The Golf Course Mystery | Page 5

cut
840,612,030 board feet of lumber? What the thirty feet were for I don't
know, but - "
"And I don't care to know," interrupted Tom. "If you spring any more
of those beastly dry figures - Say, there comes something that does
interest me, though!" he broke in with. "Look at those cars take that
turn !"

"Some speed," murmured Garrigan. "It's Bartlett and Poland," he went
on, as a shift of wind blew the dust to one side and revealed the gray
roadster and the Spanish Omelet. "The rivals are at it again."
Bruce Garrigan, who had a name among the golf club members as a
human encyclopaedia, and who, at times, would inform his companions
on almost any subject that chanced to come uppermost, tossed away his
cigarette and, with Tom Sharwell, watched the oncoming automobile
racers.
"They're rivals in more ways than one," remarked Sharwell. "And it
looks, now, as though the captain rather had the edge on Harry, in spite
of the fast color of Harry's car."
"That's right," admitted Garrigan. "Is it true what I've heard about both
of them-that each hopes to place the diamond hoop of proprietorship on
the fair Viola?"
"I guess if you've heard that they're both trying for her, it's true
enough," answered Sharwell. "And it also happens, if that old lady, Mrs.
G. 0. 5. Sipp, is to be believed, that there, also, the captain has the
advantage."
"How's that? I thought Harry had made a tidy sum on that ship-building
project he put through."
"He did, but it seems that he and his family have a penchant for doing
that sort of thing, and, some years ago, in one of the big mergers in
which his family took a prominent part, they, or some one connected
with them, pinched the Honorable Horace Carwell so that he squealed
for mercy like a lamb led to the Wall street slaughter house."
"So that's the game, is it?"
"Yes. And ever since then, though Viola Carwell has been just as nice
to Harry as she has to Gerry - as far as any one can tell-there has been
talk that Harry is persona non grata as far as her father goes. He never
forgives any business beat, I understand."

"Was it anything serious?" asked Garrigan, as they watched the racing
automobiles swing around the turn of the road that led to the clubhouse.
"I don't know the particulars. It was before my time - I mean before I
paid much attention to business."
"Rot! You don't now. You only think you do. But I'm interested. I
expect to have some business dealing with Carwell myself, and if I
could get a line - "
"Sorry, but I can't help you out, old man. Better see Harry. He knows
the whole story, and he insists that it was all straight on his relatives'
part. But it's like shaking a mince pie at a Thanksgiving turkey to
mention the matter to Carwell. He hasn't gone so far as to forbid Harry
the house, but there's a bit of coldness just the same."
"I see. And that's why the captain has the inside edge on the love game.
Well, Miss Carwell has a mind of her own, I fancy."
"Indeed she has! She's more like her mother used to be. I remember
Mrs. Carwell when I was a boy. She was a dear, somewhat
conventional lady. How she ever came to take up with the sporty
Horace, or he with her, was a seven-days' wonder. But they lived
happily, I believe."
"Then Mrs. Carwell is dead?"
"Oh, yes-some years. Mr. Carwell's sister, Miss Mary, keeps The
Haven up to date for him. You've been there?"
"Once, at a reception. I'm not on the regular calling list, though Miss
Viola is pretty enough to - "
"Look out !" suddenly cried Sharwell, as though appealing to the two
automobilists, far off as they were. For the yellow car made a sudden
swerve and seemed about to turn turtle.
But Bartlett skillfully brought the Spanish Omelet back on the road

again, and swung up alongside his rival for the home stretch-the broad
highway that ran in front of the clubhouse.
The players who were soon to start out on the links; the guests, the
gallery, and the servants gathered to see the finish of the impromptu
race, murmurs arising as it was seen how close it was likely to be. And
close it was, for when the two machines, with doleful whinings of
brakes, came to a stop in front of the house, the front wheels were in
such perfect alignment that there was scarcely an inch of difference.
"A dead heat !" exclaimed Bartlett, as he leaped out and motioned for
one of the servants to take