ENTRY NO. XVII
THE PASSING OF PERCY
During the forenoon of the day following our visit to Oak Cliff Mr. Harding, Carter and I were sitting under the big elm tree near the first tee. We had our clubs with us, but the railroad magnate wished to finish his cigar before starting to play.
A farm wagon drove up the circular roadway which surrounds the club house, and the owner after glancing doubtfully about approached us. He was tall, angular, and whiskered.
"Can any of you folks tell me if a man named Hardin' hangs out 'round this here place?" he said, squinting at a card which I instantly recognised.
"I'm Harding," said that gentleman, walking toward him. "I reckon you're the man who owns the late deceased bull?"
"I shurely am," said the farmer, stroking his whiskers nervously.
"How much do you want for him?" demanded Harding, with characteristic promptness.
"Stranger," began the man with the hoe, "if you'll tell me how in thunder you broke the neck of that critter with one of them there sticks," pointing to our golf clubs, "I won't charge you one doggoned cent for doin' it."
We all roared, and then Harding briefly explained what had happened.
"I reckon you couldn't do nothin' else under what the stump speakers call existin' sar-cumstances," slowly drawled the farmer, "but he was a mighty fine young bull, an' I hated like all sin tew lose him."
"How much was he worth to you?" asked Harding.
"He was a Holstein, Mister, and I wouldn't er sold him for two hundred and fifty the best day you ever saw. He took second prize as a yearlin' at our county fair, and I was plumb sure he'd have the blue ribbon hung on him this year, but instead of a ribbon I found this here on his horns," he concluded sorrowfully, looking at the card with its string still attached.
"I'll give you three hundred and fifty dollars and call it square," said
Harding.
"Dew you mean it, Mister?" his watery blue eyes opening wide, his thin lips pursed and his leathery face curiously wrinkled. "Dew ye mean it?"
"Of course I mean it, but I want his head. I'm going to have it mounted."
Mr. Harding opened his wallet, stripped off the bills and handed them to the pleased farmer.
"Mister," the latter said, "that's more than he was worth, and I feel kinder ashamed ter take all of it. Tell you what I'll do! I've got an old bull that's no good, but ugly as all get out, and if you'd like ter tackle him with that ortermobill of yours I'll turn him loose in that same medder, an' you can have it out with him an' it won't cost you a cent."
[Illustration: "He was tall, angular, and whiskered">[
"Much obliged," laughed Harding, "but nature evidently did not design me for a matador."
If Miss Lawrence does not develop into a great player it will not be because of a lack of assiduity in taking lessons. Since Wallace has become professional at Woodmere she has taken one and sometimes two each day. She was starting to take one of these "lessons" when Harding returned.
"See here, Wallace," he said with mock sternness, "I am becoming curious to know if you are professional to our charming young friend or to the club."
"Why, Mr. Harding!" exclaimed Miss Lawrence, blushing furiously. "I have taken only six lessons, and you have no idea how I have improved."
"Without doubt," observed the remorseless millionaire, "but when do I get a lesson? My game has steadily deteriorated since I hit my first ball. As Smith says, I am way off my game."
"I shall be glad to give you a lesson any time to-morrow afternoon, Mr.
Harding," said Wallace.
"All right. You and I will play Smith and Carter, and you put me right as we go along."
That was satisfactory all around and Wallace turned his attention to his fair pupil. I wonder if he is as exacting and she as interested at all times as during the few moments they were under our observation?
"A little nearer the ball," he cautioned her. "Grip firmly but keep the wrists flexible. Let the club-head come back naturally. Be sure and keep the weight of your body on the heels and not on the toes. That's better. Try that back swing again. Do not go so far back. Be sure that at the top of the swing your entire weight is on the right leg, and that the knee is not bent. Do not pause at the top of the stroke. Keep the head perfectly still and your eyes on the ball; not on the top of it, but on the exact spot where you propose to hit it. Now make a practise swing."
Miss Lawrence did so, and it seemed almost perfect to me, but Wallace's keen eyes detected faults.
