The Golf Course Mystery | Page 6

asked, turning to the Human Encyclopedia.
"Only some of the novices. And, speaking of novices, do you know that in Scotland there are fourteen thousand, seven hundred - "
"Cut it, Bruce! Cut it !" begged the captain. "Sit in - you and Tom - and we'll make it two bottles. Anything to choke off your flow of useless statistics!" and he laughed good-naturedly.
"When does the cup-winners' match start?" asked Bartlett, as the four young men sat about the table under the veranda. "That's the one I'm interested in."
"In about an hour," announced Sharwell, as he consulted a card. "Hardly any of the veterans are here yet."
"Has Mr. Carwell arrived?" asked Captain Poland, as he raised his glass and seemed to be studying the bubbles that spiraled upward from the hollow stem.
"You'll know when he gets here," answered Bruce Garrigan.
"How so?" asked the captain. "Does he have an official announcer?"
"No, but you'll hear his car before you see it."
"New horn?"
"No, new car-new color-new everything!" said Garrigan. "He's just bought a new ten thousand dollar French car, and it's painted red, white and blue, and-"
"Red, white and blue?" chorused the other three men.
"Yes. Very patriotic. His friends don't know whether he's honoring Uncle Sam or the French Republic. However, it's all the same. His car is a wonder."
"I must have a brush with him !" murmured Captain Poland.
"Don't. You'll lose out," advised Garrigan. "It can do eighty on fourth speed, and Carwell is sporty enough to slip it into that gear if he needed to."
"Um! Guess I'll wait until I get my new machine, then," decided the captain.
There was more talk, but Bartlett gradually dropped out of the conversation and went to walk about the club grounds.
Maraposa was a social, as well as a golfing, club, and the scene of many dances and other affairs. It lay a few miles back from the shore near Lakeside, in New Jersey. The clubhouse was large and elaborate, and the grounds around it were spacious and well laid out.
Not far away was Loch Harbor, where the yachts of the club of which Captain Gerry Poland was president anchored, and a mile or so in the opposite direction was Lake Tacoma, on the shore of which was Lakeside. A rather exclusive colony summered there, the hotel numbering many wealthy persons among its patrons.
Harry Bartlett, rather wishing he had gone in for golf more devotedly, was wandering about, casually greeting friends and acquaintances, when he heard his name called from the cool and shady depths of a summer-house on the edge of the golf links.
"Oh, Minnie! How are you ?" he cordially greeted a rather tall and dark girl who extended her slim hand to him. "I didn't expect to see you today."
"Oh, I take in all the big matches, though I don't play much myself," answered Minnie Webb. "I'm surprised to find you without a caddy, though, Harry."
"Too lazy, I'm afraid. I'm going to join the gallery to-day. Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'll sit in here and help you keep cool."
"It isn't very hard to do that to-day," and she moved over to make room for him. "Isn't it just perfect weather!"
At one time Minnie Webb and Harry Bartlett had been very close friends - engaged some rumors had it. But now they were jolly good companions, that was all.
"Seen the Carwells' new machine?" asked Bartlett.
"No, but I've heard about it. I presume they'll drive up in it to-day."
"Does Viola run it?"
"I haven't heard. It's a powerful machine, some one said-more of a racer than a touring car, Mr. Blossom was remarking."
"Well, he ought to know. I understand he's soon to be taken into partnership with Mr. Carwell."
"I don't know," murmured Minnie, and she seemed suddenly very much interested in the vein structure of a leaf she pulled from a vine that covered the summer-house.
Bartlett smiled. Gossip had it that Minnie Webb and Le Grand Blossom, Mr. Carwell's private secretary, were engaged. But there had been no formal announcement, though the two had been seen together more frequently of late than mere friendship would warrant.
There was a stir in front of the clubhouse, followed by a murmur of voices, and Minnie, peering through a space in the vines, announced:
"There's the big car now. Oh, I don't like that color at all! I'm as patriotic as any one, but to daub a perfectly good car up like that - well, it's - "
"Sporty, I suppose Carwell thinks," finished Bartlett. He had risen as though to leave the summerhouse, but as he saw Captain Poland step up and offer his hand to Viola Carwell, he drew back and again sat down beside Minnie.
A group gathered about the big French car, obviously to the delight of Mr. Carwell, who was proud of the furor created by his latest purchase.
Though