Evening Star Newspaper, March 19, 1922, Page 62

HERE was exactly the differ- ence between-them thut there was between their favorite games and *their manner of playing them. Henry Eaton was a steady rveliable goller, who: played around at bogey ‘or .a little better, unless it was a really match_game, whereupon he got’flus- tered, missed his putts, sliced and pulled and foozled with thorough abandon, and he was a great hulking brute, who oughtn't to.bave had a ‘merve in his body. Amy Thompson, on the other hand. was the club's woman tennis champion. -She. had a devilishly accurate serve and.she could come right down to the net and smash the balls back in a way that brought cheers “from the .gal- lery. -She was not one of your meaty. blowzy girls, either. Her color was delicate and her wrists, though ap-* parently of steel, were siender and gracetul. It was natural enough for Henry to fall in love with Amy and follow her raund patiently, persistently. worrying away at her indifference just as he worried away at his daily round of “clock.” and it was per- fectly natural that she should slam him down, time and time again, just as she slammed balls across the uet. Each to his own game, as usual. Habitues af the Greentields Coun- try Club, who were sportive by ma- ture. placed bets on the final resuit. The odds were two to one that Amy wouldn't have him. Whal—never? ! What—never? No—never Xo—never! —i-mean-il But a small aminor held firmly to the theory that Henry's } persistence and his honestto-good- ness likeableness would win out in the end. “The girl's a fool to throw awa: a good chance like Henry. Why she’s twenty-seven,” said Lovell. from a cushioned. chair on the veranda. She and her crony. Miss MHenrietta Bird, had just seen ‘Henry {yirexponafbie < irresistibie~he going disconsolately to the link having asked Amy in vain to accom- rietta, dreamily. soul. “Maybe she's happier single. ! By the way—did you know that Ray Lowrie's coming back?" Mrs. Lovell jumped to electric at- tention. “No—really!” she exclaimed. “That beautiful rascal! How I shall enjoy seeing him again! And what « shocking example he Is to all the young people in town. But you don't think it's because of Ray that Amy——" her eyes asked the ques- tion she did not need to voice. i “Well, it was quite an affair.” re- ! piied Miss Henrietta. pursing up her | lips. “i've always thought Amy was | never quite the same. She never used to go in for athletics and read- | ing feminist books. you kno 1 Mrs. Lovell pursed up her lips also. | “Thank God, I've got no daughters, she exclaimed, piously. oK K % %.\'D i ske had known about the <} Jetter that was hidden securely n the pocket of Amy Thompson's rose- colored sport coat at that moment she would have been even more thankful. | For the letter was from Ray Lowrie, and he said he was. coming back to Qreenflelds -to. sfay, &nd, .that the reason he ‘was .coming Rack was, in| short, Amy. That is, you could read important { old Mrs. ! ANLC, jie was thirty-five | perhaps—more as iladies. who adore him. and to hail. I orite pale colors, was dressed in vivid, TOW the reason that Amy was! running away to her “Aunt -Su- | psanna was simply -because she-didn’t intend to let. Ray Lowrle find her in |Greenflelds when hé arrlved. arguing that if he didn't find her there he'd think her qalte indifferent to the im- portant event of his coming. ‘Also, | she had another reason, which had to ydo with_her vanity. When she had flown in from the country ¢lub to her dressmaker she had planned, with Lthe help of that estimable lady. a| perfect marvel of an evening gown. {With the moral support af-such at- |tire and the undoubted eftéct of her ‘absence, Amy 'félt that she might) face Ray Lowrlé at_the club dance never kaving éared, not daring mow, jand never going to care. “And all ithese elaborate prepdrations “show how very far from the truth- impression would be. Yet' Amy he self wasn't sure whether her .pride lor her heart had been hurt the worst }in that young love expérience—either ;is painful, goodness knqws. Resides. {the fact that she -could sthink of it jthat way argued=-well, what -dld it argue? - Let evely [ghé Gver twenty | {Higure it~out .ini&ksms of Nis or her Lawn personal ‘edGation. {kew(xe., Henry was-wrong to callj R4y ' Lgwrle a cheap sport. Rav| ~ | Lo h. ©drish “blue | L gyes, by turns;! ! Trish -Blarney forevgt ‘on his tongue; i4 thoroughly-.Irish appreciation rof the faif-sex. and a thovenghly Irish ‘hahil of_shifting his affections in a day..an hour,.g minute. Naturally he never married—he’'d never been ‘in lpve long enough With any:.one girl. #nd visitéd and went' wherever there .was rachg. or aviation or any other . qport pagesdtry.. And he liked good i Bictures,.dnd- good books and good | | music.” andiPretty women and the Ight s¥etil 'stde of life. Charming, st was enough- of a man that he| had got rather tired of enjoying life ! as a souffle. Back in his head he'd: always held to the notion that when e'd go home- to Greenfields, perhaps go into business. vaguely still—even ! marry and “settle down.” Since most of the girls that he had been so much | in love with there had since married and setled down themselves, withaut waiting for his return—why. never mind. Amy was still single. So that .was why he had written to Amy. * k% k HE principal characters in this little three-cornered farae are now ready for their cues. The au- dience—all of Greenflelds—is waiting expectantly. The country club swept and garnished and gally deco- rated for the Thursday night dnm‘v.’ y Lowrie is there, as handsome. | debonnair as ever. slender and: dark, ready to flirt with all the old; with unaffected delight, his old; friends. Three dances are over and there is a slight lull. People are gathered on the veranda and at the balconied windows of the ballroom in chattering. laughing groups. And then Amy Thompson and Henry Eaton came in! Everybody stared at them, and. no wonder, for Amy. discarding her fav- it that way 1f you wanted to. It sounded like that. But if you were twenty-seven and had suffered a g0od' bit from Ray Lowrie's ambiguous| love-making you might wonder if i meant anything at all. And that's ex- actly what Amy wondered. “How ridiculous it all is,” 8he told herself, staring down the valley. I where Henry's white-flanneled figure | might be Seen bending laboriously over the third hole. “It was bad enough when I was nineteep and didn't know any better. How 1 cried my eyes out after he went away and I made siFe that he didn’t really care! I thought| my heart was completely broken, and] that T'd never smile again. What an{ idiot I was! He made love to every girl in town, 1 do believe. Well, it's going to be a different story !hisl time, that's certain. We'll see”” And with certain high resolves-in mmd. she left the clubhouse, got into her own little runabout, and zipped into town to her dressmaker's. Which was a very canny thing to do. Then, high and important sartor matters having been accomplished, she went to the telephone and called up Henry. This was an unusual thing | and Henry's answering “hello” was divided between joy at hearing from her unexpectedly and anxiety lest something dreadful might have hap- pened to cause her thue to break over {“1t's T and Henry. s | violently slapped Ray Lowrie's face, taunting scarlet, a distracting. filmy ! thing. that revealed and concealed | and allured and repelled. all at once, ! and made her white skin seem whiter | nd her fair color still fairer and her sleek black hair yet blacker. Be-! hind her rose Henry. a blonde giant.! And in the hush of attention every- one saw Ray Lowrie come forward | impetuously and hold out both his hands. “Why—it's you." And every one saw Amy's indif- ferent, easy smile. “Yes." she said, You haven't for- gotten Henry, have you?” Then. as | the music began, she placed herself in Henry's arms. “Perhaps Tl see you later,” she said over her shoulder, { as they danced away. Miss Henrietta Bird, who was nearest, positively thrilled. “It was just like something on the stage she told Mrs. Lovell, the next day. “I wouldn't have believed that Amy had it in her.” Indeed. if Amy had suddenly and he wouldn't have been more surprised, or more outraged. A mice thing. in- deed. if the girl who should be all a-twitter at your sudden appearance nods at you and dismisses you with a | cool perhaps-T'll-see-you-later. He ! calmly drew off to the side, and when Henry and Amy came around the sec- ond time he stopped them. A her accustomed indifference. “Oh, no, nothing’s the matter,” she assured