"That right shoulder dropped a little," he said. "That's a bad fault. Let the right shoulder go straight through. Ah, that was a decided improvement! Now swing and keep that right elbow at least four inches from the body. You let your wrists in too soon, Miss Lawrence. Do not start them to work until you are well down on your stroke. That shoulder dropped again! Don't look up as your club goes through; that is a fatal fault. Fall back on those heels! Keep the back straight, or curved back, if at all. Now we will try it with a ball."
Wallace teed a ball and Miss Lawrence drove a very good one for her. It was straight and a trifle high, but it had a carry of fully 120 yards.
"Didn't I tell you I was improving!" she exclaimed, smiling triumphantly at Mr. Harding. "Mr. Wallace is a splendid teacher."
"Yes, and you are a splendid pupil," returned Mr. Harding, with a knowing smile, "but you give me a chance, or I'll lodge a protest with the board of management."
She laughed, waved her hand mockingly at him, and away they went. I noticed that Wallace was not playing. He carried the clubs and they walked close to each other. He said something and she looked up to his face and smiled. It was evident they had much to talk of, and while I cannot prove it, I am inclined to doubt if their conversation was restricted to the details of the game.
Harding watched them, a quiet smile on his strong, kindly, and rugged face. He was humming the air of an old love song.
"Smith," he said after an interval of silence, "there are only two things in this life really worth having."
"What are they?"
"Youth and health."
"How about love?" I asked.
"Youth and health own love," he replied. "Love is their obedient servant. I thank God that I have not lost my youth or my health."
I was privileged to see this remarkable man for a moment in a new light, one which increased my respect and admiration for him.
When we returned to the club house the veranda was buzzing with gossip. Miss Dangerfield was delighted when she found that I was not acquainted with the cause of the excitement. It gave her a chance to impart the news to one ready to listen, and she was not slow in taking advantage of it.
"Miss Lawrence has refused Mr. LaHume!" she whispered, though she might as well have screamed it through a megaphone, since I was the only one on the veranda in ignorance of it.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I dare not tell," she said, but I knew she would. "If you'll promise not to reveal it to a living soul I'll tell you."
I promised.
"Mr. LaHume told Mr. Chilvers, Mr. Chilvers told Mrs. Chilvers, Mrs. Chilvers told Miss Ross, and Miss Ross told me, so you see that I have it right from the original source."
"And you told me," I said. "Why should the chain stop in so obscure a link. I am dying to tell somebody."
"But you promised not to," Miss Dangerfield protested.
"So did you," I replied.
"It seems that Percy flatly asked her to marry him, and that she flatly refused him," she continued, ignoring my implied threat. "I understand that Mr. LaHume is going to resign from the club."
"Why?" I asked. "Does he not find it effective as a matrimonial agency?"
"I don't know," she said. "There he is now, and he's trying to catch your eye."
I turned and saw LaHume, who signalled that he wished to speak to me. I saw at a glance that he had been drinking. He shoved a piece of paper into my hands.
"There is my resignation from the Woodvale Club," he said, his voice husky, and sullen anger in his dark eyes. LaHume is a handsome fellow, but there is something amiss with him. 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.
"If you think I care to have anything further to do with a club which shelters and encourages low adventurers like this fellow Wallace, you do not know Percy LaHume," he declared, working himself into a fury. "And you and Carter are to blame for it," he concluded.
"I shall refuse to discuss that with you at this time," I calmly replied and abruptly left him.
A few minutes later I saw him striding down the path on the way to the railway station. As luck would have it, Wallace and Miss Lawrence had just left the eighteenth green, and stood chatting near the path which leads to the station. If they saw the approaching LaHume they paid no attention to him. At this moment Carter and Miss Harding joined me and the latter asked what I found so diverting.
"I hope that LaHume will have the sense not to pick a quarrel with Wallace," I said, pointing in his direction. "He is excited and—and nervous."
"Why don't you say it—intoxicated," drawled Carter.
LaHume had reached the professional and his pupil. We saw Wallace lift his cap as LaHume came within a few yards of them. The latter stopped, and though the trio was quite a distance away, we could plainly hear LaHume's voice, but could not make out the words. Wallace made a deprecatory gesture and Miss Lawrence drew herself up and faced LaHume in an attitude of scorn.
I noted that LaHume was gesticulating with his left hand, and that his right arm was lowered and to his back. He kept edging closer to Wallace.
