Brown as he slugged in execrable form. The ball scurried along the ground like a frightened mink. It headed squarely for a motor-mower. 'Fore!' yelled Brown, this time in deadly earnest. The chauffeur of the mower hesitated and dodged. The ball struck a projecting boss of metal and leaped skyward. When it came to earth it was over the ditch. The players halved in a par five.
" 'I do hope,' remarked Smith, going to the tee, 'that we don't need any more referee's decisions. I'd rather like to finish this match without technicalities.' He played a full mashy, and on my word of honor, he holed out! Down in one! It's only a hundred and forty yards; it had been done before. You seem pained; wait a moment!
" 'After I 've driven,' said Brown, coolly, 'you can take that shot over again.'
" 'What?'
" 'It was my honor,' said Brown. 'I have the privilege of recalling the shot. You were out of turn.'
" 'Bert,' said Miss Robinson to the referee, 'is that right? Can he do that?'
" 'The rules state—'
"'I don't care what they state; that was a wonderful shot. Are you going to take it away from him?'
"I am," insisted Jones. "I'm here to interpret the rules of golf. By virtue of the authority invested in me I direct Brown to drive, and Smith to drive after him in his turn."
"There could he only one outcome: Smith's nerve was shaken. Brown was none too clever from the tee, but Smith as worse. He lost by a stroke, and stood three down. Figure it for yourself: morally he was five or six under par; literally he was three down. It seemed inconsistent.
"The seventh hole was normally a drive and an iron; there was a stone wall running parallel to the line of flight, and a row of shaggy trees running along with the wall. Brown hooked into the trees. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred that would have been out of bounds; but no! the hall rattled around among the limbs, dropped to the top of the wall, and leaped nimbly out to the fair green, where it ambled peacefully up to a tuft of grass and sat down. The gallery cheered delightedly; even Miss Robinson had to applaud. Nobody paid any special heed to Smith, who was stinging another clean shot down the alley; a lot of people can hit straight balls! Why, when the crowd found that Brown was all teed for his iron shot, they cheered him again, just as though some merit accrued to him for being lucky! And nobody thought to groan because Smith was squarely behind a mole-cast!
"No, not even when Smith played a masterly cut shot to the edge of the green did he get the sympathy of the proletariat; for Brown, banging away, caromed off the stone wall again and was on the edge of the green! Both played well up in three; Brown holed in four, and Smith was sure of a half—the putt was n't over two feet.
"Now, a good many matches are won and lost within two feet of the hole. Vardon has lost some, and Braid and Chick Evans and Hal Reed have; but mighty few golfers ever missed a putt as short as that for the same reason that poor Smith missed it. He hit a grasshopper.
"Long before this. Miss Robinson had begun to share with the players the attention of the crowd. Regardless of appearances, she trudged along with the referee. She seemed to find plenty of amusement in Brown's luck and some source of regret in Smith's, but as for open leaning toward one or the other, there was n't a sign. When Brown sclaffed into the pit on the eighth, her expression altered not the slightest; and when he played out with a nickel-plated lofter, her face was slightly flushed, but still inscrutable. She showed no more emotion on discovering that the ball had landed in a shallow trench just short of the green and bounded comfortably close to the pin than she did on perceiving that Smith's excellent approach had overrun by a yard or two and gone down a small shaft where once an irrigating-pipe had been.
" 'My hole!' said Brown, with rather more joy than the circumstances warranted. 'Your ball's unplayable.'
" 'I think not,' said Smith, deferentially. 'I think I can drop a club's-length away without penalty.'
" 'Mr. Referee?' said Brown, with a rising inflection.
"Miss Robinson sidled nearer to Mr. Jones.
" 'I am of the opinion,' he declared, 'that Smith loses the hole. It's a rub of the green.'
" 'But if the pipe had been there,' said Miss Robinson, 'and his ball was unplayably close to it, he could have lifted, and dropped without penalty, could n't he?'
" 'He could,' said Jones.
" 'So he loses the hole simply because somebody took that pipe out of the ground this morning?'