him. “It's just that I'm go- ing out of town for a few days. E “You call that nothing, do you?" in- quired Henry, dolefully. “It's & very serioys matter to me, let me tell vou. How long are you going to stay?” S “I'll. be,_back for the club dance on Thursday,” sald Amy, “and’if you're a good little boy Il send you a pic- ture postcard with the Soldiers’ Mon- ument or the Palace Hotel on it. I'm going to Knightsville, to see Aunt Susanna.” . “You're a brave girl” said Henry. “Maybe I'll motor over and say how d’ye do to you before Thursday. That is, if you will assure me that Aunt Sussana won't bite me. I'm afraid of her.” “Better not come,” laughed Amy. “Aunt Susanna’s pretty dreadful. Tt see you next Thursday, then, Henry. Good-bye." “Here—wait a minute—say—Amy,' his voice changed ever so little. “Say —did you know Ray Lowrie was com- ing back it The gir) at the cther end of the wire caught her breath. “Is that so?” she answered, evasively. “That ought to wake the town up a bit. I wonder 1€ ne’s going to stay long? Oh, excuse me, Henry—mother's calling. Good- <yq till Thursday.” She rang off de- terminedly. And Henry put up the receiver of his telephone with & bang also. He had cayght Amy's evasion and understood it. “Oh!” he thought. .‘“That cheap wport!” . And Amy, whe was packing her bag for her Aunt Susanna venture, was congratulating herself that Henry never umderstood anything! “If he did" she thought = little bitterly, “perhaps T wouldn't find 1t 8o essy to 3ay no every time he proposes.” “Here, Henry, you selfish villain” | he said, deliberately disengaging him | from Amy, “vou needn’t think you can | take Amy wway from me like that. Tl just cut in—by your leave—" And with that-he swung Amy about and they were gone. Henry rather blinked after them, but then he smjled, his nice quiet little smile, and teok little Dot Dixon for a turn, for she. was nearest and being of the “younger set” and not yet “out,” she hadp’t ‘many partners. Amy ‘wae so angry that she could} have "sireamed. Why didn't Henry show. more. spirit? Why did he let Riy Lowrle cut in—it wasn't at all as she had planned things. How be indifferent ‘gnd gayly caréless when yéu 'sre. mad all through and all your. rage is for the man who is dancing with you, dancing &s smooth- ly and as easily and as delightfully as—as—well, take it—as he used to 4o, and holding you just a little bit|the possession of ore female. A pri- too close, but not close enough that you cap’'be offended. Admit, ladi |ang Wentiemen, that Amy was in a moat trying predicament. ~ ‘ And Ray Lowris” was laughing. “Henry’s Just the bame slow poke,” he sald, “but you—you're not the same, Amy. You're wonderful. And you're beautiful—more beautiful than ever. And this scarlet frock- makes you lopk like—" “Like a fire in & grate, T dare say, sald Amy. “You're just the same, Ray. You say just the same things in just the same way.” He answered by stopping dancing, and leading her out to’the most se- cluded and shadowy corner of the veranda. Miss Henrfetta Bird thrill- ed again to see them go. She turned to see how Henry took it. but Henry ‘was dancing gayly away, and appar- antly didn’t see anything but hie part- ner. “Where have you been for-s¢ long,” {with a most magniffegnt effect ot uch an As he had some money, he .traveled ! | “She says they're all bad. every one “¥OU PIDN'T HAVE YOUR USUAL 1ACK, RAY,” HE SAID, “BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO ABIDE BY THE RESULTS GIVE HIWM BAGK HIS' BALL, AMY, YOU LITYLE CHEAT.” > i G demianded Ray, sfter he had put| verge of spinsterhood, whose friends| cliskions at Amy’s-back. “I've been | are mostly married and with children herve since Saturday—and this is| who call her “aunty,” and who has| Thursday. That means—Sunday, | seen nothing before her, spinaterhood or else marriage with| 2 thoroughly good. uninteresting man. 2 Yet—was Henry so Morday. Tuesday, Wednesday and today. five perfectly good days of my life utterly wasted.” “I've been visiling Aunt Susanna returned Amy shortly. “What!" he cried. “ls that old termagant still alive ‘How she used to scowl at me when I'd come to call on you. I was always afraid of her." “She's still alive and still -disap- proves of all young men,” said Amy. uninteresting? | straining every nerve to