Evening Star Newspaper, July 14, 1935, Page 89

5 Magazine Section THIS WEEK 11 I~ overlooked, but this was too much. I " I i here was a good thing which should be S “Good morning, Mr. McTavish,” ar ew ell tO egs pushed along. Accordingly, he clasped h she said. “If you will kindly hand me Evangeline to his bosom, and for a o that bag of clubs, I will not trouble ; space she remained there, hiccoughing. ur s i you to come round with me any Continued from page fo “‘Oh, Angus!”’ she sobbed at length. > longer.” ““How right you were!"” i A swift revulsion swept over Angus allowances for the exaggeration of a seen anything so droll. How vast an St. Helena. Eventually, feeling that “When?" asked Angus McTavish. McTavish. He perceived that he had gone too far. He loved this girl, and he had hurt her. “Evangeline!”" he cried. “My name,” said the girl, ‘‘is Brackett. A ‘Miss’ goes with it.”’ “But listen,” pleaded Angus, ‘‘this is absurd. You know I worship the very tee you walk on. Are we to part like this just because that Mortimer excrescence has come into our lives? Shall our dream Paradise —"" “My bag of clubs, if you please,"” said Evangeline haughtily, ““and look slippy with it, please. I do not wish to remain here all day. Ah, here comes Legs. Legs, darling, will you carry for me?"’ “Carry what, sweetest of your sex?"”’ “My clubs?”’ “Oh, the jolly old hockey-knockers? Certainly, certainly.” “*‘Hockey-knockers!"” hissed Angus jealous lover still smarting from having been laughed at by the adored object, first in a hyena-like and then in a silvery manner. These things dis- tort the judgment and lend acid to the tongue. The truth is that Evangeline, though perhaps five strokes in excess of what a pure-minded girl with her handicap might have been expected to take on nine holes, was still well in the running. And the resentment with which she was seething as the result of her ex-fiancé’s uncouth behavior re- sulted in her striking a patch of positive brilliance. Every time she drove off the tee, she did it with a sort of controlled fury, as if she were imagining that she had seen Angus standing in the middle of the fairway and that a well-directed shot would catch him on the spot where it would do him most good. When she improvement, she felt, not only in the capacity of a caddy but in that of a mate for life, was this sunny, light- hearted merrymaker on such a human pain in the tonsils as Angus McTavish. “What | love about you, Legs,” she said, as they walked to the eighteenth tee, ‘‘is your wonderful sense of humor. Don’t you hate people with no sense of humor? I mean people who get stuffy if somebody plays a good-natured practical joke on them. Like —well, like Scotchmen, I mean.” “You bet,” said Legs Mortimer, putting on a false nose. “I'm sure I should be the first to laugh if anything of that sort hap- pened to me. But then, thank good- ness, I have always had a sense of humor.” “‘Great gift,”” said Legs. ““Well, it's just how one happens to he needed more space in which to express himself, he had gone for a walk round the links, and by one of those odd coincidences was approaching the eighteenth tee from the rear at the exact moment when Evangeline made her drive. And as he drew near, his reverie was shattered by a hideous, cackling shout of laughter from the other side of the bushes which hid the tee from his view. He stopped, frowning. Laughter on the links was a thing which always offended his sense of the reverent, and the current burst of merriment he had recognized immediately as emanating from Legs Mortimer. Nobody else’s mirth had just that quacking sound. “Faugh!" said Angus, and was about to repeat the word when it died on his lip}, and he stood gaping. There was a sort of thudding sound ‘““When you warned me against that man. ‘Do not trust him,"” you said, ‘for somehow, somewhere, in some manner, he will let you down, and with a bump.” *’ ‘““And did he?” “Did he not!” replied Evangeline Brackett. “I needed a five on the eighteenth to win the medal and I asked him to get me out a new ball, and do you know what he did?"’ “What?"” “I'll tell you what. He put down a s-8-s-8-8-8.”” Anguish robbed Evan- geline of speech. In endeavoring to frame the last word she had sunk to the level of a soda-syphon. Angus groped for her meaning. *‘He put down what?" “A s-8-8-5-8."" “Sand?”’ She shook;her head violently. ‘“No, no! Not s-s-s-s. A §-8-5-5-5."" in her ear. “You heard what he said! ’ ‘ \ n o be born, I suppose,” said Evangeline as of feet spurning the turf, and then “S.g-g-5-5?" One of the finest steel-shafted, rubber ChiPPed, it was as if she were chipping modestly. “You either have it or you round the corner of the bushes came “G.g.5-8-5." grip, self-compensating sets of clubs ~ ADBUS- And whenever she made a re- haven't. I think I'll have a new ball, Legs Mortimer, cutting out an ex- “S.g.g-5-57" ever made by the Pro, and he called them hockey-knockers. 