" 'He does,' said Jones.
" 'But that is n't golf!'
" 'It's in the rules,' said Jones, 'and Smith is five down. So far he has n't made one mistake, and Brown has n't made one good shot. It is n't golf; but it's the official score.'
" 'For my sake,' said Miss Robinson, so that several bystanders overheard her 'for my sake, won't you be lenient enough with these silly rules so that there 'll be some sort of contest."
"The referee straightened himself out fully.
'The links is no place for leniency,' he maintained. 'I'm here by special request to administer justice according to the rules of the game as approved by the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews, and as adopted, with amendments, by the United States Golf Association, of which this club is an active member in good standing. Regardless of the private questions involved, I find that if a ball lodge in a hole recently vacated by a water-pipe, and is unplayable therefrom, the player loses the hole. If the water-pipe had been there. Smith could have moved away from it. It's Brown's honor.'
"So Brown, having the gratifying lead of five up, drove for the ninth. His was a high drive into the wind; it was unmistakably ticketed for the sand-pits. The ball reached the zenith of flight; it began to drop, and at that moment an unexpected gust of wind came whistling over the hills, and Brown was ten yards short of the pits, on good turf. Smith drove handsomely; a ball apparently destined to clear the hazard with something to spare. Another gust of wind, and Smith was bunkered.
"Outlucked, but never outgamed, he chipped prettily out, and ran down a long putt for a three. Brown took four. It was the first hole he had lost; even so, the match was in his pocket."
The fat man looked covertly at me to see how I was taking it.
"It's a pretty fair story," I said, "but one day up at Siwanoy I—"
"Brown is four up with nine to go," he reproved me. "To resume. It would be far beyond my power as a truthful man to relate, or yours as an experienced golfer to believe, that Brown was equally fortunate on all of the eighteen holes. I hope I have n't given you that impression, because it's unjustified by the facts. On the tenth, for example, he played his regular game. He foundered his ball off the tee, missed his second shot, went into a cop bunker and out again, and took four long brassies to the green, where he went down in three putts. At the eleventh, which was short, he sliced into a roadway; missed the ball completely, but drove a good-sized pebble a hundred and seventy-six yards straight down the course; was on in six, and down in seven. At the twelfth he foozled, tupped into grass, went out in three, into the pond in four, out in five, on in six, down in eight. That made him dormy six.
"I repeat, that made him dormy six. Two of those holes he won and the other he halved. Let me detail Smith's progress. At the tenth, when Brown was five and Smith was two. Smith lost his ball. After that, when Brown was four and Smith had driven ever so slightly into the rough, his caddy, hunting for the ball, kicked it down a woodchuck's burrow. The twelfth they halved. It was like this:
"Brown, you recall, took eight. Smith made nearly three hundred yards off the tee, and was on the green in two. Miss Robinson's bull-terrier, which had joined the gallery recently, picked up the ball in his mouth, and started for the club-house with it. I claim that it was wholly natural and spontaneous for Smith to run after that dog, and feint at it with a putter. I shall always insist that there was sufficient aggravation for Smith to hit the dog with the putter. Of course it was injudicious of Smith to punish an animal for playfulness in the sight of its owner; but it was worse than injudicious for him to hit it with the putter, when he could as easily have kicked it. After a moment or two of skirmishing, the terrier retrieved the ball, and deposited it on the green. Smith, not daring to glance toward Miss Robinson, holed out, and said, 'Three.'
" 'Not three—eight,' said the referee.
" 'That's what I made it,' agreed Brown.
" 'I—don't understand,' faltered Smith. 'If a ball at rest is displaced by any agency outside the match except wind, the player shall drop a ball as near as possible to the place where it lay without penalty.'
" 'You did n't drop it; the dog dropped it,' said Brown.
" 'Yes, but he dropped it within an inch of where it was originally.'
" 'Let the referee decide!' said Miss Robinson, softly, and every one turned to Jones.