beat him— and not succeeding, for he played a | brilliant, swift and dangerous game —it was more and more delightful to with Henry However—Amy put off her dectston | and merely bought more clothes. She could sce no use in making up her mind before she was sure of it. She bloomed radiantly un- der the spell of her new desirability. Greenflelds had not been so stirred for years. In summer there is no- where to go except the Country Club, | and equally, of. course. the verandas | seethed with interested spectators of | She lady's of ‘em. tricky and worthless.” mimicked perfectly the old rasping voice. “Oh. Amy—Amy,” laughed Ray. “How that takes me back. Do you remember the night 1 came for you to go canoeing- 3 * ok ok K T some HE night he came for her to go canoeing. 1n spite of herself, Amy felt her blood run a little faster. “Of | the Lowrie-Eaton rivalry. The late| course 1 remember.” she cried. in- voluntarily. “That was the night——' she stopped and looked up at him. Sae had been about to say “that you kissed me.” But she finished it in- stead—"that 1 Tuined my only pair 1l | o n | 1 | ! ! of white slippers. 1 would wear them.” Ray Lowrie laid his hand gently | en her wrist. “And do you remember | what 1 used to call you—West} Wind'? That's what you were like, Amy—that's what you are like still—" % Henry loomed before them. “Going to drag Amy, shrieking., away,” he announced cheerfully. “She’s the only person who will endure my fox-trot- ting."" It effectually broke the spell of ro- mance, past or present. For once Henry had been opportune. Even Amy realized that. and. for the rest of the evening. she was more than| kind to him. Still, as they were! leaving. Ray Lowrie separated them again for a moment. “I shall see you very soon,” he said ! to Amy. earnestly. | She pulled at her scarf and eyed| him over its scarlet transparency “We'll have some tennis,”” she prom- ised. “And some golf.” said Henry, adding himself to the group. He sounded exactly like a complacent husband of many vears' standing, and Amy, in spite of herself, grinned at his tone. She caught Ray’s eyes as he moved away, and she could have sworn that he was thinking exactly the same thing that she was. As Henry let the car out a little on the way into| town, she smiled again into the darkness, “Ray’s just the same,” said Henry, suddenly, breaking the silence. “I| suppose he’s well enough—in his way | —but what makes all you women fall { for him in the way you do? Honest-| 1y, what is it?” Amy smiled again into the rushing dark. “Henry, she said, sternly, “gre you jealous' Henry gave a little half groan. suppose 1 am,” he admitted. The car flew along. As it drew up|” under the Thompson's porte-cochere, Amy caught up her. scarlet ruffies.| She poised herself on the atep. “Well, you'd better be jealous,” she said, and ran into the house. B R TMMEDIATELY thereafter .a mid- summer madness seemed ‘to fall upon the three of them. They be- came, within the limits of conven- tion, simply two males struggling for 1} 1 meval, bare-faced contest it was. To begin with, Ray Lowrie bought a car, a big and powerful car, that completely ‘ threw Henry's!lfttle old runabout in the shade. Ha had his car painted scarlet, to m#teh ‘the dress that Amy had worn the night of the dance, he told her. And the car and its owner were at Amy’s dis- posal at any hour. By the fact that he had no office hours or business to | qrrivals besieged the early birds with consider, Ray Lowrle could see Amy | questions Ifie this oftener than Henry. But Henry, though| «Are they here yet?”’ he attended faithfully to the affairs of | «wnhoa she come With t the plane-and-sash company, never-!or Ray?’ theless took a good bit of time off| <erennis or golf today?” and hung on doggedly. The feminine contingent favored As for Amy, she enjoyed thoroughly | Ray’s suit—the men stood solidly by the fact that she was the most| Henry. Not that they didn’t like Ray courted, the most talked-of and yet| —but they knew him too well to the most thoroughly blameless young | think of him as & benedict in good lady in the whole of Greenflelds. To| and regular standing. . The women, be sensational without any dangling | Rowever, averred that he would, with scandal is a fairly delighiful occu-|a tactful, sensible girl like