The Adventures of a Suburbanite Page 9

  IX. THE ROYAL GAME OR SEVERAL DAYS AFTER THE PIG EPISODE

  I refused to start for Port Lafayette in Millington's automobile,although he used to lean over the fence and beg me almost tearfully,but one fine morning he came over, and he looked so haggard and carewornthat I took pity on him.

  "John," he said, as he led me to his garage, which was on the back ofhis lot, "I am sure this automobile of mine is bewitched. I cannot thinkof anything else that would make it behave as an automobile in goodhealth should, and I give you my word of honour that it is acting inperfect rhythm, never slipping a cog nor missing fire. Of course, withthe machine behaving in that unaccountable manner, I would not dare tostart for Port Lafayette, but I want to run you around to the CountryClub. You ought to be in our Country Club, and I want you to see it, andI want you to tell me what you think about this automobile of mine. Ican't understand it!"

  I have often noticed three things: I have noticed that a boy is neverreally happy until he owns a dog; I have noticed that a flat-dweller isnever content until he owns a phonograph; but above all I havenoticed that the commuter--the man that lives in the sweet-scented,tree-embowered suburbs--is restless and uneasy until he joins theCountry Club. So I accepted Millington's invitation.

  We ran out of his yard and half a block up the street, Millingtonlistening carefully all the while, and we could not hear a sound ofdistress in any part of the automobile. Millington stopped the car andgot out.

  "I am going to walk to the Club," he said. "I won't trust myself in thatcar. As for you, as it was entirely for your sake I proposed this littlerun to the Club, I am going to put the machine in your charge, andyou are to run it around the block until it resumes its normal badcondition. From what I know of you and the remarks you have made while Ihave tried to repair the engine, I believe you will soon have it makingall sorts of noises, and," he added, "perhaps it will be making a noiseit never made before."

  Then he showed me how to start, and what to touch if a tree or telephonepost got in my way, and then he went on to the Country Club.

  I was much touched by this evidence of Millington's faith in my abilityto bring out the bad points of his automobile, and as soon as hedisappeared I set to work, and I had hardly gone twice around the blockbefore I had it knocking more loudly than ever I had heard it knock. ButI was resolved to show Millington that his trust was not misplaced,and I ran the nose of the machine into a tree, threw on the high speedsuddenly until I heard a grinding noise that told me the gears werestripped. Then I left the car there and walked on to the Country Club.

  A Country Club is an institution conducted for the purpose of securingas many new members as possible, in order that their initiation fees maypay for the upkeep of the golf green. Aside from this, the object of theclub is to enable the men that mow the grass to make an honest living byselling the golf balls they find while mowing the grass.

  The Membership Committee, on which Millington served, is a small body ofmen whose duty it is to learn, as soon as possible, who that new man isthat moved into Billing's house, and to get twenty dollars in initiationfees from him, before he has spent all his money for mosquito screens.

  When Millington said to me, in the way members of Country Clubs have,"_You_ ought to be in our Country Club," I was tickled. I did notknow then that Millington was on the membership committee, and hiswillingness to admit me to fellowship seemed to show that I had beenpromptly recognized as a desirable citizen of Westcote; a man worthknowing; one of the inner circle of desirables. What more fullyconvinced me was the eagerness of Mr. Rolfs.

  "We _must_ have you in," said Rolfs. "I have been speaking to severalof the members about you, and they are all enthusiastic about taking youin. Of course, our green is a little ragged just now, but when we getyour mon--when--of course, the green is a little ragged just now, but weexpect to have it trimmed soon, very soon."

  Isobel was delighted when I told her I contemplated joining the CountryClub. She said it would do me all the good in the world to play a gameof golf now and then, and when I mentioned that I thought of takingfamily membership, which would admit her to all the club privileges, shewas more than pleased. So were Mr. Rolfs and Mr. Millington. I forgethow many more dollars a family membership cost. They shook hands withme warmly, and Millington said something to Rolfs about their now beingable to dump another load or two of sand on the bunker at the sixthhole. They also said the ladies would be delighted. Many, they said, hadasked them why Isobel had not joined.

  Then they mentioned earnestly that the initiation fee and the firstyear's dues were payable immediately. They even offered to send in mycheck for the amount with my membership application.

  I had never played golf, but Millington said he would lend me anexcellent book on the game, written by one of the great players, andRolfs offered to pick me out a set of clubs. He was enthusiastic when wewent to the shop where clubs were sold, and I must say he did not allowthe clerk to foist off on me any old-fashioned, shopworn clubs. He saidwith pride, as we left the shop, that, so far as he knew, every club Ihad secured was absolutely new in model, and that not one club in thelot was of a kind ever seen on the Westcote course before. Some he said,he was sure had never been seen on any course anywhere.

  He said my putter would create great excitement when it appeared on thecourse. I must give him credit for being right. The putter was, perhaps,too much like a brass sledge-hammer to be graceful, and I found laterthat it worked much better as a croquet mallet than as a tool forputting a golf ball into a hole, but it was fine advertisement for a newmember. Members who might never have noticed me at all began to speakof me immediately. They referred to me as "that fellow that Rolfs got tobuy the idiotic putter."

