John Henry Smith

by W. W. Jacobs

  ENTRY NO. XXII

  I AM UTTERLY MISERABLE

  _On Board "Oceanic," East-bound._

  I may as well finish the sentence which ends brokenly in the precedingentry. "I am _an ass_."

  Three weeks have passed since I finished that entry with the mostappropriate words, "I am." They fittingly express the consummate egoismwith which I was then afflicted. I have recovered--partially, at least.

  I am--there goes that "I am" again--I am on the "Oceanic" pointed forLondon. Unless we sink--and I care little whether we do or not--I shouldbe in that city inside of forty-eight hours.

  In looking over my luggage I found this diary. I gave it to my roomsteward and told him to throw it overboard. Then it occurred to me thatit would be my luck that it would be picked up and published as themental meanderings of an idiot, so I called him back and took it awayfrom him.

  This steward of mine discovered my mental unbalance the first day out,but considers me harmless and treats me accordingly.

  I have decided to bring this diary up to date, retain possession of itpending certain developments, and then incinerate it with appropriateceremonies. So I will begin at the beginning, which is the ending of thelast entry with its immortal declaration, "I am."

  I have forgotten what I intended to write when I started that sentence,and what it was cuts no figure. I only know that just at that instantChilvers, Marshall, and Carter appeared, dragged me from my chair andinsisted that I join them in a foursome. There was no escape, so I gotready and in a few minutes was with them at the first tee.

  On my way there I met Miss Harding, Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield. Ichatted with them for a moment and went on. I remember--oh, do I notremember!--that I called Miss Harding aside and reminded her that wewere to take a moonlight spin in my new automobile. She smilinglyreplied that she had not forgotten it, and with a look into eachother's eyes which thrilled my very being I turned to join thosegolfers.

  How can I write this? It is like pouring a burning acid into a wound!

  I have forgotten who won the game. I know I played vilely for I was notthinking of golf. I was counting the minutes which must elapse before Icould be by her side and tell her that I loved her.

  I was rehearsing the words I should whisper to her as we paused on thesmooth crest of "Old Baldy." I was picturing the fairy landscapeshimmering in the moonlight, its rays falling on her fair face as I tookher hand in mine. I saw it all as plain as I see this page in front ofme. I felt it vividly as I feel the heaving of this great ship and thevibrations of its engines.

  How could I play a decent game of golf under such circumstances?

  On returning to the club house one of the attendants handed me atelegram which had just been received. I opened it carelessly and read:

  Albuquerque, New Mexico. To JOHN HENRY SMITH, Woodvale:

  If you wish to see your Uncle Henry alive come at once.

  DR. L.L. CLARK.

  I had an hour in which to get ready to catch the last train to the cityand make the proper connections. I called my man and gave him thenecessary instructions.

  Then I began a search for Miss Harding. I suddenly resolved to declaremy love that day if the opportunity presented. I was delighted when Ifound her alone in the library.

  She did not hear me as I softly entered the room. She was seated near awindow, an opened book in her lap but her gaze was not on its print andit was evident her thoughts were far away.

  I gently touched her shoulder, thinking to surprise her. I shall neverforget the changing expressions in her eyes as they met mine.

  "I beg pardon, Miss Harding," I began. "I am--"

  She rose to her feet, the book falling to the floor. Her pretty head waserect, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing and her face deadlypale.

  "Do not address me, sir!" she exclaimed, drawing away from me as if Iwere some repulsive animal.

  I stood transfixed! I knew she was not dissembling. I could not think; Icould not speak! The floor seemed flying beneath my feet, and I musthave reeled.

  "Leave me, sir! Leave me, sir, and never speak to me again!"

  My voice came back to me.

  "But, Miss Harding, there must be some mistake!" I stammered. "I beg ofyou--"

  "There is no mistake!" she cried with intense bitterness, pushing pastme. "If you were a gentleman you would grant the last request I shallever ask of you!"

  I stood as in a trance and watched her sweep proudly from out the room.I fell back into the chair she had vacated. I do not know how long Iremained there or what tumultuous thoughts crashed against me likebreakers storm-lashed on a rock-girt shore; I only know that my manfound me there and told me that my train was due in fifteen minutes.

  I went to my room and changed my golf for a travelling suit. The next Iremember is that I was on the train rushing toward the city.

  "She rose to her feet"]

  No sleep came to my eyes that long and awful night as the miles spun outwhich separated me from the one I loved so madly. Yes, I loved her then,and I love her now!

  Like a caged and wounded animal I paced the narrow confines of mystateroom. Ten thousand times I asked for the disclosing of this pitifulmystery, and ten thousand times a mocking laugh came back in the roarand shriekings of the train. The car wheels chuckled in rhythm, theairbrakes hissed in derision and the engine whistle hooted in scorn.

  It was daybreak when I threw myself on the couch and closed my eyes. Ithink I slept for an hour or so. To my surprise and disgust I foundwhen I awoke that I was hungry. I had thought I should never care toeat again.