Amy, be- pation to & girl who is just on the come a model husbande 4% Which . oday, Henry | tlous, D. O, MARCH 19 \ the men' haw-hawed coarsely and sardonically. People even broke up bridge games discussing it. The but more | atmosphere was downright feverish. pleasantly. Between Henry and Ray there was, ostensible, I might even say ostenta- | peace. They played golf to-! gether—Henry winning just often | After playing tennis with Ray and!enough to make It interesting. Ray|nat-& bit like this when was a good golfer, though addicted | to pressing. He preferred tennis— with Amy. Nothing tempted Henry | perfectly trazy about you then, you|¥® But you were away some|2 onto the courts. Golf was his game. have a steady soothing round of golf So Amy plaved tennis with Ray, and | time. golf with Henry, taiked and danced and motored with them both * ok ok x BUT fer all Henry's persistence and for all Ray's dash and urgency. the situation remained unchanged. Amy went on her way, dividing her | favors as evenly as possible and with a perfect disregard of Greenflelds' comment. It was Ray who broke over first. Not being accustomed to being denied BEHIND HER ROSE HENRY, A BLOND GIANT. what he wanted or thwarted {n his pursuit, he made ococasion for & tete- a-tets in the moonlight of the Thompson pergola. 3 v “How much longer ars you going to torture me?” he demanded. “Don’t talk like the hero of a melo- drama,” said Amy. ‘T'm not torturing you—you're torturing yourself, If there’s any torture going on.” “You needn’t ridicule me, at least,” said Ray. “You know why I came back—it was omly te see you—and you've Kept me dangling and put me off until I'm almost out of my mind.” 1922, PAR"I‘ 4. He sald it so fervently he quite be. lieved it. “Then why dangle?” asked Amy, “There's any number of younger, prettier girls in Greenflelds than 1. Have 1 asked you to dangle? On the contrary, I should say.” “Amy,” reproached Ray. “you were away.™ " “Gertally not,” said Amy. { kno and walked and teased and “And Henry stayed right here.” | “Henry certainly stayed right here,” admitted Amy. 1 went |/ spirit? Oh, for one.gleam of—but Henry was speaking. He did not luok at her. “I heard today that you and Hay Lowrle are engaged,” he said, heav- fly. “fs that true?” “It certaimly is not “Who sald 07" true,” said he’d asked Lowrie, and he as good as admitted it.” Amy felt natural wrath at this. “Well, "he has his nerve,” she ex- clatmed Inelegantly, but forcibly. “and I'm going to téll him so and Dick Long, too. I'm not engaged to him and I'm not going—" she stopped. “Perhaps * he hasn't asked you,” suggested Henry, mildly. Amy’s Indignation was lost in sud- den mirth. “Wouldn't you like to know if he has?' she questioned Henry mockingly. * % % THE car gave a sudden jump for- ward. “You're acting like a silly child” said Henry, angry.in his turn. “How much longer are you going to go on making a fool of me? How many times have I asked you to marry me? Do you know?" “I never kept count,” Amy, her eyes twinkling. “I did. T've asked you to marry mé thirty-nine times, counting this “Oh, is this ‘a- proposal—I rather thought it was.a preliminary to throwing me Gut onto the hard, hard road and, telling me to walk home.” “I'd like to'do it,” said Henry. “If I thought It was any use I would. But I can tell you this—I'm not go- 4ng.to stand this situation much looger. Tt cheapens me—and, what's a great deal worse, it cheapens you.” He ‘slowed the car. “You'd better marry me, dear. I know so much better what's good for you than you know yourself.” “Miss Henrletta Bird told me to- day,” said Amy, naughtily, “that If you only had a little of Ray's dev- iltry—I_use Miss Henrletta’s own s—that you'd be all right” inperative honk-honk behind them stopped for a moment the con- | versation and Ray Lowrie's big red car dashed past. Henry looked after it yindictively. “Deviltry, is it?" he said. -“That's your ideal, is it—yours =id. Migs Henrietta’s? I suppose if I were to run around all the time I was | talking fool nonsense to the women u'd think I was a dashing fellow— lady killer. Honestly, Amy, I thought you had better sense.” “'tn merely repeanng wnat Miss Henrietta said,” responded Amy, drawing him on. “You see how you There was a considerable silence. |aPPear to the unprejudiced observer, | and a meaningful one. “You'd never be happy with Henry,” said Ray. Amy kept discreetly and provok- ingly still. She felt sure that the | hour of Ray's submission was at hand. Nor was she disappointed. His ar- dent voice and his romantic pose | fitted in admirably with the moon- !light and the fragrant, deserted gar- den about them. Doubtless he real- ized it. “Listen,” he said. “I've been ail |over this world and I've known wo- | men everywhere, but I've never cared for one of them as 1 care. for vou. iI've always meant to came bach to you—and here I am. Ive alw ilo\'ed you, Amy. Don't you beli me?