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interesting and close。
Horace Carwell was a 〃sport；〃 in every meaning of the term。 Though
a man well along in his forties； he was as lithe and active as one ten years
younger。 He motored； fished； played golf； hunted； and of late had added
yachting to his amusements。 He was wealthy； as his father had been
before him； and owned a fine home in New York； but he spent a large part
of every year at Lakeside； where he might enjoy the two sports he loved
best…golfing and yachting。 Viola was an only child； her mother having
died when she was about sixteen； and since then Mr。 Carwell's maiden
sister had kept watch and ward over the handsome home； The Haven。
Viola； though loving her father with the natural affection of a daughter and
some of the love she had lavished on her mother； was not altogether in
sympathy with the sporting proclivities of Mr。 Carwell。
True； she accompanied him to his golf games and sailed with him or
rode in his big car almost as often as he asked her。 And she thoroughly
enjoyed these things。 But what she did not enjoy was the rather too
jovial comradeship that followed on the part of the men and women her
father associated with。 He was a good liver and a good spender； and he
liked to have about him such persons…men 〃sleek and fat；〃 who if they did
not 〃sleep o' nights；〃 at least had the happy faculty of turning night into
day for their own amusement。
So； in a measure； Viola and her father were out of sympathy； as had
been husband and wife before her； though there had never been a whisper
of real incompatibility； nor was there now； between father and daughter。
〃Fore！〃
It was the warning cry from the first tee to clear the course for the start
of the cup…winners' match。 In anticipation of some remarkable playing；
an unusually large gallery would follow the contestants around。 The best
caddies had been selected； clubs had been looked to with care and tested；
new balls were got out； and there was much subdued excitement； as
befitted the occasion。
Mr。 Carwell； his always flushed face perhaps a trifle more like a mild
sunset than ever； strolled to the first tee。 He swung his driver with
freedom and ease to make sure it was the one that best suited him； and
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THE GOLF COURSE MYSTERY
then turned to Major Wardell； his chief rival。 〃Do you want to take any
more？〃 he asked meaningly。
〃No； thank you；〃 was the laughing response。 〃I've got all I can carry。
Not that I'm going to let you beat me； but I'm always a stroke or two off in
my play when the sun's too bright； as it is now。 However； I'm not
crawling。〃
〃You'd better not ！〃 declared his rival。 As for me； the brighter the sun
the better I like it。 Well； are we all ready？〃
The officials held a last consultation and announced that play might
start。 Mr。 Carwell was to lead。
The first hole was not the longest in the course；but to place one's ball
on fair ground meant driving very surely； and for a longer distance than
most players liked to think about。 Also a short distance from the tee was
a deep ravine； and unless one cleared that it was a handicap hard to
overcome。
Mr。 Carwell made his little tee of sand with care； and placed the ball
on the apex。 Then he took his place and glanced back for a moment to
where Viola stood between Captain Poland and Harry Bartlett。
Something like a little frown gathered on the face of Horace Carwell as he
noted the presence of Bartlett； but it passed almost at once。
〃Well； here goes； ladies and gentlemen！〃 exclaimed Mr。 Carwell in
rather loud tones and with a free and easy manner he did not often assume。
〃Here's where I bring home the bacon and make my friend； the major； eat
humble pie。〃
Viola flushed。 It was not like her father to thus boast。 On the
contrary he was usually what the Scotch call a 〃canny〃 player。 He never
predicted that he was going to win； except； perhaps； to his close friends。
But he was now boasting like the veriest schoolboy。
〃Here I go！〃 he exclaimed again； and then he swung at the ball with
his well…known skill。
It was a marvelous drive； and the murmurs of approbation that greeted
it seemed to please Mr。 Carwell。
〃Let's see anybody beat that！〃 he cried as he stepped off the tee to give
place to Major Wardell。
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THE GOLF COURSE MYSTERY
Mr。 Carwell's white ball had sailed well up on the putting green of the
first hole； a shot seldom made at Maraposa。
〃A few more strokes like that and he'll win the match；〃 murmured
Bartlett。
〃And when he does； don't forget what I told you；〃 whispered Viola to
him。
He found her hand； hidden at her side in the folds of her dress； and
pressed it。 She smiled up at him； and then they watched the major swing
at his ball。
〃It's going to be a corking match；〃 murmured more than one member
of the gallery； as they followed the players down the field。
〃If any one asked me； I should say that Carwell had taken just a little
too much champagne to make his strokes true toward the last hole；〃 said
Tom Sharwell to Bruce Garrigan。
〃Perhaps；〃 was the admission。 〃But I'd like to see him win。 And；
for the sake of saying something； let me inform you that in Africa last year
there were used in nose rings alone for the natives seventeen thousand four
hundred and twenty…one pounds of copper wire。 While for anklets … 〃
〃I'll buy you a drink if you chop it off short！〃 offered Sharwell。
〃Taken ！〃 exclaimed Garrigan； with a grin。
The cup play went on； the four contestants being well matched； and
the shots duly applauded from hole to hole。
The turn was made and the homeward course began； with the
excitement increasing as it was seen that there would be the closest
possible finish； between the major and Mr。 Carwell at least。
〃What's the row over there？〃 asked Bartlett suddenly； as he walked
along with Viola and Captain Poland。
〃Where？〃 inquired the captain。
〃Among those autos。 Looks as if one was on fire。〃
〃It does；〃 agreed Viola。 〃But I can see our patriotic palfrey； so I
guess it's all right。 There are enough people over there； anyhow。 But it
issomething！〃
There was a dense cloud of smoke hovering over the place where
some of the many automobiles were parked at one corner of the course。
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THE GOLF COURSE MYSTERY
Still it might be some one starting his machine； with too much oil being
burned in the cylinders。
〃Now for the last hole！〃 exulted Mr。 Carwell； as they approached the
eighteenth。 〃I've got you two strokes now； Major； and I'll have you
fourby the end of the match。〃
〃I'm not so sure of that；〃 was the laughing and good…natured reply。
There was silence in the gallery while the players made ready for the
last hole。
There was a sharp impact as Mr。 Carwell's driver struck the little white
ball and sent it sailing in a graceful curve well toward the last hole。
〃A marvelous shot！〃 exclaimed Captain Poland。 〃On the green again！
Another like that and he'll win the game！〃
〃And I can do it； too！〃 boasted Carwell； who overheard what was said。
The others drove off in turn； and the play reached the final stage of
putting。 Viola turned as though to go over and see what the trouble was
among the automobiles。 She looked back as she saw her father stoop to
send the ball into the little depressed cup。 She felt sure that he would win；
for she had kept a record of his strokes and those of his opponents。 The
game was all but over。
〃I wonder if there can be anything the matter with our car？〃 mused
Viola； as she saw the smoke growing denser。 〃Dad's won； so I'm going
over to see。 Perhaps that ch