FullReads

Into the basking warmth of the day there had crept, with the approach of evening, that heartening crispness which heralds the advent of autumn. Already, in the valley by the ninth tee, some of the trees had begun to try on strange colours, in tentative experiment against the coming of nature’s annual fancy dress ball, when the soberest tree casts off its workaday suit of green and plunges into a riot of reds and yellows. On the terrace in front of the club-house an occasional withered leaf fluttered down on the table where the Oldest Member sat, sipping a thoughtful seltzer and lemon and listening with courteous gravity to a young man in a sweater and golf breeches who occupied the neighbouring chair.

“She is a dear girl,” said the young man a little moodily, “a dear girl in every respect. But somehow–I don’t know–when I see her playing golf I can’t help thinking that woman’s place is in the home.”

The Oldest Member inclined his frosted head.

“You think,” he said, “that lovely woman loses in queenly dignity when she fails to slam the ball squarely on the meat?”

“I don’t mind her missing the pill,” said the young man. “But I think her attitude toward the game is too light-hearted.”

“Perhaps it cloaks a deeper feeling. One of the noblest women I ever knew used to laugh merrily when she foozled a short putt. It was only later, when I learned that in the privacy of her home she would weep bitterly and bite holes in the sofa cushions, that I realized that she did but wear the mask. Continue to encourage your fiancee to play the game, my boy. Much happiness will reward you. I could tell you a story—-“

A young woman of singular beauty and rather statuesque appearance came out of the club-house carrying a baby swaddled in flannel. As she drew near the table she said to the baby:

“Chicketty wicketty wicketty wipsey pop!”

In other respects her intelligence appeared to be above the ordinary.

“Isn’t he a darling!” she said, addressing the Oldest Member.

The Sage cast a meditative eye upon the infant. Except to the eye of love, it looked like a skinned poached egg.

“Unquestionably so,” he replied.

“Don’t you think he looks more like his father every day?”

For a brief instant the Oldest Member seemed to hesitate.

“Assuredly!” he said. “Is your husband out on the links today?”

“Not today. He had to see Wilberforce off on the train to Scotland.”

“Your brother is going to Scotland?”

“Yes. Ramsden has such a high opinion of the schools up there. I did say that Scotland was a long way off, and he said yes, that had occurred to him, but that we must make sacrifices for Willie’s good. He was very brave and cheerful about it. Well, I mustn’t stay. There’s quite a nip in the air, and Rammikins will get a nasty cold in his precious little button of a nose if I don’t walk him about. Say ‘Bye-bye’ to the gentleman, Rammy!”

The Oldest Member watched her go thoughtfully.

“There is a nip in the air,” he said, “and, unlike our late acquaintance in the flannel, I am not in my first youth. Come with me, I want to show you something.”

He led the way into the club-house, and paused before the wall of the smoking-room. This was decorated from top to bottom with bold caricatures of members of the club.

“These,” he said, “are the work of a young newspaper artist who belongs here. A clever fellow. He has caught the expressions of these men wonderfully. His only failure, indeed, is that picture of myself.” He regarded it with distaste, and a touch of asperity crept into his manner. “I don’t know why the committee lets it stay there,” he said, irritably. “It isn’t a bit like.” He recovered himself. “But all the others are excellent, excellent, though I believe many of the subjects are under the erroneous impression that they bear no resemblance to the originals. Here is the picture I wished to show you. That is Ramsden Waters, the husband of the lady who has just left us.”