“Because,” she said, “I shall need my two devoted friends this summer; need them perhaps as never before.”
I am bound to confess, however, that on our return to Penzance Tish’s first outdoor work at golf was a disappointment. She had a small ritual when getting ready; thus she would say, firmly, suiting the action to the phrase: “Tee ball. Feet in line with ball, advance right foot six inches, place club, overlap right thumb over left thumb, drop arms, left wrist rigid, head down, eye on the ball, shoulders steady, body still. Drive!” Having driven she then stood and counted five slowly before looking up.
At first, however, she did not hit the ball, or would send it only a short distance. But she worked all day, every day, and we soon saw a great improvement. As she had prophesied, she used us a great deal. For instance, to steady her nerves she would have us speak to her when driving, and even fire a revolver out toward the lake.
We were obliged to stop this, however, for we were in the habit of using the barrel buoy of the people next door to shoot at, until we learned that it was really not a buoy at all, but some fine old whiskey which they were thus concealing, and which leaked out through the bullet holes.
We were glad to find that Nettie Lynn and Bobby were better friends than they had been the year before, and to see his relief when Tish told him to give up his attempts at golf altogether.
“I shall defeat her so ignominiously, Bobby,” she said, “that she will never wish to hear of the game again.”
“You’re a great woman, Miss Carberry,” he said solemnly.
“But you, too, must do your part.”
“Sure I’ll do my part. Name it to me, and that is all.”
But he looked grave when she told him.