The Clicking of Cuthbert

loved, and the golf-widow of another for whom--even when he won a medal

for lowest net at a weekly handicap with a score of a hundred and three

minus twenty-four--she could feel nothing warmer than respect. Those

were dreary days for Betty. We three--she and I and Eddie Denton--often

talked over Mortimer's strange obsession. Denton said that, except that

Mortimer had not come out in pink spots, his symptoms were almost

identical with those of the dreaded mongo-mongo, the scourge of

the West African hinterland. Poor Denton! He had already booked his

passage for Africa, and spent hours looking in the atlas for good

deserts.

In every fever of human affairs there comes at last the crisis. We may

emerge from it healed or we may plunge into still deeper depths of

soul-sickness; but always the crisis comes. I was privileged to be

present when it came in the affairs of Mortimer Sturgis and Betty

Weston.

I had gone into the club-house one afternoon at an hour when it is

usually empty, and the first thing I saw, as I entered the main room,

which looks out on the ninth green, was Mortimer. He was grovelling on

the floor, and I confess that, when I caught sight of him, my heart

stood still. I feared that his reason, sapped by dissipation, had given

way. I knew that for weeks, day in and day out, the niblick had hardly

ever been out of his hand, and no constitution can stand that.

He looked up as he heard my footstep.

"Hallo," he said. "Can you see a ball anywhere?"

"A ball?" I backed away, reaching for the door-handle. "My dear boy," I

said, soothingly, "you have made a mistake. Quite a natural mistake.

One anybody would have made. But, as a matter of fact, this is the

club-house. The links are outside there. Why not come away with me very

quietly and let us see if we can't find some balls on the links? If you

will wait here a moment, I will call up Doctor Smithson. He was telling

me only this morning that he wanted a good spell of ball-hunting to put

him in shape. You don't mind if he joins us?"

"It was a Silver King with my initials on it," Mortimer went on, not

heeding me. "I got on the ninth green in eleven with a nice

mashie-niblick, but my approach-putt was a little too strong. It came

in through that window."

I perceived for the first time that one of the windows facing the

course was broken, and my relief was great. I went down on my knees and

helped him in his search. We ran the ball to earth finally inside the

piano.

"What's the local rule?" inquired Mortimer. "Must I play it where it

lies, or may I tee up and lose a stroke? If I have to play it where it

lies, I suppose a niblick would be the club?"

It was at this moment that Betty came in. One glance at her pale, set

face told me that there was to be a scene, and I would have retired,

but that she was between me and the door.

"Hallo, dear," said Mortimer, greeting her with a friendly waggle of

his niblick. "I'm bunkered in the piano. My approach-putt was a little

strong, and I over-ran the green."

"Mortimer," said the girl, tensely, "I want to ask you one question."

"Yes, dear? I wish, darling, you could have seen my drive at the eighth

just now. It was a pip!"

Betty looked at him steadily.

"Are we engaged," she said, "or are we not?"

"Engaged? Oh, to be married? Why, of course. I tried the open stance

for a change, and----"

"This morning you promised to take me for a ride. You never appeared.

Where were you?"

"Just playing golf."

"Golf! I'm sick of the very name!"

A spasm shook Mortimer.

"You mustn't let people hear you saying things like that!" he said. "I

somehow felt, the moment I began my up-swing, that everything was going

to be all right. I----"

"I'll give you one more chance. Will you take me for a drive in your

car this evening?"

"I can't."

"Why not? What are you doing?"

"Just playing golf!"

"I'm tired of being neglected like this!" cried Betty, stamping her

foot. Poor girl, I saw her point of view. It was bad enough for her

being engaged to the wrong man, without having him treat her as a mere

acquaintance. Her conscience fighting with her love for Eddie Denton

had kept her true to Mortimer, and Mortimer accepted the sacrifice with

an absent-minded carelessness which would have been galling to any

girl. "We might just as well not be engaged at all. You never take me

anywhere."

"I asked you to come with me to watch the Open Championship."

"Why don't you ever take me to dances?"

"I can't dance."

"You could learn."

"But I'm not sure if dancing is a good thing for a fellow's game. You

never hear of any first-class pro. dancing. James Braid doesn't dance."

"Well, my mind's made up. Mortimer, you must choose between golf and

me."

"But, darling, I went round in a hundred and one yesterday. You can't

expect a fellow to give up golf when he's at the top of his game."

"Very well. I have nothing more to say. Our engagement is at an end."

"Don't throw me over, Betty," pleaded Mortimer, and there was that in

his voice which cut me to the heart. "You'll make me so miserable. And,

when I'm miserable, I always slice my approach shots."