® Don't you trust me?”’ He waited—quite sure of her. But | Amy waited, too. And then she an- wered very thoughtfully. “No, Ray—that's just it. trust you. You're |amusing and appealing. and you can | make any one care for you—-"" “Can I?" broke in Ray. “Can I Car I make you? I'll do nothing else. night and day. if that's true, but try to make you love me." And when he went away a little {later Amy owned to herself that per- haps—perhaps he might succeed. Miss: Henrfetta Bird waylaid Amy |a morning or so later as she passed, for once alone. She waived at her |from the upstairs gallery. | “Come in here, Amy, for goodness sake,” she called. She ran down- stairs and drew the girl into the old- fashioned drawing room, with its {ancient walnut furniture, its long {unused harp, with its row of family portraits. “Amy, my dear,” began Miss Henri- etta, “you'll say I'm nothing but a meddling old woman, but I can't see this thing o on without saying my llk}' to you.” e 1 don't * ¥ ® X AMY di@ not pretend to misunder- stand. “You mean Ray and Hen- ry, don't you, Miss ‘Henrietta?" she asked sweetly. “I wish you:would itell me what you think. Mother's | disgusted with me and father thinks {I'm crazy—and I can’t talk to any one else about it “You're a sweet child, exclaimed Miss Henrietta, jumping up and giv- ing Amy = spontaneous hug, “and you've got plenty of sense, Amy. I don’t blame you for wanting to lead both of them a dance, especially Ray, for he thinks he's such a fascinator, and so he is, the dear; but there's such a thing as overplaying your hand, you know, and if I were you T'd end the matter pretty soon. I'm saying everything in the most mixed- up way, but you know what I mean. “Yes, I know what you mean,” said Amy. “But I'll tell you, honestly, Miss Henrietta, I don't know what to declde.” - “Ray's in earnest—this time, fsn't he?” asked Miss Henrietta, a little hesitantly. Amy flushed. “Yes. he's In earnes she sald, “this time.” “And it's only fair for you to pun- 1sh him & little, my dear, of cours went on Miss Henrletta garrulously. “But if you're going to take him, don’t punish him toq much. I cen quite see how hard it is to decide. Life’d never be dull if you married Ray. But—life'd never be cruel if you married Henry,"” ‘Amy got up to go. “You've sald it, Miss Henriotta,” she said, “dbut you haven't said | which ‘is ~preferable, dullness or crua!t!-" 1L Miss Henrietia stamped her foot. “On!” she exclaimed, “if Henry .only, Bad-a little of Ray’s deviltry.” Amy went away with those words ringing through her head, - She .was her she studied him impatiently. Why should he be so splendidly dependable, interesting and | Henry.” “You're hopeless.” said Henry. I give it up. If you won't be serious 1 shau't be serious, either. Only— {1 do want you to realize that you're not giving me a square deal. Here's where 1 get off. I'm not going to ask you to marry me again." The car drew up before the Country Club. But Amy lingered a minute before she got out. “Is that a threat or a promise™ she -asked. ~And Henry, in spite of ! himself, laughed with her. ! As Amy waited far Henry to get | the clubs and the caddies, Ray Low- | ¥ie came up to her eagerly and the ! watchers on the veranda fluttered { with excitement. “You're going to play tennis with he annoynced. Tm going to play Henry.” said Amy. “Not all all—you're going to play tennis with me.. Tennis is your gam —not gold. ' Come along—West Wind" His eyes commanded and begged. But she did not move. “I'm going to play golf with Henry.” she said again, as if it was a charm. “Oa no you're not;” reiterated Ray, “for here comes Henry minus clubs and trowning furiously:" *"The caddles have