" 'This is n't a case in Law,' he judged, after some deliberation; 'it's a case in equity. If the ball had lodged in anything moving. Smith could certainly have replaced without penalty. He'd be down in three. Of course the ball did n't lodge in anything moving, but it was immediately taken up by something moving, and found lodgment therein. Smith could have recovered the ball and played it; but he did n't. Furthermore, he did n't strike the dog with a stick or with his foot; he struck it with a putter. I adjudge that this act of Smith's operates as a waiver under Rule Seventeen. I adjudge that Smith's strokes with a putter at the body of the dog count as fair strokes. He had five of them. Each was for the evident purpose of causing the dog to drop the ball as near to the hole as possible. His official count for the hole is therefore eight. Every attempt to compel the dog to disgorge, inasmuch as the ball was struck at, and not spooned or pushed, was a stroke. The hole is halved, and Brown is dormy.'
"I will not deceive you; the gallery was dazed and bewildered. In dead silence Brown drove off, a futile attempt which barely cleared the tee-box. In all that gathering, the only person whose mental processes were working placidly was undoubtedly Smith. He carried the green with a magnificently placed iron; and neither the fact that he had knocked the ball into a prolate spheroid, nor the ill fortune he had to find it lying between serrated ridges cast up by worms, could deprive him of a par three and the hole.
"He won the fourteenth with a par four, and the fifteenth with a par five. The luck had apparently turned, and the sentiment of the gallery had changed. The applause was all for Smith, and Miss Robinson's smiles, too, were frequently directed at him. He was as calm and unconcerned as though the match were for nothing more important than the caddy fees; Brown, on the contrary, was noticeably afflicted with nerves.
"And the sixteenth hole was no place at all for a man with nerves. Directly before the tee an impenetrable morass, a region of swamp and swale, yawned hungrily for a topped drive. To the left, a deserted quarry; to the right, a corn-field. Nothing but a hundred-and-sixty-yard carry uphill, nothing but a perfectly straight ball, would do, and Brown topped into the swamp. So had Smith.
"The gallery stood about on dry land and watched intently; the two contestants, followed by Jones and Miss Robinson and her dog, picked their way into the wilderness. Smith's ball was found first; it was resting conveniently in a small puddle, under a couple of bulrushes, behind a jagged rock.
" 'Play it from there,' said Brown, cheerfully.
" 'I intend to,' said Smith.
" 'What are you waiting for?'
" 'For you to find yours,' said Smith.
" 'Why, mine's right around here somewhere. Go ahead!'
" 'Not yet. If you found yours farther from the hole than this is, you'd recall the shot if it happened to be good, and let it go if it happened to be bad. I want to see where yours is.'
"Brown looked at the swamp. He was standing on a board, and he had previously observed that Smith, while he was talking, had settled in rich mud up to his knees, and was still sinking.
" 'Shoot!' said Brown. 'If you get out of there, I 'll promise not to recall your shot.'
" 'I stand on my rights,' said Smith. 'If you don't find your ball within five minutes, it's my hole.'
" 'But if you get out in one shot,' said Brown, 'I 'll give you the hole. Don't you see? If you get out safely, there's no reason for me to ruin my clothes!'
" 'How's the time, Mr. Referee?' asked Smith.
" 'One minute left.'
"Brown stepped gracefully from the board. The leg he put forward disappeared utterly; the other clung to its harbor; Brown looked not unlike the well-known photographs of the diving horses at Coney Island. To the accompaniment of huzzas from the crowd and much encouragement from Miss Robinson, he struggled free, staggered onward, and broughit up sharply with a cry of dismay. He had trod on his ball, and driven it under the surface of the mud.
" 'Two!' said Smith, with a shade of genuine feeling for a discomfited enemy. 'Remember, you can displace only so much of the mud as to enable you to see the ball.'
" 'I know it,' barked Brown. 'Niblick. boy!'
"He dug for that ball with all his strength; it popped lazily in the air with a reverse English, avoided Smith's mud-puddle by the fraction of an inch, and came to rest on the very board from which Brown had stepped into the swamp. It could n't roll, because of the clayey mass adhering to it. It presented a very decent lie for the next shot.
