Evanston Township High School - Key Yearbook (Evanston, IL)

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Fine, snapped the old rival. And if I lose, that half million you asked me to con- tribute to some fool charity will be in your hands the day we play. And, John added, there will be a mil- lion dollars in electrical research equipment in every boys ' technical school you sponsor if you ever beat me. At this the wide eyes of John ' s colored caddy-master opened still wider and he piped up with his low drawl, Youse all are givin ' millyuns away like nickels on dat golf game and the caddies is all kickin ' ' bout carryin ' dem old bags and chasin ' dose balls dat yo ' cain ' t see no mo ' . That ' s all right, laughed John tossing the old darkey a shiny new dime. I ' ll have a whole new outfit ready for that game. Then turning to Tom, Will a month from today be all right for you? he asked. As good as any, Tom agreed, and with- out another word he rose abruptly and left the others to talk by themselves. As soon as John and Henry had seen him disappear around the corner of the open porch, John nudged the other and motioned him closer as if some one might hear. Henry, he said in a low voice, Tom can ' t possibly beat me. Of course, Henry broke in, Why, he hasn ' t played a full nine holes in his life. You old fox. You certainly did manage to take advantage of his quick temper. They both laughed, but John waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought and again assumed his confidential air. Well, even if he were good, I still would beat him. Our oil company has discovered in Samoa some peculiar oil which, in some extraordinary way not yet understood, can reduce the fric- tion of air almost to nothing. I have some of this oil with me in Florida, and I find that by dipping my golf ball into it the ball will carry twice the usual distance. Oho, jeered Henry, so that is why you oil men are such good golf players. Well, that ' s the reason why I ' ve had such good success lately, John admitted. Lean a bit closer and I ' ll tell you some more. And thus John unfolded his whole secret to Henry. But Henry saw no reason why he should not tell Tom what he had heard. So that night he paid his friend a visit and told him the whole of John ' s secret. But after hearing the tale Tom seemed anything but discouraged, in fact, his dull spirits brightened. After muttering something about a cubic foot of battery having enough energy to drive a two-ton truck and why not a golf ball, he said, turning to John, My laboratories have handled harder prob- lems than this. It will be a game of electric energy against a queer viscosity of oil. Then, bidding his companion a cheerful good night, he retired to his bed. The next day Tom left his Florida home. No one knew where or why, but he had left, and it wasn ' t long after, that the newspaper got hold of the coming million-dollar golf game. Soon the story was known through- out the whole country, but the news espe- cially affected the people of Miami. It was the subject of everyone ' s conversation. Pic- tures and articles about the professional cel- ebrities and their stakes adorned the front pages of every newspaper. At last the day for the contest had ar- rived, and people in every state in the Union had tuned up their radios to hear it broadcast over a national net-work. All was set for the occasion, but Tom had not yet arrived from his unexpected sojourn, nor had any- one yet found out where he was. The people had become uneasy. Had Tom backed out after all? Even Henry feared that all was not as it should have been, when he awaited the rival at the first tee. But just as the appointed hour rolled around so did Tom. Mid cheers and hurrahs (and not a few sighs of relief) he made his way to the tee, not bothering to change his old Mark Twain suit. It ' s your honor, he smiled to John. Thank you, John smiled in return, and carefully teeing his ball, he prepared to take the first shot. Swinging with all the strength he could muster from his thin body, he drove the ball well over his usual mark. The onlookers were audibly surprised and they looked amazed. But soon the crowd became hushed. Tom had nonchalantly thrown his ball upon the ground and drawn an old driver from his bag. With complete lack of dexterity he took a childish swing at the ball, and though he barely tapped it, the white sphere rose high and soared farther and farther from his sight. To say that every one around him was utterly struck dumb is putting it far too mildly. No one said a word for a full min- ute. Then like a burst of thunder after the silent lightning the crowd shouted, whis- pered, laughed, applauded, and groaned all Page Thirty-one