  The golf course at our Westcote Country Club is one of the best I haveever seen. It is almost free from those irregularities of ground thatmake so many golf courses fretful. In selecting the ground the Committeehad in mind, I think, a billiard table, but as it was impossibleto secure a sufficiently large plot of ground as level as that nearWestcote, they secured the most level they could and then went over itwith a steam grader. The envious members of the Oakland Club speak of itas the Westcote Croquet Grounds.

  The first day I appeared at the club I saw that golf was indeed adifficult game, particularly after Mr. Millington had explained how itwas worked. He began by remarking that, of course, I could not expect todo much with "that bunch of crazy scrap iron"--that being the manner inwhich he referred to the up-to-date clubs Rolfs had selected forme--and that no man who knew anything about golf ever used thered-white-and-pink polka-dot balls, which were the kind Rolfs hadadvised me to buy. Then he looked through my clubs scornfully andselected my putter.

  "Usually," he said ironically, "we begin with a driver, and drive theball as far as we can from this place, which is called the drivinggreen, but I think this tool, in your hands, will do as well as anythingelse in your collection of kitchen cutlery. What do you call this tool,anyway?"

  I looked at the label on the handle and read it. I told Millington itwas a putter, but he would not believe me. I showed him the label, whichsaid quite plainly "putter," but he was still skeptical. He did notdeny positively that it was a putter; he merely said, "Well, if thisinstrument of torture is a putter, I'll eat it."

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  Mr. Millington then made a little mound of sand which he took from thegreen sandbox, and set one of my golf balls on top of the mound. This, Isoon learned, is called "teeing" the ball.

  "Now," said Mr. Millington, "I will explain the game. When the ball isteed as you see it here, you take the club and hit the ball so it willtravel low and straight through the air as far as possible toward thatred flag you see yonder. The ball will alight on the fair green. Youfollow it, and hit it again, and it should then alight fairly andsquarely on the putting-green. You then follow it, take the pole thatbears the flag out of the hole you will find there, and gently knockyour ball into the hole. That is all there is to the game."

  "But what shall
I do," I asked, "if my first knock at the ball carriesit beyond the flag?"

  Mr. Millington glanced at the patent putter I held in my hand, andsighed.

  "Excuse me," he said, "but the rules of the game permit one to grasp theclub with both hands."

  "I guess," I said airily, "until I get the swing of it I will grasp theclub with one hand. I only use one hand in playing croquet."

  "In that case," said Mr. Millington, "if you knock the ball past theflag I will eat the flag. I will also eat the ball. Also the thing youcall a putter. If you knock the ball half way to the flag, I will eatall the grass on this golf course."

  "Be careful, Millington," I warned him. "You may have to eat that grass.Now, stand back and let me have a fair whack at the ball."

  With that I swung the putter around my head two or three times, togather the necessary impetus, and then hit the ball a terrible whack. Iput my full strength into the blow, for I wanted to show Millington thatI had the making of a golfer in me; but when my putter ceased revolvingaround me Millington seemed unimpressed. I put my hand above my eyes andgazed into the far distance, hoping to catch sight of the ball when italighted. But I did not see it.

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  "Millington," I said, "did you see where that ball went?"

  "I did," he said, turning to the left. "It went over there, into thattall grass. It is a lost ball. Every ball that goes into that tall grassis gone forever. I have never known any one to recover a ball that fellin that tall grass."

  Then he stepped proudly to the sand-box and made another tee.

  "Hand me a ball," he said, "and I will show you the proper way to hitit."

  I gave him a ball and he placed it carefully on the tee. Then hegrasped his driver in both hands, snuggled the head of it up to the balllovingly, drew back the club and struck the ball. I was not quick enoughto see the ball go, but Millington was.

  "Fine!" he exclaimed. "I sliced it a little, but I must have got gooddistance. I must have driven that ball two hundred yards."

  "But where did it go?" I asked.

  "Well," said Millington, "I did slice it a little. It went off there tothe right, into that tall grass. It is a lost ball. I have never knownany one to recover a ball that fell in that tall grass. But let me haveanother ball and I will show you--"

  I told Millington I guessed I would lose a couple of balls myself whileI had a few left, if it was not against the rules. He said no, a playercould lose as many as he wished; in fact many players lost more thanthey wished.

  I found this to be so. We played around the nine holes and I made ascore of 114, and Millington was delighted. He said it was a splendidscore to turn in to the handicapping committee, and that he wished hecould make a large, safe score like that. He said no one in the club hadever made more than 110 and that the average was about 45. Then he saidI need not lose hope, for at any rate I had not lost a ball at everystroke. He said he had imagined when he saw me play that I would losea ball at every stroke, for my style of playing--my "form" he calledit--was the sort that ought to lose me one ball for every stroke.

  When I reached home I found Isobel awaiting me, and, without thinking, Iblurted out that I had lost thirty-eight golf balls. Her mouth hardened.

  "John," she said, "I have been talking with Mrs. Rolfs and Mrs.Millington about this game of golf, and what they say has given me anentirely different opinion of it. When I advised you to take it up I hadno idea it was a gambling game, but they both tell me the matches areoften played for a stake of balls. Mrs. Rolfs says her husband hasaccumulated eighty balls in this way, and Mrs. Millington says herhusband has laid up a store of over fifty. And now, when you come homeand tell me you have lost, in one afternoon, thirty-eight golf balls, ata cost of fifty cents each, I feel that golf is a wicked, sinful game. Ido not want to seem severe, but I do not approve of gambling, and if youcontinue to lose so many golf balls you will have to give up the game."