Life — October 17, 1901 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

A Tie Game. i GIRL,” said Tinkerton, savagely to himself, ‘who will do a thing like that, doesn’t deserve to be loved by any man.”’ He pulled down the frayed edges of a big, fluffy, white sweater over his knees, which almost met his chin as he sat on the ground up against a big tree, and then picked up his well-worn driver, and pounded it angrily up and down on the hard turf. Off in the distance, sharply silhouetted against the green side of a hill, were two fig- ures intent upon their game. “Confound a woman, anyhow !"" he muttered. *‘* She might have waited. One of these high-handed, devil-may- care creatures, ready to fly off at the least thing. Just because ——" He paused suddenly, his eye upon one ot the figures. She had raised half-way to her shoulder an instant before what he took to be her driving mashie, and in the swift half-circle that she made, had sent the ball flying a good seventy-five yards clean and true toward the green, “That was a daisy !'’ ho ejaculated. * I taught her that stroke, too.” He got up and walked over to the green. The two figures came up “ Confound » woman, anybow !"* rapidly. He bowed. ‘How are you, Howard?” he said to the man, half- carelessly. ‘* Good afternoon,” he said to the girl. She took an iron out of the bag, as she nodded to him with a saucy smile, “You mustn’t interrupt us!’ she cried. ‘Don't you know it’s against the rules? And you'll spoil my score.” He did not reply, but his heart jumped fiercely within him. Spoil her game! As if he hadn't made an engagement with her to play with him at eleven o'clock that morning, and as if, just because he had been twenty minutes late, she hadn’t gone off with another fellow. He stood there and watched them putting, with rebellion in his heart. He wouldn't go away now. Not he! He wouldn’t give Howard the satisfaction of knowing hecaredarap. And she? Well, she might have waited. It was the first time he had ever failed her, and surely his excuse had been a good one. She should at least have given him the benefit of the doubt. But no, she had gone off with this other fellow, and left him to shift for himself. They putted out, and he walked to the green, A man in Tinkerton’s frame of mind may always be counted upon to do the wrong thing. Tinkerton did it, “You didn't wait?" he said, inter- rogatively. “For what ?” She smiled back. “Oh, yes, we were to play, weren’t we? Well, some other time. It doesn’t matter, you know.”” He recovered himself by an effort. He had said the wrong thing, he knew, and he also knew her so well as to see that she was angry with him, and took this woman's way of showing it—or rather not showing it. He smiled. It was hard to make that feeble smile come to the surface, but he did it. “Certainly not,” he replied. “Some other day willdo. Don’t let me spoil your chances of a record.” And he walked off over the links toward the club house, bowing as self-consciously as the man always does when he feels that he is no match for the woman. Tinkerton walked into the back room and tossed off a high ball. “Hello, George,” he said to a little, sandy- faced man who poked his nose through the door, ‘Join me?”’ “Thanks,” said George, half sadly. “Can't doit, old man. Tournament, you know. Aren't you in it?” comicbooks.com