On Monday Kendall took his first lesson in golf. He appeared at Ned’s room wearing his old brown sweater and a pair of heavy shoes, one toe of which showed the effects of many collisions with the football. Ned looked him over and shook his head. “You can’t do anything with that sweater, Curt,” he said. “It binds your arms too much. It isn’t cold to-day. Leave your sweater here.”
“But I haven’t any vest on!”
“You don’t need a vest. That’s it. Hello! where’s your belt?”
“I wear suspenders,” Kendall replied.
“So I see. Take ’em off and I’ll find a belt for you. Here’s one of Teller’s.”
“Won’t he mind my using it?” asked Kendall doubtfully as he removed his suspenders.
“He will esteem it an honor,” answered Ned gravely. “There you are. Slip your coat on again. Isn’t that more comfortable? Now, about shoes.”
[148]
“These are all right; they’re quite easy.”
“They look it! Never mind, I guess they’ll have to do. I haven’t an extra pair. Now then, come along.”
Kendall had hoped that they would find the links deserted, since he didn’t at all fancy making a public display of his awkwardness and ignorance, but he was doomed to disappointment. At least a half-dozen couples were making the rounds, while four or five fellows were loitering about the first tee. One of them was the boy who had talked with Ned at the football game. He was George Kirk, a good-looking Second Class fellow. Kirk brandished a golf club and hailed Ned with joy.
“Want to play a round, Ned?” he shouted as they approached.
“Thanks, George, but I’m going to show Burtis here something about the game. You fellows ever met?”
They shook hands, Kirk very affably. He showed no surprise at Ned’s announcement. In fact, he felt none, for he had become quite used to Ned’s vagaries.
“Mind if I go around with you?” he asked of Kendall. Kendall hesitated and glanced at Ned. The latter shook his head:
“Can’t have you, old man. This is Burtis’s[149] first lesson and he doesn’t want a gallery. Where’s Morgan?”
“He’s over there with Jack Simpson. I thought Wainwright might show up, but he hasn’t come yet.”
“Pete’s gone to Greenburg to the dentist. You’ll find someone, though. Come on, Curt. Here’s a ball for you. And here’s a driver. It is an old one of mine, but it’s a dandy.” He made Ned’s tee for him, placed him in position and pointed out the first hole. “Now then, just swing your club back as though you didn’t care, keep your eye on the ball and hit it.”
“I can’t,” muttered Kendall nervously, darting a glance at the little audience who were watching proceedings.
“Yes, you can. Now let me tell you something. These fellows have all had to learn just as you’re learning. You won’t do any worse than they did the first time. Go ahead now. I don’t care where the ball goes, only hit it. Easy back. That’s right. Now down—”
Kendall’s driver swished through the air and the ball, disturbed by the passing club, rolled off the tee. Kendall smiled foolishly. The onlookers smiled too, but more with Kendall than at him. Ned picked up the ball and replaced it.
“All right. Try again. But don’t try to kill[150] it, Curt. Just give it a nice little rap. And keep your eyes on it all the time.”
Kendall, very flustered, raised his driver again, swung down, dug the head of it in the earth some four inches behind the ball.
“You weren’t looking at the ball,” said Ned severely. “Once more now, and keep your eyes on the ball.”
Perhaps it was only luck, but Kendall’s next attempt resulted in a very clean forty-yard drive, and the glow of satisfaction that came to him more than atoned for what had gone before.
“Good stuff!” said Ned, and the others murmured approval. Kendall tried to dissemble his delight and drew aside to make room for Ned.
“Watch the way I do it,” said Ned. Kendall watched, but it is doubtful if he learned much. Ned’s club went back for a full swing, swished down, there was a clean click and away sailed the white ball high and far to drop safely over the first bunker.
“Rotten!” said Ned.
“Not so bad; a little too high,” observed Kirk. “Good luck, Burtis.”
Kendall followed Ned to where his ball had fallen and Ned handed him a midiron.
“You’re going to play with three clubs until you get the hang of it. This is a midiron, Curt.[151] Now, as you haven’t any tee to help you get under the ball, you’ve got to hit back of it; try to clip a bit of the turf. And the swing is different. Let me show you.” Ned illustrated. “Don’t try to hit very hard; just try to put the ball up near the bunker.”
“Is that mound the bunker?” asked Kendall.
“It is. Now see the way I swing this. Get it? Keep that wrist stiff. No, you’re hunching up your right shoulder. Don’t do that. And don’t set your muscles all stiff like that. Relax! That’s the stuff! Now then, have a shot.”
Kendall missed the ball entirely twice and finally topped it so that it trickled along for about twelve feet. The next time he buried the whole head of his club six inches behind the ball and looked up apologetically at Ned.
“I’m an awful duffer,” he said.
“Well, you’re learning the talk, anyway,” laughed Ned. “We’re all awful duffers when we start. Go ahead now. But try and keep your eyes on the place you want to hit. That’s half the secret of golf, Curt; keep your eye on the ball. And it’s the hardest thing of all to learn. See if you can’t give that a nice little rap that will put it over the bunker.”
And Kendall did, and again the glow of satisfaction[152] spread through him. He laughed nervously.
“I thought I was going to miss it entirely that time,” he said. “But I did keep my eyes on the ball, Tooker.”
“You sure did. But don’t call me Tooker. It’s an awful name to have to listen to. Call me Ned.”
“You said the other night that your name was Ted,” laughed Kendall.
“Ted, Ned or Ed; it doesn’t matter. Only never Tooker. And now here’s a bit of information for your future guidance. Never climb over a bunker, Curt; it breaks it down. Further along you will observe a nice little passage left for you; see?”
Kendall saw and started for the break, supposing that Ned was following. As he went through he looked back. Ned was not there. Instead he was in the act of jumping from the top of the bunker.
“I thought you said I mustn’t do that,” said Kendall.
“You mustn’t,” replied Ned gravely. “Ever.”
“But—why—you did it!”
“And so will you when you’ve played longer. Now, then, you’re away.”
“I’m—what?” asked Kendall.
“Away; your ball’s farthest from the hole.[153] That means that you play first. Give it a good clean swipe this time.”
Kendall managed to send the ball some twenty yards and looked at Ned for approbation. But Ned shook his head.
“All wrong. You let your club slip in your hands and you brought your shoulder up. Watch this.”
Click! Away sailed Ned’s ball, straight and low for the distant green. It struck, bounded and rolled and finally trickled to within some six yards of the flag. Kendall sighed. He had a lot to learn, he feared, before he could ever equal that performance. But he struggled on and finally his ball lay almost beside Ned’s. Then he was given another and quite different implement which Ned explained was a putter. And now—luck again very probably—Kendall distinguished himself by holing out in some marvelous ............