"Brown looked wickedly at his opponent and then at Miss Robinson. He failed to catch her eye, because she was looking somewhere else; but the roar of the gallery encouraged him, and swiping prodigiously with his nickel-plated lofter, he carried the slope of the green.
" 'Shoot from there!' he called cheerily to Smith.
"Smith did his best; it was n't good enough: the ball imbedded itself farther in the mire. He struck once more; his club came over his left shoulder at the finish of a fine swing, but the ball did n't soar away as it should. Indeed, it had simply disappeared. It had n't risen from the swamp; it was n't on the fairway; it was n't in the puddle.
" 'Dig for it,' said Smith to his caddy, and at that moment a terrific shout went up from the circling multitude.
" 'Now's your chance. Smithy!'
" 'Be careful! be careful!'
" 'Turn your club over—quick!'
"Smith, puzzled, inspected the face of the club. The grip almost slipped out of his hand; he caught it by a convulsive effort. The ball, almost entirely enveloped in black, sticky mud, was firmly attached to the roughened metal.
" 'Wha—what do I do with this?' he inquired blankly.
" 'Drop it without penalty,' said Brown, too hurriedly.
" 'Is there anything in the rules to prevent me from carrying this up to this green, and dropping it in the hole?'
" 'If there is n't,' said Brown, 'there's nothing to prevent any one from jostling you while you 're on the way.'
" 'I think I 'll try it,' said Smith.
" 'If you do, it's my hole. That was a ball at rest displaced by an agency outside the match.'
" 'Not in a thousand years! This club of mine has been in the match since we started; so have I.'
" 'It—it is n't good golf,' said Brown, paling.
" 'Never mind. It is n't luck, either More than that,' said Smith, 'if you jostle me, that 'll constitute an infringement of my right to play my own game. You 'll be deliberately disturbing the lie of my ball. I leave it to the referee.'
" 'Smith is right,' pronounced Jones, can't think of any rule to cover the point, so we 'll decide it in accordance with common law. The ball must be played from where it lies. Smith played it from there It now lies on the face of his mashy. His next shot must be played with a different club off the mashy. De minimis non curat lex. Nevertheless, there is some precedent for assuming that the stroke made by Smith is yet unfinished. The face of the club hit the ball. That's obvious. It was a legitimate hit. Now everybody knows that in every shot the face of the club is in contact with the ball for a more or less appreciable space of time. The stroke is consummated after the ball has left the face of the club. This ball has n't left it at all. The stroke is therefore still in process. So we have two theories, one that Smith's ball is now at rest, in a lie from which the next stroke must be played; the other, that it has n't come to rest after the stroke he did play. So that if he goes to the green and with some other club knocks the ball off the mashy into the cup, he will have taken three strokes, which gives him the hole. If we adopt the other theory, and he merely shakes the ball into the hole without using a separate club for the purpose, he will have holed in two, which again gives him the hole. In either case he wins. Brown is dormy two. Smith's honor. Play, gentlemen.'
"The crowd laughed and cheered. Brown stalked wrathfully across the foot-bridge to the fairway, picked up his ball, and threw it at his caddy. Smith, quiet and self-contained, followed him. Miss Robinson, taking the referee's arm, called him a Daniel come to judgment. He was all of that.
"Smith won the seventeenth in four. Brown needed eleven. It is only fair to state that Brown had fallen into his old weakness: instead of playing by sheer guesswork, he was calculating his shots carefully, and trying to gage the wind and estimate the speed of the greens. While he held to that method he had n't a chance in the world; and either he realized it himself or some one reminded him of it, for when he took the tee at the last hole, he merely waggled his driver once or twice, made no endeavor to stand properly or to swing in form, and as an obvious consequence—obvious to those who knew his attributes—he got off his very best drive of the day. It was n't more than fifty or sixty yards behind Smith's. They played good seconds, and came to the flag on even terms.