struck” announced Henry. “They want ten cénts more ! an hour. The green committee’s sitting in the case. But I'll carry your ciuba I didn't know. though, if you'd- care to go round that way.” * x X ¥ golf with | MY looked at Henry and she I looked at Ray. Suddenly she felt, as she had mnot felt before, the burning ! need of deciding between them that very instant. She felt tired and old, and unutterably weary of tae tension of the situation. But, womanlike, she tem- porized and shifted the responsibility. “Henry,” she said very slowly, “I don't believe that 1 want to play a round ‘without a caddy. You know I'm always losing my ball. Suppose you and Ray play & round, and I'll go round with you. And suppose—suppose you—you two put up a bet on it—something really big. something you really want—just to make it more exciting.* She looked from one to the other, and nervously yopened and shut her hands, hidden in tae pockets of her sport coat. Ray comprehended ‘first. He looked at her warlly. ‘T'm game for It he declared boldy. *I think it's a ripping good idea. And may the best man win.” Henry, by this time, sensed the stakes. He looked Amy square in the eyes. “I'm on,” he announced. '“And—as Ray 80 fittingly remarks—may the best man win." They moved off without another word. Amy waited until they had got their clubs and then tae three of them went out toward the cool greennees of the links. Ray teed up first. wThis is for one round only,” he #aid, afirming rather than asking. The course was nine holes and he was won't to go off his game on the second round. Henoe his desire for one round only. «“Just as you say,” sald Henry, with apparent indifference. He usually was Just getting warmed up with one round, But why contest the point? Ray's drive was long and straigat. Henry pulled his ever so little, but both were on the green in three. Ray made & neat and accurate putt, but Henry fell six inclies short and it cost him five to drop into the cup. Ray drove, & bueaty, landing only a short approach from the green. Henry followed ably, but his putting was again at fault. They halved the hole in six. Sull no one spoke. Amy, watching the set faces of the two men, began to feel a . little sick. The ‘whole thing semmed so silly and yet was in such deadly eaynest. She wondered frantical- ly why she had been idiot enough to suggest any such thing. “Of all ri- diculous situations”* she scolded her- self, “this is the most absurd I ever got myself into. ‘It dosen’t seem as ! though it can .be real. Henry—Henry { protested A Three-Cornered Story by Sophie.Kerr ise fine, so good—and yet stodgy of tand Ray Lowrie playing golf with roe for the stake. I'm a perfect foo), that's what 1 am. Oh-h!” The last was said aloud, for Ra drove from the third tes 2 perfest wonder of w drive, over the little sitver pool in the valley of the links, over the clump of shrubbery that formed u dreadful hazard, well on the Wway t the third green. It was a long hote. Henry sliced and fell short, even of the pool, ore of those piffing uncer- tain drives that so exasperate the ome who made it. Henry said something very profane under his breath as he started off. And Ruy was smiling. The smile, however, did not last, for he overapproached and took three to get on the green. Two putts were his por- tion, also. They halved that hole, as well as the second. Both of them were getting warm, and both of them were getting nervous. Behind them trailed slong Amy, warm and nervous and cold and nervous by turps, and with her | sense of humor entirety out of working order. Henry lost the fourth hole. They halved the fifth, after some frightful putting by both. On the sixth hole, Henry rallied and made it in five, to Rays disgusted seven. Ray's loss disconcerted him some- what, and he drove wild. To be sure, 1 Henry was not much better. They did I some desperate fron-work and halved the seventh, glaring at each other over it. * % % ¥ ENRY gritted his teeth when he drove for the eighth. He gritted them to good purpose, too, for his drive was true. A short mashle, two ac- curate putts, and he was in. Ray was not so fortunate. His drive was medio- cre, his approach fell short and s putting was erratic. He lost the hola Amy’s heart gave an excited bounoa, She ran over the score mentally. Ray