Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 153: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MR. MONFRENT’S FOURSOME. —-and he might get a two. Jerry, also, was virtually certain of a three. His own ball was on the edge of the green. If he sank the putt Arthur and he might win. But an eighteen foot putt—no wonder that old pirate of a Phillips was cheerful. The gallery had been augmented around the home green by a group of ladies, among whom Mr. Monfrent recognised Mrs. Ger- hard and her niece. Arthur was walking over to them. His face was lit with an adoring smile as he joined the pair. Why, of course, Mr. Monfrent told him- self with a sudden shock at his own dense- ness; of course. The niece was the girl Arthur had married. He felt a quick resentment, but he caught hold of himself and bent to the task before him. He was resolved to play safe. Better to make sure of halving the hole than to gamble on the prospect of sinking an eighteen-foot putt. Mustn’t press, he told himself. Mustn’t shoot too hard. Confound Arthur, anyway. Why couldn’t he have waited, instead of running off and getting married that way? Was he afraid his father would object? What in thunder —Mr. Monfrent dismissed this train of thought and concentrated on the putt. Mustn’t put too much left into the shot. Play safe. Be sure of a three. Confound the boy, anyway. The putter swung back, slowly as a pen- dulum, and came forward as irrevocably. The clubhead’s impact against the ball sounded clearly. ‘“Too much,” Mr. Monfrent groaned in- wardly at the sharpness of the sound. ‘“Confound the boy taking my mind off the shot.” The ball sped forward, seeming to gather speed as it went, straight towards the hole. Mr. Monfrent watched in heartsick awe. It would go well over to the other edge of the green, he calculated. He’d be lucky to get a four. But it didn’t! It struck the cup, rimmed its edge in whirling fury—and dropped in! A two! Joe Phillips’s putt missed by a full foot. The match was won. Jerry Phillips and his son were defeated at last. 625 Mr. Monfrent beamed genially as the gallery broke into cackling applause. This was his moment. He had worked five years for this. He looked proudly about and saw Arthur approaching him. He smiled as he took his son’s hand. “Yowre married, are you, boy?” he mused gently. ‘ Well, I’m damn glad that’s over.” He did not specify whether he meant the marriage or the match. VI. ‘“ So,” commented Mr. Monfrent that evening, “so, you’re the Aileen Marley who wrote me that pert letter when I offered you a job. And now you’re Mrs. Arthur Monfrent, Jr., and you’re going to work for him in the ladies’ department. No won- der he wanted it. Dve been neatly hood- winked.” He turned to Mrs. Gerhard and shook his fist genially at her. ‘“ And by your niece, as well as my son,” he said. “I suspect you knew it all the time.” ‘“ Not all the time,” amended the aunt. “Hum!” grunted Mr. Monfrent. “ Most of it then.” Mrs. Gerhard nodded amiably. For all his seeming light-heartedness, Mr. Monfrent was a bit downcast. He wished Arthur happiness with all his power, but he could not help feeling that his marriage meant an end to the many glorious after- noons of golf they had enjoyed together. It was a drear prospect. Suddenly a thought came to him, a possible solution. He addressed his daughter-in-law. “Do you play golf, Aileen?” he asked. ‘““T did play rather well, but my game hasn’t had much attention lately,” Aileen admitted, pressing the hand of her husband, who was sitting beside her. ‘“ Auntie is a whale, though.” “T know it,” said Mr. Monfrent grimly. He turned to Mrs Gerhard. ‘“ You'll have to marry me,” he announced, solemnly. ‘Then we can have a foursome in the family.” “I suppose I must,” sighed that fair lady. ‘I should hate to spoil such a prom- ising foursome.” THE END 10 A Comic yoo CO