  It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of myjourney had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her.It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it. I told her I lovedher, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word ordeed.

  I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense,and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it bymentioning and apologising for it.

  I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder--the left shoulder. Itwas an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had ponderedthe matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise toexhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorishindiscretion. It was the only straw on which I could float an apologyfor a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case bymentioning it.

  Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and assuring her of myundying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted thepersuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.

  I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer toit.

  Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival. Before he passedaway he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern townwhere he was born. He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golflinks, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir. Thus by thedeath of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocksand other property for which I have no use.

  Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the onething on earth I desire. I would rather--oh, what's the use of writingthat?

  As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. Iarrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years,and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.

  I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house,and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.

  As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to OakCliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first hadcalled me "Jacques Henri." How happy I was that day! I thought of theterrors of the tornado and would have given all that I possessed to livethrough it again with her.

  Handing my bags to the porter I ha
stened toward the club house. I washurrying across the edge of the eighteenth green when someone shouted tome.

  "Hello, Smith!"

  I turned and saw Marshall and Chilvers. Marshall pitched his ball to thegreen with more than his usual deliberation, and then they came towardme and I advanced to meet them.

  "Where in thunder have you been?" asked Chilvers, and it suddenlyoccurred to me that I had told no one of my mission, neither had I leftmy address. The next instant I realised that Miss Harding had not toldof the receipt of my letter. This might mean much or little.

  "My Uncle Henry died out in New Mexico," I said.

  "Too bad," said the sympathetic Chilvers. "Unless one of my uncles diespretty soon I'll have to go to work. But why didn't you let us knowwhere you were."

  "I had just time to catch a train," I said. "What's the news?"

  "News? Let's see?" reflected Chilvers. "Grandma Marshall, here, won theJuly cup, and our team won the match with South Meadows by a score oftwenty-three to five. Say, we didn't do a thing to those boys. Moon hasbought two new clubs, Boyd made the sixth hole in two, Duff won fourdozen balls from Monahan, Lawson has a new stance which he claims willlengthen out his drive twenty yards--and speaking about Lawson, hediscovers something every week which lengthens his drive at least twentyyards. I've figured out that he should be driving at least five hundredyards from improvements alone. That's all the news I can think of; doyou know any, Marshall?"

  "They have moved the tee back on the seventh hole," volunteeredMarshall, "and--oh, yes; Wallace has gone."

  "Where's he gone?" I asked, exasperated at the character of theirinformation.

  "Someone died over in Scotland and left him money," said Chilvers. "Justas soon as we get a good professional, his rich relatives pass away andwe lose him."

  "How is Mr. Harding?" I asked.

  I saw Chilvers wink at Marshall.

  "Did you say Mr. Harding or Miss Harding?" asked Chilvers.

  "I said Mr. Harding. What's the matter; are you deaf?"

  "I'm a little hard of hearing at times," he grinned. "Let's see; whendid Mr. Harding leave here, Marshall?"

  "It was the day that you and I beat Boyd and Lawson," said Marshall,after a long pause. "That was a week ago."

  "I presume he's in the city," I carelessly remarked.

  "I presume he is not," laughed Chilvers. "He's probably rolling aroundin the English Channel right this minute."

  "Gone abroad?"

  "That's what."

  "And Mrs. Harding?" I inquired.

  "Gone with him, of course. Also Miss Harding."

  "And Carter," added Marshall. "They all went on the same boat."

  "At the same time," laughed Chilvers. "You see that lots of things havehappened since you went away. What are you looking so white and glumabout, Smith? Brace up, man; it may not be true. Come up to the clubhouse. We've got a new brand of Scotch, and it's great."

  I don't know whether my laugh sounded natural or not, but I cheerfullycould have murdered both of them.

  In those brief minutes I learned practically all I now know concerningthe departure and the whereabouts of the Hardings and Carter. There wasa lot of mail awaiting me, and I opened letter after letter hopingagainst hope that there might be one from Miss Harding. There was none.

  I discreetly questioned Miss Ross, Miss Dangerfield and others whom Imet, and all that I learned was this: A few days after my departure theHardings suddenly decided to go to England, or France or Germany orsomewhere. Carter was with them much of the time, but none of themtalked of their plans, and all the hints dropped to me by the marriedand unmarried ladies of Woodvale were unproductive of information. Theyhad been here; they were abroad--and that was all there was to it.

  It was yet early in the day and I took the first train for the city andwent straight to Mr. Harding's office. I am known to his representativesthere. They told me that all they knew was that Mr. Harding had goneabroad to remain for a time.

  "I assure you, Mr. Smith," said his private secretary, "that I do notknow where he is. He said that his family was going with him, and thatnothing possibly could happen here which would warrant bothering him. Iam sure he would be glad to see you, and I can only advise you to callon his London bankers, who may have his address."

  "Do you think the family are in England?" I asked, willing to accept thefaintest clue.

