Life — November 15, 1900 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

McTWEEDIE'S DEFEAT. All Strategy I Fair in Love and Golf. My blood bolled as McTweedie walked to the tee, carefully placing his ball oa the small mound of sand which had molded with his freckled hand, started todrive off. He was alone. Since my defeat at his hands, McTweedie had assumed an air toward me which plainly sald: “You are not at present on my horizon There was black gall In my heart as { placed my right hand on an aged Silvertown ball and awore, * By the shade of St. Andrew, I will be revenged!”” Bat how? How could I achleve the downfall of the | popular McTwi the man who held all in thrall, whose irreproachable accent had won the recent match with the Glenievit Club, and who had defeated that peerless golfer, | T. Humpkin, of the Airmouth Club? It was, indeed, a hard problem. But Just then McTweedie's caddy looked at me knowingly and placed the forefinger of btw left hand on his } right eye. Ina moment | saw what was meant. McTweedie'a caddy was willing tosell bim out. Here was my opportunity. But could I, as @ true golfer, setze It? Then 1 remembered the scornful glances which Misa Van Bunker Smythe bad thrown at me since my 1goominlous defeat at the hands of this same McTweedte nid oop 1" Leried to McTweedile, as he addressed the ball in that zigzag, professional manner that bad endeared him to all;“ dinna fash yersel’. O1'll play yez." (I am Irish, and at times my dialect falls me.) “OV play yee for } the drinks and for the honor of oubld Scotland “Ye'll do nae ste thing,” replied McTweedle, with his scornful, oatment aintle. By this time, between the difficulties of the two dialects and the haughty alr of McTweedle, | was well nigh crazed. “Hoot 1" L yelled, © fy me pathron saint OF Il bang yez J over the head wit yer ain nibitck If ye dinnat Hoot: Wil ye no coom oop?" - nd, At this last McTweedie glanced at me doubtfully. I looked him squarely tn the eyes, and, holding my caddy bag under my left arm as if it were a bagpipe, hummed twice through, “Ye banks and bracs 0’ Bonnte Doon, how can ye bloom sae fresh und fair?" This fixed McTweedle. He drove off, and | followed. At the frat opportunity I showed the end of @ five-dollar bill to his caddy, and again saw him place the forefluger of his left hand on bis right eye. I knew that all was well, Never have I seen a caddy work so effectively, No matter how well McTweedle drove, brassted, or approached, his ball was always found in the worst posstile position. Occastonally the caddy would deftly place It in the centre of a tuft of grasa. Now and then he would step on tt and sink It half-way In the ground, Three times he lost It, and McTweedte awore at bim Jong and loud In his best accent, Finally | mald : “Ochone, will ye no bully the bain to death?" and McTweedie sild no more. At the thirteenth hole McTweedie was hopelessly beaten. No caddy ever played better than his, Not for one minute was my rival in the game, and, pale with hate, he threw down his clubs at the finish and strode for the locker-house, + Ye'll hae a wee bit nipple o' the Scotch wi’ met" I in. quired sarcastically and tn a tone loud enough for Miss Van Bunker-Smythe to hear. “Aw, gwan,” snatled McTweedie, and [saw with delight the sensitive Miss Van Bunker-Smythe shudder as she heard hia Bowery slang. Here was a chance to apring the unadul- terated Scotch, bat In iy excitement I mixed things. “ Yez played sic extriordinary golf, Alex,” I sald, “that Thae a gude mind ne'er to hae aught todo wid yer. Sivin oop 'n five to play! Would na that jar yez?’? Lasked, turning to Miss Van Bunker-Smythe. Luckily for me that estimable lady was so much affected by my decisive victory over McTweedle that she did not notice my accent, In fact, #0 moved was she that she even forgot her own long “Himmel! she broke forth, “ Wiihelm, was hast éa gethan? Du bistein Held von ausgezetchnetsten Stiel | But at this point my look of amazement and homer stopped her, and she blushed a deep crimson, # color that reminded me of a rowan-berry against the dark loch of Loch Sevin, “ Forgie me,” she sald, brokenly ; and I forgied her, That night, asf satin a dark corner of the verands with Miss Van Bunker-Smythe, I heard her wee voice aay : “But how kam ye sae to defeat Alex ?** I thought o* ye, me lassie.” I replied, ardently, and Miss Van Bunker-Smythe nestled yet closer to me. Far off in the shadow of the first bunker I could hear Me- Tweedle greeting sairly. But cil ts fatrin golf and love, and before that memorable nixht was over Miss Van Banker. Smythe had promised to add yet another byphen to ber name. — Kansas City Star, CyRvs TOWNSEND BRaby tells an amusing story tn his + Recollections of a Missionary In the Great West of a titde boy he knew on the frontier, who belonged to » family who had trained him to belleve in the deep-water form of vaptism and was experimenting with the housebold cat and a backet of water, The animal evidently did not believe tn immersion, for she resisted, bit and scratched until finally the little boy, with his hands covered with scratches and with tears ta bis eyes, gave up the effort to effect the regeneration of the cat. Dog-gone you!" he cried, “go and be an Eptscopal cat {f you want to!" — Exchange. “Witat little boy will tell me why Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt?" asked the Sunday-school teacher, Freddy Filkin’s hand went up, and the good lady nodded to him to give his answer. “ Because she was too fresh." — Pick-Me-Up. 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