"I won't detain you. Smith got his par five. Brown needed only a half. If he'd shut his eyes and putted, there would n't have been a chance in a million for poor Smith. But Brown wanted to be a hero: he wanted to look like Walter Travis sinking a hard putt. So he studied the line; carefully—and missed! The match was all square!
"They were walking back to the first tee for the extra hole when Aliss Robinson and Jones joined them. Miss Robinson was authoritative—even for her.
"'Listen!' she said. 'Don't you think you 've carried this wretched farce far enough?'
" 'How?' they replied in chorus.
" 'Had it occurred to you that I might not be willing to stand by the result of it?'
"She was right: they had n't thought of it.
" 'All we agreed,' began Brown, but she stopped him with one of her peremptory gestures.
" 'Golf is a game of character,' she said. "You 've shown me more than you think you 've shown. Go on and play your extra hole, settle your match once and forever, but bear this in mind while you 're playing it: the race is n't always to the swift—nor to the lucky. He laughs best who sees the point of the joke. Your winner may be the loser, and the loser might be the winner, after all. I only want you to remember that I have n't agreed to bow to your verdict. That's all.'
"The men stared stupidly at each other. They could n't comprehend it.
" 'Anyway,' said Brown, suddenly, 'I have n't broken eighty-two. I was much more than that. I 've won your thousand, old fellow.'
" 'Yes,' admitted Smith, 'and it 'll just about pay the tips on your long trip.' But just then he began to wonder if Miss Robinson, who was notably independent, would deliberately side with the loser of the match. He glanced at Brown. Brown was palpably wondering, too. But Brown was thinking more in the past than in the future. It now concerned him to know if his rigid insistence upon the letter of the rules had hurt his cause with Miss Robinson while it was helping him with his contest. His abstraction was so great that he usurped the honor, which did n't belong to him, and drove off; very creditably, too. His mind was occupied; it was characteristic luck.
" 'Now, then,' said a voice from the gallery. 'Recall that drive, Smithy! He did it to you.'
" 'I waive it,' said Smith, loudly, as he advanced to the tee. He addressed the ball with a flourish; by mischance he toppled it off the tee, and it rolled thirty feet downhill.
" 'Playing two,' said Jones.
" 'I refuse to accept that penalty,' denied Brown, peering about to see if Miss Robinson was within earshot. 'Take it over, old man."
" 'Never!' said Smith. 'I play from where it lies.' He played poorly. 'That's two.'
" 'You have a right to decline my waiver,' said Brown, stiffly, 'but I have a right to adjust the matter as a gentleman should.' Here he bent over his own ball, lifted it an inch or two above the ground, and dropped it. 'I have touched a ball in play not for identification, and the penalty is a stroke. We lie alike.'
" 'I waive!' said Smith.
" 'You can't!' said Brown.
" 'The referee states,' said Jones, rather faintly, 'that a penalty may not be declined. Proceed.'
" 'Very well,' said Smith. 'I have my own ideas of sportsmanship!' He intentionally drove out of bounds. 'Drop another ball, caddy! Now I'm three, and you 're two.'
" 'Observe this!' said Brown, taking his stance. 'In the act of addressing this ball, I cause it to move. That costs me a stroke. We lie alike again.' They glared at each other like two strange bulldogs.
"Miss Robinson was plainly heard to say, 'Imbeciles!'
" 'The amusing part of it is,' remarked Smith, conciliatingly, 'that I'm trying to play a gentleman's game.'
" 'You 've missed it by a mile,' said Brown.
" 'I 'm tired of your methods,' said Smith. 'I 'll lay you a thousand I beat you this hole now!'
" 'Double it!'
" 'Make it five if you like.'
" 'Certainly.'
" 'Please play, then. You 're away.'
"Accordingly Brown played an iron. It was too strong. It should have gone past the green, over to the fairway of the seventh; but Brown was wild with anger: he did n't concentrate on the ball, and luck was with him. He hit the very tip of the flag-stick. The ball dropped dead to the hole.
" 'Four!' he gloated. 'Now shoot.'
"Smith turned to the gallery.