Of a sudden LaHume's right hand swung out and he made a vicious lunge at Wallace. I saw the latter throw up his guard, but it was too far away to tell if the blow had landed. There was a struggle for a second or two, then Wallace pushed him clear, and like lightning I saw his left hand swing across to LaHume's stomach. LaHume was shot back several yards and fell heavily, his feet in the path and his head and shoulders on the turf.
It all happened so quickly that we stood there, spellbound. We saw Miss
Lawrence rush forward and half fall into Wallace's arms. We saw him
stagger to a lawn settee, she still clinging to him and screaming.
LaHume lay as if dead.
These latter details I noticed as Carter and I were running toward them.
Wallace was on his feet before we reached him. He was attempting to calm Miss Lawrence who was moaning, "He has killed him; he has killed him!" I knew she feared for Wallace, but I was much more apprehensive as to the fate of LaHume.
Blood was trickling down the face of the young Scotchman, and its red had stained a handkerchief which Miss Lawrence had pressed to his scalp above his left temple. It was the sight of this which frightened her, but she comported herself with as much bravery as would most women under similar circumstances.
"I'm not much hurt," declared Wallace with a reassuring smile. "It's only a scratch on the scalp. Miss Lawrence is more alarmed than I am injured. I assure you it is nothing."
"LaHume struck him with a knife!" exclaimed Miss Lawrence, recovering her nerve as a wave of anger came to her. "He called Mr. Wallace a coward and a cad, and when Mr. Wallace tried to calm him he struck at him with a knife. Oh, I hope you have killed him!"
[Illustration: "LaHume was shot back several yards">[
"I'm afraid your hope is realised," said Carter, bending over the inert form of LaHume.
"Small fear of that," said Wallace, but I detected a note of apprehension in his voice. "I aimed to disable without seriously injuring him."
As he spoke LaHume moved, groaned and half raised himself. In the meantime a group had gathered, and in it was Doctor Barry, a member of the club. LaHume was conscious but completely dazed. We were much relieved when the doctor said that he was not permanently injured. Ordering two of the servants to take LaHume to the club house and put him to bed, Doctor Barry turned his attention to Wallace.
Despite the spilling of blood the cut was a trifling one, and after giving it simple treatment, the doctor assured Wallace that he could attend to his duties as usual. An hour later the nervy Scotchman was out on the links giving Lawson a lesson.
We picked the knife from the walk near the scene of the encounter. The blow had been aimed at the breast or neck, but Wallace parried it and received the scratch before he could grasp LaHume's wrist. The quick wrench which caused the knife to fly from LaHume's hand fractured one of the small bones in his forearm, as was learned when that desperate young man had more fully recovered.
It was a disagreeable incident, and I take no pleasure in recording it. Wallace immediately tendered his resignation, but Carter and I told him it would not be considered, and I am sure the management will uphold us in that action.
The conduct of Miss Lawrence convinces me that she is much attached to Wallace. Of course, nothing else was talked of during the afternoon and evening.
In the cool of the day Miss Harding accepted my invitation to play "the brook holes," as we call them, and we climbed to the top of "The Eagle's Nest" to watch the sunset.
I helped her up the steep rocks and finally we stood breathless, gazing down on our little world.
"At last we are alone," I said.
It was one of my usual brilliant remarks. There must have been a ring of tragedy or melodrama in my voice, but really I said it only because I could think of nothing else to say at that moment.
Miss Harding looked up with a curious expression in her deep brown eyes and a rather timid smile on her lips. It was as if she were wondering if I meditated hurling myself to the depths below, or if I intended to take this opportunity to launch some tender declaration.
I wish I had the command of language of the garrulous and ever entertaining hero of the popular novel. If I ever propose it will be in writing.
I can see that look of startled curiosity on her pretty face as I write these lines, and the more I think of it, the more am I convinced that she expected something far different from what followed.
I wonder what she would have said or done if I had thrown myself at her feet and passionately declared the love I bear to her? I wonder if those tender lips would have murmured the words which would have raised me to the seventh heaven of happiness, or if she would have firmly said—oh, what is the use of wondering?
"No danger of being hit with a golf ball up here," I said, when she remained silent.
