ENTRY NO. XII
THE ST. ANDREWS SWING
A week has passed since I made the last entry in this diary, and a number of peculiar things have happened.
My brokers have brought an additional 10,000 shares of N.O. & G., which brings my speculative holdings to a total of 25,000 shares. They acquired the last block at an average price of 65, and the market closed to-night at 63. If I were to settle at this figure I would be loser to the amount of $150,000, not including the $23,000 lost on the first two thousand shares purchased, on which I have taken my losses. Counting commissions and interest I am about $175,000 to the bad, but am not in the least worried.
My brokers are now placing their orders through houses in other cities, and I am certain the extent of my operations is a secret beyond the slightest question.
The qualifying round for the "Harding Trophy" brought out the largest field of players in the history of our club competitions. Of course most of those who started declared that they had no expectation of winning, or even of qualifying in the first sixteen. For instance, there was Peabody, whose best medal score is 112.
"Are you going to play for that bronze gent?" demanded Chilvers, as
Peabody came to the first tee.
"Thought I might just as well enter," said Peabody. "Of course I know I haven't a chance in the world to win."
"You never can tell," said Chilvers, his face solemn as an owl. Chilvers is a merciless "kidder."
"That's right," admitted Peabody.