1 warn you, have a care. Do not trust that man. Somehow, somewhere, in some man- ner, he will let you down, and with a bump. Beware!"” “Come on, Legs, darling,” said Evangeline. My partner's waiting.” Standing there on the veranda with folded arms, Angus McTavish watched them depart. Evangeline did not vouchsafe him so much as a glance over her shoulder. Legs Mortimer, having tilted his hat to one side and put on a false mustache which he produced from an inner pocket, danced a few steps, said, ‘“‘Hot dog!” shouldered the bag and followed her. Now, it may well be that, taking into consideration the remarks of Angus McTavish, you probably feel that Evangeline might just as well, for all the chance she had of winning the Ladies Medal, have torn up her card and gone home. But you must make covery from a bunker with her niblick, she hit the ball as though it were Angus McTavish’s shin. By these means, she was enabled to get fours on the tenth, eleventh and twelfth, a five on the thirteenth, and on the short fourteenth a lucky two. In short, by the time she had holed out at the seventeenth, she had played a net seventy-three. And when she learned from a bystander that her only two possible rivals had each turned in net seventy-nines, she not unnaturally considered that the contest was as good as over. The eighteenth had always been a favorite hole of hers. and she was supremely confident of securing a four on it. In these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that she gazed at Legs Mortimer with an affection bordering on something even warmer. As was his practice when wearing a false mustache, he was waggling the ends of it, and she thought she had never Legs darling. I don’t want to make any mistake over this hole.” The confidence which Evangeline Brackett had felt on holing out at the seventeenth had lost none of its force at this supreme moment. Every golfer knows that sensation of power and mastery which comes when he has just played a series of holes in perfect style and is conscious that his stance is right and his wrists are right and all things working together for good. Evangeline had it now. She waggled for an instant. Then, raising her club with an effortless swing, she brought it down. ; And what of Angus, meanwhile? For some little time after Evangeline had left him, he had stood rooted to the spot. For some little time after that, he had paced the terrdce with knitted brow, reminding not a few of the members who watched him through the windows of Napoleon at cellent pace, and after him, her face flushed, her eyes staring, Evangeline Brackett, brandishing in her hand a steel-shafted driver. She seemed to be endeavoring to brain the other, if it is possible to brain a man like Legs Mortimer. Angus McTavish followed the pair at his best speed. He came up with the hunt just as Legs, apparently de- spairing of shaking off the girl’s chal- lenge, dodged behind a leafy tree and, with an adroitness born, no doubt, of his Swiss mountaineering, shinned up like a squirrel and remained there. It was at this moment that Evan- geline saw Angus. ““Oh, Angus!” she cried, and the next moment she was in his arms. Scotch blood, it is said, makes for solid worth rather than nimbleness of wit, for a certain rugged stability of character rather than quick intuition, but even a man as Scotch as Angus McTavish was able to perceive that “A soap-ball,” said Evangeline, suddenly becoming articulate. If he had not been holding on to the girl, Angus McTavish would have reeled — Scotch-reeled, as no doubt Legs Mortimer would have described it. If his reverent nature revolted at laughter on the links, it revolted with a far greater sensation of outraged nausea at the sight of those cakes of soap which manufacturers, making a mockery of sacred things, turn wat in the shape of regulation golf balls. And now a man — or, rather, a crea- ture bearing the outward semblance of a man — had teed up one of the dreadful things for a girl, a fragile, sensitive girl, to drive not, which would have been bad enough, in some casual morning round but at the very crisis of the Ladies Spring Medat Competition. “I came down on it like two tons of bricks,” proceeded Evangeline, (Continued on page 15) Hn complexion is not the only important part ofa woman's charm . . . but men seldom look twice at a girl whose beauty is marred by unneces- sary blemishes like blackheads, coarse pores, sallow color, dry skin or oily skin. Yes, unnecessary—because there is a quick, easy way to correct and avoid these common skin faults, at a cost any woman can afford. Within 30 days or less, you can bring back fresh, clear, youthful beauty to your complexion. Cleansing the surface is only a small part of what Woodbury’s does for your skin. 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