  "I have no more idea than have you," he replied and I am convinced hewas telling the truth.

  The "Oceanic" was the first boat to sail, and here I am. I doubt if asane man ever went on so absurd and hopeless a quest. I have had nothingto do for several days but think over this situation, and the mystery ofthe sudden departure resolves itself into these two possibilities;first, that they have gone abroad to keep away from me; and, second,that they have gone to England for the purpose of celebrating themarriage of Carter and Miss Harding.

  I do not see how I shall be of much use in either event. But this goodship is cleaving the water toward England at the rate of twenty-fiveknots an hour and I cannot turn back if I would.

  I do not see how I am to stop the wedding. I remember that Carter oncetold me that if he ever married it would be in London. I suppose theyare married before this time. Perhaps they will assume that I cameacross on purpose to congratulate them.

  I cannot understand why Mr. Harding did not leave some word for me.Surely I have not offended him?

  "I cannot turn back if I would"]

  I met and chatted with him a few minutes before Miss Harding said thewords which have made me the most miserable of human beings.

  This thing is past my solving. I only know that whatever she has done orwhatever she may do I love her and ever shall love her.

  ENTRY NO. XXIII

  A FEW CLOSING CONFESSIONS

  On my arrival in London I lost no time in presenting myself to Mr.Harding's bankers. I also presented a letter of introduction from thatgentleman's private secretary, and I presume these London financierscalled a meeting of the board of directors to consider this weightymatter. I waited for hours, and was finally ushered into a privateoffice. It was as dingy and inadequate as are most London offices, and Iwas properly impressed with its age, traditions and smells.

  An old gentleman looked at me for a minute or two, and then took myletter of introduction from his desk. He read it carefully again, wipedhis glasses and asked me if I were John Henry Smith. I assured him thatto the best of my knowledge and belief I was.

  He looked doubtfully at me, hesitated as if determined to make nomistake, sighed and then informed me that Mr. Harding had not left hisaddress in their care. I was tempted to express the opinion that Mr.Harding showed rare judgment in declining to leave it with them, sinceit doubtless would require an action at law to recover it in the eventhe should have use for it, but I thanked the aged man for all that theyhad done for me, and emerged from this gloomy den into the street.

  "He looked doubtfully at me"]

  This reed had broken. I never had much faith in it.

  I had more confidence in a plan I then set in motion. I have a friend inLondon of the name of Flynn. He is an American newspaper man. Flynn sayshe would like to be a "journalist," but needs the money; therefore hecontinues to be a newspaper man, and he is a good one.

  Flynn is connected with one of the big news associations and afterdrifting with the tide of cab and omnibus traffic which gorges on FleetStreet, I finally located him in an office in New Bridge Street. I hadnot seen him in five years.

  "Hello, Smith!" he exclaimed, placidly as if we had spent the precedingevening together. "When did you strike town?"

  "Last night," I said, heartily shaking hands.

  "I see that you recently put a crimp in that Wall Street gang," heobserved, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. "You werein with Harding on that deal, weren't you?"

  "Yes," I said, "and I'm looking for him."

  I briefly told him of the death of my uncle, and explained that Hardinghad left
suddenly and that it was necessary I should locate him withoutdelay.

  "He was in London stopping at the Savoy a week ago," said Flynn, afterconsulting a record book. "I sent a man to see him and he wouldn't beseen. No use for you to go there; they won't tell you where he went."

  "But can you help me locate him?" I eagerly asked.

  "Certainly I can, provided you stand the tolls," he said. "Electricityis as rapid here as in the United States, and if this magnate is on oneof these islands we can get his address in four or five hours, if wehave any kind of luck. Suppose we wire the twenty larger cities andtowns, about the same number of summer resorts, and the leading golfcentres?"

  "Great scheme, Flynn!" I declared, "you're a natural detective."

  "Natural nothing," growled that clever individual, "it's a part of theregular grind. It should be no great trick to find a man worth thirtymillions in an area not much bigger than Illinois."

  He wrote a telegram, dictated the list of places to his stenographer andturned to me.

  "Any engagement for dinner?" he asked, and when I said I had none hesuggested we go to the Savage Club. We did so, and that dinner was thefirst enjoyable episode in many dismal weeks. The quiet charm of the oldclub, together with its famous ale, had a soothing effect on my nerves,and after several pleasant hours we took a cab back to his office.

  Flynn disappeared for a minute and when he returned he handed me a stackof telegrams.

  "There are some reports already in," he said. "Look them over while Iattend to the work for which I'm supposed to draw salary."

  I read them hurriedly. There was no news of the Hardings fromBirmingham, Manchester, Nottingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Brighton,Blackpool, and a score of other places. Then I opened one from Glasgow.They had been in Glasgow, but had left. I was on the trail, andannounced the news to Flynn. He smiled and again bent over his work.

  In a few minutes a boy came in with more telegrams. They had been inEdinburgh on the day following their visit to Glasgow, but were notthere now.

  "They were in Edinburgh four days ago," I declared.

  "Probably headed for St. Andrews," said Flynn, stopping in the middleof a sentence he was dictating. "Don't bother me, Smith, I'm busy."

  I spent the next half hour studying a map of Great Britain on which Imentally traced _Her_ course from London to Glasgow and from there toEdinburgh. Another batch of telegrams from Plymouth, Hull, Dublin,Southampton, Newcastle, York, Hastings, and lesser places was silentconcerning the missing Hardings.

  It was ten o'clock in the evening when the boy handed me threeenvelopes. I read the first two and threw them on the floor. Withoutglancing at the date line I read the third one. It ran:

  "Robert L. Harding, wife and daughter at the Caledonia.--Jones."

  It was dated St. Andrews.

  "I've found them!" I declared. Flynn was just closing his desk. Hisday's work was ended and he was in better humour.

  "Where are they?" he asked, throwing a mass of stuff into a wastebasket.

  "St. Andrews."

  "Of course. Every American golf crank heads for St. Andrews from thesame fanatical instinct which impels a Mohammedan to steer for Mecca."

  A study of the time tables showed that I could take a late night trainwhich would place me in Edinburgh early in the morning.

  "I'm indebted to you for this more than you realise," I said to him.

  "Don't mention it."

  "How much do I owe your concern for this service?"

  "Couldn't tell you," asserted Flynn. "Won't know until the bills comein, and that will take a month or more. I'll have them tabbed up andsend you a statement, you send a cheque and that will end it."

  "If there is anything I can do for you I--"

  "Nothing," interrupted Flynn, "unless you should happen to run acrossthe New York plutocrat who hires me. You might tell him that unless hetilts my salary he is likely to lose the most valuable man who everproduced dividends for him."

  "I'll do that!" I declared, and I meant it.

  Two hours later my train rumbled out of the station and headed forScotland. I had been supremely satisfied with my progress during theday, but when I began to analyse the situation I was unable to discoverany sound basis for self-congratulation.

  I merely had ascertained her probable location. That did not improve myprospects. I had not the slightest reason to believe that she hadchanged her attitude toward me, and I had no right to assume that shewould receive, much less listen to me. She might be married, andprobably was. I thought of these things and fell from the fool's heavento which I had climbed.

  But on I went toward Scotland. I would drink the cup to its lees. Ifoil into a troubled sleep, and after a miserable night did not knowwhether to be pleased or scared that I had finished the longer stage ofmy journey.

  The early morning train from out Edinburgh's dingy station carried onepassenger who paid small attention to the scenery between the beautifulcapital of Scotland and its famous university town. My one thought whenwe crossed over the great bridge which spans the Firth of Forth was thatit was unconscionably long, and that the train slackened its speed intaking it.

  Then we came to a junction within sight of St. Andrews, and when I wasinformed by the railway agent that I would have to wait half an hour fora connection I told him that I would walk down the track. He informed methat this was against the law. Having some familiarity with the monotonywith which the laws are enforced in Scotland, I smoked and waited.

  The railroad skirts the links of St. Andrews, and from its pictures Irecognised the club house. Disdaining to ask questions or take acarriage, I ordered my luggage to a hotel and started on a brisk walk,hoping thus to brace myself for the ordeal ahead of me.

  _She_ was here. Somewhere in this picturesque old town _she_was living and breathing that very moment. _She_ had passed throughthe street which then resounded with my brisk footsteps. Her name hadbeen Grace Harding. Was it yet Grace Harding?

  I ran square into Carter!

  "Why, my dear Smith!" he exclaimed, clutching at his monocle which cameas near falling as it well could and remain in place. "Why don't youcall 'Fore!' when you drive ahead like this? You're in Scotland, my dearfellow!"

  I begged his pardon, though of course it was not necessary. We heartilyshook hands--at least he did.

  We were on a corner of a crooked and cobblestoned street which twistsaround the side of a hill. There is a small store on this corner, andits neatly pointed red bricks and shining plate glass are sharp incontrast to the ancient and somewhat dilapidated structures whichsurround it. I recall these facts distinctly, and I can see even nowevery attitude and expression on the part of Carter.

  During our brief interview his eyes frequently wandered from mine tothose plate-glass windows, as if something within were of vast interestto him.

  "You're looking fine, Carter," I said, and he was; "St. Andrews mustagree with you."

  He smiled placidly and his eye twinkled merrily through that monocle.

  "I'm feeling fine! Congratulate me, old fellow!"

  The blow had fallen--but I stood it better than I had dreamed would bepossible!

  A swarm of thoughts came to me in that instant, but I maintained myoutward serenity. I knew that he was a clean, honourable man and worthyin every way of the hand and heart of Grace Harding. Possibly they hadbeen long engaged. All of my alleged rights and wrongs faded into thinair. Besides, what was the use of whimpering? It was a stunning blow,but I would stand it like a man.

  "I do congratulate you, Carter!" I exclaimed, clasping his hand andlooking him frankly in the eyes. "You have won the most glorious womanon earth, and I esteem it an honour that I have had the privilege ofmeeting her and of enjoying her society! I am--"

  "Confound it, man, you never met my wife!" said Carter. "What on earthare you talking of, my dear Smith? Ah, excuse me!"

  He pushed past me to meet a radiant creature with laughing blue eyes whocame from out that little store. He smiled and took a tiny parce
l fromher hands. Then he said something to her and they turned to me.

  "Stella, my dear," he said, her hand in his as they confronted the mostdazed human on the face of the earth, "you have heard me talk so much ofmy dear friend, 'Foxy Old Smith'; well, here he is! Permit me to presentMr. John Henry Smith, champion of Woodvale, winner of the HardingTrophy, also Wizard of Finance!"

  I assured Mrs. Carter that I was delighted to meet her, and if ever aman told the truth I did at that moment. I said a lot of things, laughedso boisterously that Carter looked shocked; I told of the death of myuncle and grinned all the time. I certainly must have made animpression on that lovely bride.

  They compelled me to listen while they told of their marriage in London,nearly a week before. She is an English girl, and Carter kept his wordthat he would be married in London. Since she has never been in America,and since this was my first visit to Great Britain, it was evident I hadnot met her.

  I do not know what Carter thought of my wild outburst. He has notmentioned the subject, and I shall not bring it up.

  "Where are the Hardings?" I asked, when I no longer could restrain myimpatience.

  "They are stopping at the Caledonia," said Carter. "You probably willfind the Governor out on the links. He has struck up a great friendshipwith 'Old Tom' Morris, and doubtless is playing with him right now."

  "I think I will go and look him up," I said, as we came to a crossstreet. "I have an important business matter in which he is interested.I'll see you at dinner."

  "The club house is yonder," said Carter, pointing down the hill. With abow and my uncontrollable grin, I parted from them and armed with a cardwhich Carter had given me, hastened toward the headquarters of the Royaland Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews.

  The sedate gentlemen who were lounging about, waiting for theprearranged times when they are privileged to drive from the first tee,must have identified me as the typical American from the manner in whichI hastened from one room to another. I explored the locker rooms, thecafes, reception hall, library, billiard room, the verandas, and everynook and corner of the structure.

  There is one sacred retreat called the "Room of Silence." Here aredisplayed the famous relics and historical curios of the game, includingclubs used by King James, also strange irons once wielded by championswhose bones have been mouldering for generations. In this awesome placeone must enter with sealed lips, and sit and silently ponder over hisgolf and other crimes. It is sacrilege to utter a word, and not in goodform to breathe too rapidly.

  An elderly gentleman who looked as if he might be a mine of informationwas seated in a comfortable chair. He was the sole occupant of the room.I had not asked a question since I had entered the building, and herewas my chance.

  "Do you happen to know an American gentleman named Harding--Robert L.Harding?" I asked, deferentially.

  He did not move an eyelash. I pondered that it was just my luck that thefirst gentleman I had addressed was deaf and dumb. As I crossed thethreshold, I caught an indignant mumble: "Talkative chap, that; he mustbe an American."

  I fled the club house and started down the course. There are threelinks, but I was certain that Harding would be playing on the "regular"one, and since it is rather narrow I had no difficulty in following it.For the first time I was possessed of no ambition to play. Severalindignant golfers shouted "Fore!" but I pursued my way, keeping a sharplookout to right and left.

  When about a mile from the first tee, I saw Harding. His head andshoulders showed above the dreaded trap of "Strath's Bunker," and notfar from him was a white-bearded old gentleman with twinkling blue eyeswho was smiling at Harding's desperate efforts to loft his ball out ofthe sand.

  "This takes the cake!"]

  "Thot weel not do-o, mon!" I heard him say as I neared the scene of thistragedy. "Take yeer niblick, mon, an' coom richt doon on it!"

  Out of a cascade of flying sand I saw his ball lob over the bunker, andwith various comments Mr. Harding scrambled out of this pit, brushed thesand off his clothes, and then turned and saw me.

  "Of all the damned places to get in trouble, Smith, this takes thecake!" he exclaimed, mopping the perspiration from his face. "Do youknow," he added, looking about for his ball, "that it took me fivestrokes to get out of that cursed sand pit!"

  He looked in his bag for another club, played his shot, and made afairly good one, and then appeared to recall for the first time that hehad not recently seen me.

  "Hello, Smith; when did you strike town?" he said, a welcoming smile onhis face as he offered his hand.

  "About an hour ago," I said.

  "Well, well! I'm glad to see you! Why didn't you wire you were coming?We'd have come for you in our new machine. Bought a new one since wecame over here and have been travelling around in it. It's morecomfortable than these confounded English trains. They're the limit,aren't they? Well, how are you? Seems to me you look a bit peaked?"

  "I'm all right," I insisted. "How is--how is Mrs. Harding?"

  "Never better in her life!"

  "And how is--how is Miss Harding?"

  We were on the edge of the green, and Harding had played his ball sothat we passed near the old gentleman who was Harding's opponent.

  "Smith," said that gentleman, "I want you to know Old Tom Morris! Ofcourse, you have heard of him--every golfer has--and all that I ask isthat I may be able to play as good a game and be as good a fellow when Iam eighty-five years old. Mr. Morris, this is my young friend, JohnHenry Smith, of America."

  I greeted this famous character with some commonplace remarks, andremained silent while they putted out. I made no further attempt in theconversational line until they had driven the next tee.

  "How is your daughter, Mr. Harding?" I asked.

  "Grace? The Kid?" he hesitated. "She's pretty well, but this climatedon't seem exactly to agree with her. We must get her started on golfagain. She hasn't played a game since she has been here."

  My heart gave a bound when he said that little word "we." Surely he knewnothing of the trouble which had come between us. If she were married,he surely would have said something about it, and up to that minute Ihad a lingering fear that I might have lost her to some suitor otherthan Carter.

  "And she has never played the course?" I asked, not knowing what else tosay.

  "Not once," he declared. "As a matter of fact, Smith, women are not verypopular around here. They herd them off on a third course which is setaside for them. I looked it over, and it's a scrubby sort of a place."

  "That's an outrage!" I declared.

  "Oh, I don't know," he returned. "They can hack around over there and dono great damage. Between you and me, Smith, I think women are more orless of a nuisance on a course frequented by good players."

  I recalled that I once held the same opinion, and in looking back to theopening pages of this diary I find that I expressed it even morebrutally than did Mr. Harding. But I was in no mood to argue the matterwith him.

  "I presume Mrs. and Miss Harding are at the hotel?" I carelesslyremarked. "I should like to pay my respects to them."

  "They're about the hotel, I reckon," he said, taking his stance for abrassie shot. He made a very good one.

  "How's that, Smith?" he exclaimed. "My boy, I'm getting this game downfine! Old Tom has put me onto some new wrinkles. See that old cock lineout that ball! Isn't he a wonder?"

  "I think I will go and call on them," I said.

  "Call on who? Oh, yes!" he said, as I started away.

  "By the way, you won't find Grace there, come to think of it. Let's see;where did she say she was going? She's painting the ruins, and hasfinished the old cathedral and the monastery. What's that other famouswreck around here? Oh, yes; the castle! I remember now that she said shewas going to paint the castle to-day. Somebody ought to paint it. Iunderstand it hasn't been painted for more than eight hundred years."

  His roar of laughter sounded like old Woodvale days.

  "What's your hurry?" he asked. "Tell you what let's do! I'll fit you ou
twith a set of clubs and we'll play a few holes on the second course.Then we'll go to the hotel, talk over the news with the women folks, andthis afternoon we'll drag Carter away from his bride, and you and he canplay Tom Morris and me a foursome! How does that strike you?"

  "I cannot play this forenoon," I promptly said. "I must attend to myluggage, shave, write some letters, send telegrams and--and do a lot ofthings."

  "How about this afternoon?" he asked. "We start at three o'clock."

  "I'll be on hand," I promised, desperately.

  "All right, and don't fail," he cautioned me. "You would not believe it,Smith, but I have got so that I can line 'em out from one hundred and--"

  I turned and left him with those unknown yards poised on his lips. Whenat a safe distance I looked back and saw him gazing at me with anattitude and expression of dumb wonder.

  I retained the services of a red-headed and freckled-faced boy who wasconfident he could direct me to the ruins of the old castle. It was nota long walk, and when he pointed them out in the distance I gladdenedhis heart and brought a grin to his tanned face by giving him ahalf-crown as I dismissed him.

  I was within sight of my fate! My steps faltered as I neared the grimarches, and once I stopped and tried to plan how I should act and what Ishould say. But I could think of nothing, and mustering all my courageand invoking the god of luck, I went on.

  In a few minutes I stood within the shadow of the gray and crumblingwalls, undecided which way to turn. Picking my way over fallen masonry,I turned the corner of a huge pile which seemed as if it might crash toearth at any moment.

  And then I saw her!

  She was seated at an easel, a small canvas in front of her. Her hat waslying on a rock near by, and the breeze had toyingiy disarranged thedark tresses of her hair.

  She was looking out over the ocean, a brush idly poised in her hand. Isaw the profile of her sweet face as I stood motionless for an instant,not five yards away.

  "Grace!" I softly said.

  That easel with its unfinished canvas was tipped to the rocks as with astartled cry she sprang to her feet. For one agonising moment I gazedinto her startled eyes and saw her quivering lips.

  "And then I saw her!"]

  "Jack!" she cried, and we were in each other's arms.

  I cannot write what we did or said during the first sweet minutes whichfollowed, for I do not know. I only know that we told each other themost rapturous news which comes to mortal ears. Oh, the wonder of it!

