II
Our Annual Handicap is the blue-ribbon event of the year so far as most of us are concerned. The star players turn up their noses at it a bit, but that is only because they realise that they have a mighty slim chance to carry off the cup. The high-handicap men usually eliminate the crack performers, which is the way it should be. What's the good of a handicap event if a scratch man is to win it every year?
Sixty-four members qualify and are paired off into individual matches, which are played on handicaps, the losers dropping out. The man who "comes through" in the top half of the drawing meets the survivor of the lower half in the final match for the cup, which is always a very handsome and valuable trophy, calculated to rouse all the cupidity in a cup hunter's nature.
When the pairings were posted on the bulletin board Kitts was in the upper half and Windy in the lower one. Kitts had a handicap of 8 strokes, and was really entitled to 12, but Cupid wouldn't listen to his wails of anguish. Windy was a 12 man, and nobody figured the two renegades as dangerous until the sixty-four entrants had narrowed down to eight survivors. Kitts had won his matches by close margins, but Windy had simply smothered his opponents by lopsided scores, and there they were, in the running and too close to the finals for comfort.
We began to sit up and take notice. Cupid read the riot act to Dawson, who was Windy's next opponent, and also had a talk with Aubrey, who was to meet Kitts. "Wilkins and Kitts must be stopped!" raved Cupid. "We don't want 'em to get as far as the semi-finals, and it's up to you chaps to play your heads off and beat these rotters!"
Dawson and Aubrey saw their duty to the club, but that was as far as they got with it. Windy talked from one end of his match to the other and made Dawson so nervous that any one could have beaten him, and Kitts pulled the book of rules on Aubrey and literally read him out of the contest.
After this the interest in the tournament grew almost painful. Overholzer and Watts were the other semifinalists, and we told them plainly that they might as well resign from the club if they did not win their matches. Overholzer spent a solid week practicing on his approach shots, and Watts carried his putter home with him nights, but it wasn't the slightest use. Windy tossed an 83 at Overholzer, along with a lot of noisy conversation, and an 83 will beat Overholzer every time he starts. Poor Watts went off his drive entirely and gave such a pitiful exhibition that Kitts didn't need the rule book at all.
And there we were, down to the finals for the beautiful handicap cup, sixty-two good men and true eliminated, and a pair of bounders lined up against each other for the trophy!
"This," said Cupid Cutts, "is a most unfortunate situation. I can't root for a sure-thing gambler and daylight highwayman like Wilkins, and as for the other fellow I hope he falls into a bunker and breaks both his hind legs off short! Think of one of those fellows carrying home that lovely cup! Ain't it enough to make you sick?"
It made us all sick, nevertheless quite a respectable gallery assembled to watch Wilkins and Kitts play their match.
"Looks like we're goin' to have a crowd for the main event!" said Windy, who had put in the entire morning practicing tee shots. "In that case I'll buy everybody a little drink, or sign a lunch card—whatever's customary. Don't be bashful, boys. Might as well drink with the winner before as well as after, you know!"
At this point Adolphus came in from the locker room and there was an embarrassed silence, broken at last by Windy. "Somebody introduce me to my victim," said he. "We've never met."
"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Cupid. "Of all the men in this club, I'd think you fellows ought to know each other! Kitts, this is Wilkins—shake hands and get together!"
Among the other reasons for not liking him, Adolphus had a face. I'm aware that a man cannot help his face, but he can make it easier to look at by wearing a pleasant expression now and then. Kitts seldom used his face to smile with. As he turned to shake hands with Windy I noticed that his left hip pocket bulged a trifle, and I knew that Adolphus was taking no chances. That's where he carries the book of rules.
"How do," said Kitts, looking hard at Windy. "I'm ready if you are, sir."
"Oh, don't be in such a hurry!" said Wilkins. "We've got a lot of drinks comin' here. Sit down and have one."
"Thank you, I never drink," replied Adolphus.
"Well, then, have a sandwich. Might as well load up; you've got a hard afternoon ahead of you."
"Thanks, I've had my lunch."
"Then let's talk a little," urged Windy. "Let's get acquainted. This is the first time I ever had a whack at a cup, and I don't know how to act. I play golf by main strength and awkwardness, but I get there just the same. They tell me you're a great man for rules."
Windy paused, but Kitts didn't say anything, and Cupid stepped on my foot under the table.
"Now, I don't go very strong on the rules," continued Windy wheedlingly. "I like to play a sporty game—count all my shots, of course—but damn this technical stuff is what I say. For instance, if you should accidentally tap your ball when you was addressin' it, and it should turn over, I wouldn't call a stroke on you. I'd be ashamed to do it. If I win, I want to win on my playin' and not on any technicalities. Ain't that the way you feel about it, hey?"
Kitts looked uncomfortable, but he wouldn't return a straight answer to the question. He said something about hoping the best man would win, and went out to get his clubs.
"Cheerful kind of a party, ain't he?" said Windy. "I've told him where I stand. I ain't goin' to claim anything on him if his foot slips, and he oughtn't to claim anything on me. If he's a real sport, he won't. What do you boys think?"
We thought a great deal, but nobody offered any advice.
"Well," said Windy, getting up and stretching, "he's got to start me 2 up, on handicap, and I'm drivin' like a fool. I should worry about his technicalities!"