had won the first and fourth holesg Henry the sixth and eighth. They had halved the second, third, fifth and seve enth. Therefore, the ninth hole would decide. As they teed up, she sume moned her self-possession and looked at them critically, gauging them, and herself. They, on the other hand, did not look at her at all. They simply addressed themselves to the business in hand. But just before he drove, Ray did turn and look at her, a very short and a very searching glance—and. sh acknowledge it with a sudden panicky thrill—a look of entire, satisfled pos- session. And that instant’s glance de- cided her. She knew then that Henry had to win, that Henry must win, that if he did not win, that if he left her, #ie would be ferever desolate. She knew that she hated Ray—that she had always hated and despised him. Henry drove first. He sliced. Amy ispeculated desperately that it meant two, perhaps three, to get on the green. She watched Ray drive with a horrible feeling of fatality. It was a better drive than Henry's, but he pulled slightly and his ball disappeared in the ! high grass near the hedge at the side of the hole. (This was the boundary hedge of the links). Still—a miblick well played would land him on the green. With no very clear idea of what she was going to do, she followed Ray's ball. “I'll help you find it,” she said stupidly. He flung her a grateful, but |still conquering glance, and they | walked over the 'smooth turf side by side. Henry was thirty feet away scuf- fing about with his iron. “I think it went here,” said Ray, and headed toward a place where the grass ‘was thick and short. Amy stood still, but mechanically pushed the grass away before her. Before she realized it, the ball was theres under her foot. She looked up quickly. Ray was intent, his back toward her. She did not look at Henry—there was no need—Henry never saw anything anyway. She put her hand down and picked up that ball and slid it into her pocket, all in one deft motion Then she went on brush- ing the grass about, ostensibly search- ing eagerly, carefully. They beat over every inch of that grass for half a dozen yards. Henry came and helped. Ray got hotter and hotter and madder and madder and more desperate. Amy sought diligently. At last Ray flung up his head. “I give it up. The ball's lost. It's your hole, Henry." “And my round,” suggested Henry mildly. “Yes, H exploded Ray. * * ¥ K ENRY dropped his clubs and was at Amy’s side in two bounds. He floung one mighty arm about her— = | the modest and scrupulous Henry who had never before ventured on such boldness! He was laughing. “You didn’t have your usual luck, Ray,” he s “but you'll have to abide by the result. Give him back his ball, Amy, you little cheat.” Amy obediently put her hand in her pocket and held out the ball te Ray, on the palm of her hand. “You had it!" cried Ray, staring, unbelieving. He did not wear his conquering look now. “Yes, she had {it” said Henry. “Little West Wind breezed away with it, I fear.” Without another word Ray Lowrie turned and marched up the hill to the clubhouse. Henry watched him contentedly. “I guess that last touch would have satisfied even Miss Hen- rietta Bird,” he said cheerfully. “What's the matter, Amy? You seem He tightened his arm about “Lord love you, honey. When W you pick up that ball and put it in your little coat pocket I could have turned "three somersaults backward. And I wanted him to know that L knew—you don't begrudge me that bit of satisfaction, do you?” “You may as well give me a kiss,” he went on, putting a finger under | her chin and turning her face up to his, “for every one on the club veranda is staring at us—and this'll save us the trouble of announcing our en< gagement.” (Copyright, 1922. Al rights reserved.) —_———— RBPRESBN’ 'TATIVE FREDERICK" HICKS of New York was dis- cussing the control of the air on the floor of the House. The question was raised that a man can’t own from the center of the earth straight up through the ether because one person’s rights would cross those of some other person. It was Quite & few minutes before the members came to and realised that the lines of ownership running up from the center of the earth would radiat stretohing further and further apart , all the time, and then there was & general laugh.