  We lived and we loved! This great earth with its blue-domed sky, itsfields, its flowers and its heaving seas became ours to enjoy "tilldeath us do part!"

  There we sat amid the ruins where kings and queens had been born; wherethey had lived, loved and died centuries agone. Their ashes mingled withthe dust from which they sprang; of their pomp and splendour naughtremained save the walls which crumbled over our heads; since their timethe world had been born anew, but the god of Love who came to them nowsmiled on us, his heart as youthful, his figure as beautiful and hisardour as strong as when he whispered sweet words into the ears of thelovers who dwelt in Eden.

  I had forgotten that we ever had quarrelled. As we sat there looking outon the sea it seemed as if we had always known of each other's love.

  "Sweetheart," I asked, "when did you first know that I loved you?"

  "When I became angry at you," she replied.

  "When you became angry at me?" I repeated, and then the thought of theanguish through which I had passed recalled itself.

  "Darling!" I exclaimed, "why did you treat me so? What had I done?Sweetheart, you do not know how I have suffered!"

  "But you must have known all the time that I loved you," she said, astrange smile on her lips.

  "How could I know?" I faltered.

  "Could you not tell?" she asked, lifting her dancing eyes to mine. "Whowas the inspired author of lines which run like this: 'I have receivedthat glorious message! Grace Harding loves me! The message wastransmitted from the depths of her beautiful eyes! It has been confirmedby the gentle pressure of her hand as it rested on my arm! It has beenechoed in the accents of her sweet voice! I have read it in the blushwhich mantles her cheek as I draw near, and I know it from a thousandlittle tokens which my heart understands and which my feeble wordscannot express. I am--'"

  '"I am an ass,' is the amended and proper ending of that sentence," Ihumbly said. "I beg of you, tell me how you ever came to see thosewords from my miserable diary!"

  "It makes me mad even now when I think of it!" she declared, vainlyattempting to release her hand. "You great big stupid; do you not knowwhat you did?"

  "I only know that I wrote those vain-glorious lines and that you musthave read them," I said.

  "I did not read them! Oh, I could box your ears! While you werecomposing that rhapsody Mr. Chilvers and others came along and asked youto play golf with them. Golf being more important than anything else onearth, you rushed up stairs for your clubs and left that diary on thetable. Do you remember that on your way to the first-tee you met MissRoss, Miss Dangerfield and me?"

  I remember it.

  "When we arrived on the veranda," she continued with rising indignation,"Miss Dangerfield picked up that literary treasure of yours and ofcourse opened it to the page from which I have been quoting. And thenshe read it to us! I never was so mortified and angry in my life. Irushed away from them, and when you found me I was so angry that Icould have killed you. It was not a declaration of your love for me; itwas a declaration of my love for you!"

  I could not help laughing, and then she did box my ears.

  "That little minx of a Miss Dangerfield busied herself until your returnfrom your golf game in copying from your diary its choicest extracts,"continued Grace, after we had "made up," "but I managed to get them awayfrom her, and I have them yet. Some of them were--well, they were nicerthan the one Miss Dangerfield read."

  "Which one, for instance?"

  "I won't flatter your vanity by repeating them. But when I received yourletter and had thought it over several days I decided to forgive you,Jack, and so I wrote you that letter."

  "But I never received a letter from you!" I exclaimed.

  On comparing dates we found that I had left Albuquerque before theletter could arrive there, and that it probably had not been forwardedto Woodvale in time so that I would get it prior to my sailing.

  "It was a cold and formal letter," she said, trying to look severe.

  "I don't care anything about the old letter, sweetheart," I declared,"now that I have found you."

  And then we laughed and cried and were very happy. It seems that MissDangerfield gave the diary to the steward, who must have sent it to myrooms, for I have no recollection of missing it at any time.

  We talked of many, many things as we sat there within the shadows of theold castle.

  "Oh, Jack!" she suddenly exclaimed, "we must secure an invitation foryou to the wedding."

  "Ours, dearest?" I innocently asked. "Do I need an invitation?"

  "You are so stupid I'm afraid you will--if it ever takes place," sheadded, looking down. "Be good, Jack, and don't tease me. I meant to LordMarwick's wedding."

  "Lord Marwick? Who is Lord Marwick?"

  "Lord Wallace Marwick, of Perth!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands indelight at being the custodian of some great secret.

  "My knowledge of the peerage is so slight, dearest, that I confess Ihave never heard of, much less met, Lord Wallace Marwick of Perth," Ideclared, smiling in sympathy with her enthusiasm.

  "Oh, yes you have! You know him very well!"

  "I?"

  "Yes, you; you dear old stupid!"

  "Who on earth is Lord Wallace Marwick, or whatever his name is?"

  "Bishop's hired man!"

  "Wallace?"

  "Wallace, our club professional!"

  "And his bride is--?"