" 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'this is a match for big stakes. You 've seen that the rules have been strictly followed. So far I have n't had to rely upon technicalities; I am now about to rely upon one. If the placer's ball strike the opponent, his caddy, or his clubs, the opponent shall lose the hole.' Smith took a heavy approaching-cleik from his bag, and looked squarely at Brown, who turned very white. 'The opponent,' repeated Smith, easing his wrists, 'shall lose the hole.'
"Brown, whose knickerbockers suddenly seemed too large for him, looked desperately for his caddy; but the caddy also knew the rule: he was hiding behind the bunker. Brown edged toward the left-hand side of the V of the gallery; Smith altered his stance, and got the range. Brown strode briskly across to the right-hand side; Smith was as alert as a trap-shooter at unknown angles. The cleik trembled suggestively. As long as he could endure the strain, Brown held his place; he wanted to appear too proud for flight. But finally his nerves snapped; he whirled, and sprinted for the open end of the V.
"Smith, who had n't been daunted at the knowledge that his opponent was dormy six; Smith, who had played the gentleman's game from the start; Smith, who was the injured party throughout; Smith sighted for the fleeing man. He calculated for the tiniest of hooks into the wind; he allowed a trifle for irregularity of ground; he drove.
"It was a beautiful wind-cheater, a low, vicious drive barely above the grass-tops, the kind of ball that travels as straight as a surveyor's line for a hundred yards or so, and then slowly curves upward, like a gravity rise with a hop on it. It was, however, twenty feet to Brown's right.
" 'Missed him!' shouted the gallery.
" 'Oh, close!' said Miss Robinson.
" 'Wait!' said Smith, grabbing the referee's arm. And all in a second that ball swerved to the left with the hook, upward with the gravity rise, and at exactly the right pin-point of time Brown threw a glance over his shoulder. Lucky! There was no doubt of it! He could n't dodge; the ball was a club's-length from his head. He had played base-ball. Action was automatic: the ball broke his hand, but he held it.
"The gallery rushed forward; as the leaders passed the referee they heard him saying, 'Hole and match to Smith.' It was all over.
"The rest shall be brief. They took Brown to the club-house and bandaged his hand. The two men, refined in the fire, met once more as friend and friend. They embraced. Their better instincts returned. Their bitter enmity was forgotten. They canceled their bets. At length they set out to hunt for Miss Robinson. Brown was formally to intercede with her and plead for Smith.
"She was n't to be found. Her warning had been more serious than they had imagined. While Smith and Brown were risking their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, she had eloped with the referee Jones, leaving behind her a note to say that she could n't marry a man as perennially unlucky as Smith, nor yet one as sharp as Brown.
"Consider their emotions at the discovery! Reflect upon the tension they had undergone! Not only money was involved, not only default of courtship; they had all but shattered the precious vessel of integrity! And for what? For whom? They had made of themselves laughing-stocks forever; they had gained for themselves the reputation of poor sportsmen, and worse. The executive committee held a special meeting in the grill-room; its announcement that both Smith and Brown were expelled for gambling on the links followed by only five minutes the shock that came from the knowledge that she who had inspired them to do this thing had eloped with the referee! And think what might have been! If Brown had been less sharp, he might have won a bride, even though he lost the match. And if Smith had been less buffeted by fortune, he might have had a wife to console him. As it was, the very competition which was to insure to one of them the possession of a beautiful girl lost her to both forever.
"That's all."
At the nearer door an Ethiopian swayed rhythmically as he intoned the call to lunch. My fat neighbor rose precipitately.
"That is why," he said, "I never play golf. That is why I hate to think about it or talk about it. The associations are too depressing."
"And no wonder!" I said. "But before you go, would you mind satisfying my idle curiosity? You were 'Smith,' of course, were n't you?"
He looked at me in lugubrious astonishment, and two more great tears sparkled in his eyes.
"Oh, no," he said. "Oh, no, indeed; I have much more cause for depression than that! I was the referee. I'm Jones."
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1936, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 87 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse