All this
long, weary while I have been in the village of Auchtermuchtie, in
Scotland, studying under Tamms McMickle."
"Not the Tamms McMickle who finished fourth in the Open Championship of
1911, and had the best ball in the foursome in 1912 with Jock McHaggis,
Andy McHeather, and Sandy McHoots!"
"Yes, Mortimer, the very same. Oh, it was difficult at first. I missed
my mallet, and long to steady the ball with my foot and use the toe of
the club. Wherever there was a direction post I aimed at it
automatically. But I conquered my weakness. I practised steadily. And
now Mr. McMickle says my handicap would be a good twenty-four on any
links." She smiled apologetically. "Of course, that doesn't sound much
to you! You were a twelve when I left you, and now I suppose you are
down to eight or something."
Mortimer shook his head.
"Alas, no!" he replied, gravely. "My game went right off for some
reason or other, and I'm twenty-four, too."
"For some reason or other!" She uttered a cry. "Oh, I know what the
reason was! How can I ever forgive myself! I have ruined your game!"
The brightness came back to Mortimer's eyes.
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