Holworthy Hall

“ She was n't cognizant of golfing morals; she did n't fully grasp Meredith's overwhelming infatuation for golf; all she knew was that here were prizes, and that specifically she wanted one of them and no other. Palpably, she thought that he was unreasonable and perhaps a trifle stubborn.
"But I want you to play," she insisted. "I just want you to win me something for a remembrance. Can't you play for whatever prize you like?"
"Not exactly," said Meredith. "Of course it's humanly possible to try to win any definite trophy, but—"
"Then I want the card-tray," said Miss Winsted, firmly. ”

“ Miss Winsted bestowed a final look of farewell upon the plain little tray she had coveted. As for the inkstand, she could n't remotely imagine it in her own room or anywhere in her house; it properly belonged on a huge desk in a club library. But, after all, it had a significance which formerly had escaped her. In any event. Meredith would merely be complying with the usual custom if he bought her an engagement gift instead of winning one.
"You play the best you can," she said impulsively. "I don't care if it's for a platter or an inkstand or an egg-cup, you do your best, Dicky!" ”

“ They could play golf.
But after Osborne had drawn first blood, Meredith's temper changed, and he was very ready to dispose of his excess of vivacity. By another hole or two he recognized the fact that he was playing against a man who also was worthy of the championship division. Instead of resorting to strange expedients in order to lose, he must force himself to the extreme in order to win. ”

“ The sand was obdurate. Meredith, flailing vigorously, played four and five and six. His seventh shot was a masterpiece of destructive engineering; his eighth extricated him nicely; he was on in ten and down in an exact dozen, and his score for the first three holes was twenty-three. Yesterday he had placed them for a total of thirteen.
"Too bad! Darned tough luck!" said Scott. "I never saw a worse lie than that in my life. It was impossible."
Meredith, who in his absorption had forgotten all about the hypocrisy to which he had consecrated this round, grinned broadly. ”

“ He was warning himself not to repeat the error of putting too softly; and as he made the injunction permanent, he recalled Miss Winsted's grotesque attempt on the practice green, when she had sent her ball traveling out to the roadway. It may have been this image which misled him, for his shot was too powerful by the slightest of margins; the ball struck the back of the cup and bounded over by an inch or two, and Meredith groaned inwardly with astonishment and chagrin.
"Your hole," he granted, crushing down his wrath.
"Too bad!" sympathized Osborne. "You 're beating yourself; I'm not." ”

“ Each stroke is a direct attack upon the opponent's poise. Each shot has not only a purpose in itself; it also aims to produce a definite effect upon the adversary. It is a species of moral assault and battery, a duel of nerves and reflexes. And Osborne and Meredith, both students of the game and craftsmen of it, fought to the ninth on even terms.
It was at the tenth hole that Meredith's luck deluded him. He had driven far over the pond hazard and up the hill, and his second shot was a scant yard from the cup. ”

“ Meredith scowled. If he played safely, he had a sure six; but two of the other men were dead to the hole, one had a six-foot putt, and the most distant ball belonged to the player who was on in three. There was a certainty, then, that Meredith could hope for nothing better than a miscue by one of those who lay dead. The six-foot putt, if missed, would result in at least a six, and two sixes would thereby be scored against three potential fives. There was n't one chance in a million, however, that either of the men who lay dead would miscue. ”

“ Side by side they pushed on past the yawning trap; Meredith reached the green in six to Sears's seven; both took two putts and broke for the club-house without lingering in the open air for any hand-shaking formalities that could be fully as well performed in front of an open fire. But Meredith had gained the finals, and the card-tray was Miss Winsted's if he chose to take it for her. ”

“ Although he had n't by any means lost his sense of humor, Meredith was beginning to be vaguely troubled. Miss Winsted was so positive, so unyielding in her innocence. There was something almost pathetic in her deprecation of glory and her predilection for the chaste little tray, and he adored her for it; but he had been a golfer long before he became a fiancé.
"I'm sorry, dear." he said kindly, "but I have to play for the other one, you know. It is n't exactly ethical to go out for anything but the best."
Miss Winsted, whose ignorance of golf was colossal, lifted her face to his. ”

“ He would refresh himself spiritually as well as physically. He would rest for the afternoon, and tee off to-morrow with no handicap of nerves or staleness. So he quitted the club-house without lingering to analyze his score, and walked back toward the hotel; and when on the way he encountered Miss Winsted feeding loaf-sugar to the fawns in the tiny deer-inclosure, he realized at once that the meeting was providential. ”

“ On Thursday Meredith met the type of golfer who never plajs under eighty or over ninety, the hardest possible opponent for a nervous man to beat. And Meredith was nervous, largely because he felt that Miss Winsted, who was following the match, would judge him and judge the game by her first impressions. ”

“ Meredith was startled, but he respected her ingenuousness, and spoke with great courtesy.
"But, my dear, the big one is the President's trophy!"
Miss Winsted was utterly unimpressed.
"You could n't very well give me a steak-platter for an engagement present," she said, with a ripple of laughter. "Why, Dicky! But I'd love to have you win that little tray for me. It's so nice and repressed. And everything else there is here is just—blatant."
"That little tray," said Meredith, examining it indulgently, "is for the runner-up of the second flight." ”

“ Valentine's in comparison with matrimony? He had been longing to demonstrate his love for her; could there be a greater renunciation than this? Could there be loftier heroism than to slay his ambitions for her sake? ”

“ Osborne's told everybody about it," she said quietly. "He says he would n't have known about your touching your ball if you had n't told him yourself; and even if you did n't win, it's a consolation to know you lost like that, is n't it? By penalizing yourself when you need n't have—"
"Also," said Meredith not too truthfully, "to give you the present you picked out. And to have you take up golf as a result of this tournament. I 'll remember it always." He remained staring into vacancy until Miss Winsted pinched his elbow and brought him back to earth. ”

“ Meredith's gesture was negative, but not impatient.
"But, Eleanor, I'm not joking; I'm serious. You don't know the first thing about tournaments, do you? So you 'll have to take my word for it; golf is n't that sort of game. Everybody does his best, and takes what comes to him. I—"
"But it's only a game, is n't it?" Her emphasis was pregnant.
"Yes—and no."
"Then I should think," said Miss Winsted, judgmatically, "that if you have all the fun of playing, and if you 're so anxious to call this an engagement present, you'd want to let me have my card-tray." ”

“ The result of this sound preparation was that Meredith, without achieving any notoriety, was habitually under eighty on his solitary rounds; but partly because he had so relentlessly effaced himself, and partly because his collegiate reputation had n't preceded him to the Carolinas, he was still registered at the club-house in Class B, which, being interpreted according to the equable Pinehurst system, required him to qualify not lower than the second flight in any tournament or be disfranchised. ”

“ Miss Winsted putted clear across the sand, across the adjoining green into the roadway.
"Let me try another, Dicky," she demanded, coloring.
"Not so hard," he admonished. "Remember, it's only about ten feet. Swing like this. I want you to feel the club."
Miss Winsted putted eight inches.
"We 'll go a little nearer, dear. That's fine. Now putt!"
Miss Winsted obediently shoved the ball, and pushed it into the hole. The blade of the putter descended with it and jammed. Miss Winsted was outspokenly delighted.
"But you must n't push it," expostulated Meredith. "See, like this." ”

“ He did n't turn in forty-six,—he was forty-seven,—but it was a gross indentation of the sand of the ninth green which robbed him of his par three. For six successive holes he had played to the card; he was indubitably certain that he could come in under forty; he would have both the satisfaction of good golf and of Miss Winsted's praise ”