  "Can you not guess?" she exclaimed.

  "Miss Olive Lawrence," I hazarded.

  "Really, Jack, y
ou are improving. Two weeks from this noon Bishop'shired man, Lord Wallace Marwick, will be united in marriage with OliveLawrence!"

  If she had told me that her father had bought the English throne and wasabout to be crowned I should not have been more surprised.

  "What was he doing at Bishop's?" I gasped.

  "He was studying farming," she explained. "It seems that his fatherinvested heavily in farming lands in the abandoned districts of NewEngland. Upon his death Wallace determined to acquire a practicalknowledge of the methods of American farming, and this was the way inwhich he went about it. He had already worked on two farms before heapplied to Mr. Bishop. He was about to return to Scotland when he metMiss Lawrence. The reasons for his subsequent course you certainly mustunderstand."

  "How soon did Miss Lawrence learn that he was--that he was what he is?"

  "Shortly after he became our professional." she replied. "Thatdisclosure, and certain other disclosures constituted one of her'lessons.' Olive confided the secret to me, and this is the principalreason we are here."

  "Sweetheart," I said, after an interval of silence, "would it not besplendid to have our wedding at the same time? I have always been--beenpartial to double weddings."

  "I do not know," she whispered, looking intently at the tip of herdainty shoe. "Perhaps--perhaps--I don't know what papa and mamma wouldthink about it."

  I heard the crunching of gravel.

  "Don't you folks ever eat?" demanded a familiar voice, and Mr. Hardingbore down upon us. We said nothing.

  "Do you know what time it is?" he added, with an impatience whichpuzzled me.

  "I have not the slightest idea," I truthfully replied.

  "Well, it's nearly two o'clock," he declared, looking at his watch."I've been looking everywhere for you, Smith, and then I began to beworried about you," turning to his daughter. "Why, Kid, you've had timeto paint this old stone shack two coats."

  "I imagine I'm to blame," I interposed.

  "Have you forgotten, Smith, that you have an engagement to play afoursome with old Tom Morris, Carter and myself this afternoon?" hesaid, looking at us rather suspiciously, I thought.

  "I have another engagement," I returned, mustering all my courage.

  "What's that?"

  "I have an engagement with Grace for life, and we wish to know if youwill give your consent to our marriage two weeks from to-day!"

  He gazed at us for a moment, a grave look on his rugged and honest face.He dropped his cane, took our hands in his and said:

  "Children, you didn't fool your old dad for one minute! Take her, myboy, and God bless both of you! Your mother knows it, Grace, and shesends her blessing."

  We almost overcame him with our expressions of gratitude. As we startedback to the hotel he glanced at us and chuckled.

  "I suppose you two have not quit eating?" he suggested.

  We promptly admitted we were hungry.

  "And I presume you will play golf once in a while?"

  We assured him that we certainly should.

  "Well, suppose we go to the hotel, get a bite to eat and then go out andplay that foursome with old Tom Morris and Carter," he pleaded. "Thereis one green out there which is called 'The Garden of Eden,' and I wantto show it to you. You, Grace, and mother and Mrs. Carter can go alongand be the gallery. I'll promise not to say a word or give a hint aboutwhat has happened."

  Oh, that happy, happy afternoon on the turf, sand dunes, braes andgreens of Old St. Andrews! The sea gulls circled over our heads, thefoam-flecked surf crooned its song of love, the River Eden wound aboutour pathway, and the blue sky smiled down upon us.

  "Sweetheart," I said, "there is one confession you have not made to me."

  "What is it, Jack?"

  "Why did you play so wretchedly that first game in Woodvale?"

  Old Tom Morris looked back and smiled in sympathy with her joyous laugh.

  "They told me that you were a confirmed woman hater, and that nothing soexasperated you as to be compelled to play with a girl who was a novice.I wished to see if it were true. You are not a woman hater; are you,Jacques Henri?"

  "No longer!" I declared.

  "And you take back all the mean things you wrote about us in yourdiary?"

  "Every word of it, Sweetheart!"

  "Oh, Jack; I thought I should die of laughter when I drove those eightnew balls in the pond. And when you never said a cross word, and smiledand tried to encourage me, then I suspected that you loved me."

  "I wouldn't have cared if you had driven me into the pond," I said, andthen I missed my fourth brassie.

  Two weeks from that day there was a double wedding in the fine olddrawing room of Marwick Mansion. From the wedding feast which followedcablegrams went to our friends in Woodvale, also one to Mr. JamesBishop, farmer near Woodvale, informing him that sometime next seasonall of us, including the "hired man," would be with him for dinner andanother dance in the new red barn.

  We have been cruising in the Mediterranean, and now are anchored in thebeautiful Bay of Naples. Mr. Harding has been pacing the deck and gazingat the smoke-wreathed crest of Vesuvius.

  "I believe I can carry it"]

  "Jack," he has just remarked, "that is quite a bunker, but with a littlemore practice I believe I can carry it."