A TIE

New Zealand Mail, 29 January 1902, Page 6

A TIE

“A girl,” said Tinkerton, savagely to himself, “who will do a thing like that, doesn’t deserved to be loved by aD ?- man.” , id - He pulled down savagely the fray , edges of a big, fluffy, white sweater) and sat down against a big tree, a then picked up his well-worn driver, a thumped it angrily up and down on . hard turf. Off in the distance, sharpy silhouetted against the green s i“ e ,? u ‘ hill, were two figures intent on t Came- . b g “Confound a woman, anyhow. . ‘ muttered. “She might have waJ ' One of these high-handed, devi - care creatures, ready to fly. on a r least thing. Just because . . ono He paused suddenly, his eye up of the figures. She had raised ha to her shoulder an instant boun® j he took to be her driving mash > in the swift half-circle that had sent tbo ball flying a £ 00 “ ®j, five yards clean and true tow “'"That was a goo.l one!” | ed. “I taught her that strok , He got up and walked ove

The two figures came up rapidgreen- , a llO , ly ‘«TT?w are you, Howard?” lie said to baif-ca’rclessly- “Good aftertbL ”he said to the girl. D °qh’ e took an iron out of the bag as .he nodded to him with a saucy smile. ‘‘ V 'U mustn’t interrupt us,” she cried. blWt you know it’s against the rules? S you’ll spoil my score.” ' He did not reply, but liis heart juinpVfiercely within him. Spoil her game? if he hadn’t made an engagement *ith her to play with him at eleven „,„ ln( . k that morning, and as if, 311st because lie had been twenty minutes fate she hadn’t gone off with another Slow 1 He stood there and watched them putting, with rebellion m us VLrt He wouldn’t go away now. Not u, He wouldn’t give Howard the satisfaction of knowing he cared a rap And he ? Well, -she might have waited. It was the first time lie had ever failed her and surely his e.yfcuse had been a coo’d one. Slio should at least have civen him the benefit of the doubt. But no- she had gone oif with this other fellow, and left him to shift for himself. x.'They putted out, and ho walked to the green. A man in Tmkeiton s frame or mind may always be counted upon to do the wrong tiling. Tinkerton did it- - , ■ i • ‘■You didn’t wait?” he said interrogatively ~ i: 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,” lie replied. “Some other day will do. Don’t let me spoil your chances of a record.” And he walked ovc-r the links towards the club house, bowing as selfconsciously as a man always does when he feels that lie is no match for the woman. Tinkerton walked into the back room and tossed off a cocktail. “Hello, George!” lie said, to a little, sandy faced man, who poked his nose through the door. “Join me?” “Thanks,” said George, half sadly. “Can’t do it old man. Tournament, you know. Aren’t you in it?”- >, Tinkerton half turned round. “Tournament ?” he said. “I didn’t know this was tournament day.” “Oh,” replied George, “the boys and girls got it up just for fun this morning. Everybody in, you know. Better play a round. May win.” Tinkerton strode out on the porch. “Hang that cocktail!” lie said. “It will lower my score by ten. Never mind. There’s nothing else to do, since that girl—.” He sat down and waxed reminiscent. “How the deuce was I to know,” oe said to himself, “that that kiu brotner oi mine would fall off his bicycle and break his arm and keep me back half an hour? But that isn’t what hurts me. To think that girl couldn’t trust me a minute! To think she wouldn’t wait until I had come and x explained the matter! Well, if she’s that Kind of a girl, she can go, that’s all. Plenty more in the sea.” The worst of it was that Tinkerton knew there were not. Just then his caddie came up. “Here, Bud,” he said, impuLsively, “take the bag, and get out ahead. I might as well be floating around the links as eating niy heart out.” He got up, took a ball out of his pocket, put it on the tee, swung round, and followed with liis eye the white spot as it circled through the air. “That’s short of a hundred and fifty,” he said to himself, critically, as he strode, out over the red-coated green. And the girl? She knew she was wrong the moment he left them. She knew she should .Tf waited for him, and she knew so well by his face, by the intonation of his voice, by something—that his reason for being late was a good one. She had been impulsive. She hated herself at times for that. But she couldn’t have helped it. He didn’t come, and, and well, it was horrid of him, she thought, to keep her, her, waiting—to subject her to this slight strain of her vanity. She was not used to being kept waiting. And so she had gone otf with the other man. And yet—she was wrong. Oh, yes, she knew she was wrong. If she only had waited, and a him explain! It must have been se f ious - What was it? But ltr» n 10rr hl °f him to show so plainJ ® shouldn’t have done it. He KJJ waited for her to explain eo nff ' 1° 1 ’ these impulsive men! To to l° f , a tail K cnt ! She wanted him thev P atie nt, and then when right hf a one why, it would be all he all 2i, 1 r i r en ,V Now ' it might not together 5 Sh? r!' She set her teeth angry c, „ 6 dldn care. She was him at was a,l K r y at herself, at