And then she laughed. Since there was nothing witty in my remark she must have been laughing at something else. I have an idea what it was, but I had sense enough to laugh with her.
"Do you know," I said, determined to frame a rational statement, "I believe Miss Lawrence is in love with Mr. Wallace."
"Indeed?" she exclaimed. "And what of Mr. Wallace?"
"I believe Mr. Wallace is in love with Miss Lawrence."
"What a delightful state of affairs!" she laughed. "Nothing then remains but to set the date, celebrate the event and live happily ever afterward."
"I do not say she will marry him," I ventured to qualify. "It probably started as a harmless flirtation on her part, but I really think she cares more for him than she would be willing to admit."
"If she liked him well enough to encourage his attentions, which is a fairly good definition of a harmless flirtation," she said, quite seriously, "and later discovers that she loves him and that he loves her, why should they not marry?"
I think my tactics at this point were rather clever. I saw a chance to obtain her views on a question most vital to me, and I proceeded to do so, but I hope I did not lower myself in her estimation. As I have said before, I think Wallace is good enough for any woman.
"Consider the difference in their stations in life," I interposed. "She has wealth, family, and a high position in society. Of Wallace we know nothing except that he comports himself like a gentleman in reduced circumstances."
"I should imagine that would be the most difficult time to play such a role," Miss Harding said. "We know those who cannot be gentlemen even under the most encouraging circumstances. The greatest happiness which can come to a good woman is to marry the man she loves, and if she allows wealth, position or any other selfish consideration to stand in the way she does not deserve happiness."
"Right you are!" I declared with an enthusiasm which may have betrayed me. "I agree with every word you have said."
"See those perfect yellows against that bar of vivid red," she said, pointing to the west, where the sky quivered with a naming sunset. "See how the light flashes from the windows of the club house! One would think it filled with molten metal. How sharp the old church belfry shows against that mass of golden cloud to the northwest!"
We watched this glorious scene in silence until the upper rim of the sun sank beneath the rounded crest of "Old Baldy." Then I helped her down and we walked slowly back to the club house.
Have I not the right to assume that Miss Harding "likes me well enough to encourage my attentions," which is her definition of a flirtation? I believe I have. I know that other young gentlemen belonging to the club have attempted in vain to compete with me for the favour of her society. All have failed—Carter alone excepted. But recently I have been with her more than has Carter. In fact I fear him less at the present moment than I have at any time. I shall soon know my fate.
For the first time the strain of my stock operations is telling on me. I have now purchased 35,000 shares of N.O. & G., and the market for it closed to-night at 60. If I were forced to settle at this figure I would be about $345,000 loser. If the stock is valueless, as some of the experts are now declaring, I am liable for nearly $2,000,000 more.
I have converted everything except my equity in Woodvale into money, and counting the margins in the hands of my brokers I find that I have nearly $3,000,000. I suppose I could get out with a loss of half a million, and there are moments when my cowardice struggles against me and when I am tempted to abandon this hazardous enterprise.
I shall stick it out, however. I know the conspiracy which has been hatched, and I do not believe they will dare force the price down much lower. I am going to buy another block of ten thousand shares if it continues to decline, and then await developments. If it goes to zero I shall still have a little money left, and I shall have the income from the old farm—but I shall not have the hardihood to ask for the hand of Grace Harding.
You may talk as much as you please but money is a commanding factor in love and marriage. It is all very well for a wealthy man to fall in love and marry a poor girl, but it is an entirely different thing for a poor man to aspire to the hand and heart of a wealthy woman.
Honestly, I don't believe it right that women should be permitted under the law to inherit vast sums of money—at least marriageable women. No man of ordinary means who possesses a proper self-respect will espouse a woman whose income overshadows his own.
I would limit the inheritances of marriageable women to a maximum amount of $100,000. I wish Miss Harding did not have a dollar.
The contest for the Harding Trophy—I mean the bronze, and not the real Harding Trophy—has narrowed down to four of us, Carter, Boyd, Marshall and myself. I have a sort of a premonition that as that 'bronze gent' goes, so will go everything which I hold dear. I am making the fight of my life for it. I play Marshall to-morrow morning.