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TEE TIME Edward Zuver Lewis kOWN on the Florida east coast where men are old men and boys can ' t go for a week, unless they save up for a year, there were three big shots, so big that Will Rogers and I are the only writers who dare call them by their first names. It was an early spring day, and a cool breeze blew gently over the veranda of a club house on a private golf course, and these three elderly gentlemen were sitting leisurely drinking ice water and enjoying the freshness of the balmy air. They care- lessly chatted on a subject far from that of the business and productive world which they had long since left behind, for they at last were spending the vacation of life which old men seldom have the opportunity to enjoy but which these men well deserved after all they had accomplished in their early lives. They were praised the world over for their remarkable achievements in their in- dividual lines of business and science. Con- sequently the famous trio had become the best of friends in the years gone by. They often spent a few weeks together in which they were much annoyed by assiduous news- paper reporters and photographers. The rea- son why they would arrange to get together was, probably, to carry out their natural love of argument. John knew that oil made the greatest contribution to the world, — no question about that. Tom knew it was electricity, and Henry knew it was the flivver, and you can ' t disagree with any of them. I ' ll tell you, Henry, the ninety-year-old John was saying in a loud voice, with a plea- sant smile on his wrinkled face, the reason I love this game and first came to play it. Thirty years ago, he began, I was in extremely poor health. My stomach had gone back on me and my hair had all fallen out, which I was told meant that I had as many diseases as doctors to make diagnosis. What ' s more, whenever that trolley car would make the turn in front of my house I would tremble like a leaf. But still I had to go to New York every week and be helped up to the top floor of our building, where I would listen to the board meeting. As my voice wasn ' t so good as it should have been, my brother William and the others would do most of the talking. I would cover up my head with the Times and either listen to long discussions on sales resistance and innumerable other things, or doze off to sleep. Often, however, I used to wake up and be surprised to find the subject of the directors ' arguments not the critical problems of the company but their latest scores in golf. Now, as I knew that these men had the best business minds in the country, I began to believe that there must be something strangely kindred in golf and the oil industry, if they were as good as they said they were. So I purchased a bag of clubs and startled my doctors by taking up this game seriously and gaining rapidly in health. Since then I ' ve tried never to miss a day, and that is why in my ninetieth year I can play my little nine holes daily, and that, too, is why it is useless for Tom, here, not being an oil man, to hire Walter Hagen to give him enough coaching in the next three years, so he can catch up to my present game when he is ninety. Winking at Henry and sipping a little water from his glass, he leaned back in his chair with a childish twinkle in his eye, and waited a reply he knew would come from Tom, who though slightly deaf had been listening intently. That oil industry monopoly on this old- age golf game is silly, Tom spluttered. All right, suggested John, let ' s arrange a game and play it out. P W Thirty

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at once. And John, poor John, the smile he had been wearing for the last few weeks disappeared like Tom ' s golf ball. Crestfallen he glanced again at his old rival to be sure it wasn ' t Walter Hagen in disguise. But no. There was Tom, with a slight trace of a smile upon his pale lips, not even surprised at making a drive of two hundred and some odd yards. Motioning to his caddy, who had •not yet been able to close his gaping mouth, the old fellow began the long walk after his ball. After that Tom had a surprise for the crowd in every shot. The ball seemed to go farther each time until the people began to believe his strength was superhuman. By the time he had made his third brilliant drive, John alone had guessed the truth. The golf ball Tom was using was the cause of his surprising drives. He had beaten John at his own j»ame of wiles. Electricity was victor over oil. When the men reached the fourth tee, the sky had become black with thunder clouds, and it was not long before the heavens seemed to burst open and torrents of water poured forth mingled with flashes of light- ning and the rumbling of thunder. The drenched spectators rushed headlong for the little summer house, leaving John and Tom putting on the fourth green. Henry alone remained to see Tom sink the last putt. Are you going to keep it up in this storm? he asked. Surely, replied John. It probably won ' t let up for some time and I ' m anxious to get it over with. It ' s all right with me, too, Tom added good-naturedly, and together the three set out for the fifth tee. As soon as John had taken his usual one hundred sixty yard drive, Tom for the fifth time threw his ball carelessly upon the ground, and taking a short swing, he lightly tapped it. But, lo and behold! this time even Tom himself was surprised, for the ball rolled scarcely twelve feet! Rain must affect your golf, suggested John with a slight trace of humor. Tom could say nothing. Unable to be- lieve his eyes, he approached the white sphere with a doubtful look on his face. Again he hit it, but this time with more vigor than ever before. The ball rolled twenty feet! Tom ' s face turned a ghastly purple, then a deep crimson. Stooping, he picked up the thing which had betrayed him and flung it with all his might into the near-by trees. Then he turned on his heel and marched straight for home. Well, what do you think about the game, Henry? John asked as the two sat together drinking their ice water after the contest. Doesn ' t that prove that my oil is the victor over electricity? No, I should hardly say that, Henry disagreed. Your oil didn ' t beat Tom. It was the lightning that beat Tom — and light- ning, you know, is natural electricity. Page Thirty-two