“It is your stroke,” Mr Howard was saying, politely. “Yes,” she said, in answer, “so it is.” ' She chose her club deliberately, and lofted over the bunker as if it were the ! easiest thing in the world, as if that particular bunker had not- always before , been her Waterloo. Two men passed by. “Miss Gillson is playing the game of her life,” said one man to tlie other, as they watched the stroke. ***** She was sitting on the porch as Tinkerton came up from the last green with his score card in his hand. There was a group around her. George was jubilant. i “What do you think?” lie exclaimed to Tinkerton. “Miss Gillson did it in ninety-nine. Isn’t it great? The best yet. That makes her score eighty-nine net, -with the handicap off. And there’s lno one else out except you. What’s | your score ?” ; Tinkerton turned red. .“Rotten!” he ■ said. He took George aside. “It was . the cocktail that did it,” he whispered. George looked ,at the card. “Hello!” he said, “'why, you’re eighty nine. It’s a tie!” ; There was a hubbub. “Play it over!” j “Toss up a coin!” and other suggestions ; were heard. At the end slip came for- : ward, and they faced each other. ! “It’s your game,” he said, quietly. I “Not at all,” she demurred. “Why i should it be ?” j “Plaj f out one hole if you want to,” said George, “with a handicap, of J course. That’ll settle it.” Tinkerton only smiled “It’s your | game,” he repeated, i “But why?” she asked. He looked her in the eye. “My score doesn’t count,” he said. “It’s one of the rules that a player in a match game shall have his score kept by some one else.” “And you?” she queried.a ! “I was alone —as you know,” he replied. “I don’t care,” she exclaimed, her old impulsiveness rising up. “I shan’t accept the prize. I don’t think it’s fair. Just because ” The captain of the greens committee came up. “If you will allow me,” he said, “I would suggest that you both play over one hole and decide the matter in that way. It is a rule that the scores in a i match game should be kept by some ! one else besides the player, but I think in this case we all know that ! Tinkerton is perfectly square. What do you say, Miss Gillson?” ! She smiled back. j “I am perfectly willing,” she said, “if it is agreeable to Mr Tinkerton.” • It was a supreme moment. Tinlcerton felt that he had the situation well I in hand. He looked at his watch. “Pardon me,” he said, somewhat hurriedly, “but I must go. My young brother fell off his bicycle this morning and broke his arm, and I promised to be back in two hours. I shouldn’t have come out at all if I had not had an engagement.” He turned to her. “But though I must run along,” he said, “if agreeable to you, I will select

a substitute to decide the matter. Howard, will you take my place, and decide this important matter?” ‘‘Why, certainly, old man,” said Howard. Tinkerton bowed. “Good afternoon,” he said. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. * t. * * o Tinkerton’s younger brother sat up in bed, with three feet of splints on one arm and rings under his eyes. Tinkerton had been reading to him half an hour. “What horrible stuff they do put out nowadays,” he said, throwing the book down. “Jimmy, you’ll be more careful next time, I’ve no doubt, when you try to play touch with a brewer’s dray.” “You bet I will,” said Jimmy," feebly. There was a knock. “Come in.” said Tinkerton. She came in. “They told me,” she said, “to come straight up —that you were reading to Jimmy. You poor boy ! I’m so sorry.’’ She went over and put an arm around him. He was only fourteen. Tinkerton offered her a chair. She turned and faced him. “Well,” he said, slowly, “who won?” There was a ring in his voice. It meant more than the game. She put her hand forward instinctively to meet his. “You did,” she said.