The Haunted Major by Robert Marshall

Author:Robert Marshall [John Updike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857861559
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2011-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Ay! Ye’re guy wet

‘Noo,’ he continued, his eyes blazing with vindictive triumph, ‘I’m gaun tae lend ye this verra set o’ clubs, an’ I guarantee that an ye play wi’ them ye’ll win the day. D’ye hear that?’

‘It is extremely good of you,’ I murmured hurriedly.

‘Hoots! It’s mair for ma ain gratification than for yours. In addeetion I’ll be wi’ ye on the links, but veesible to nane but yersel. Ye’ll wun the day, and fair humeeliate the varmint spawn o’ my ancient foe; and, eh! guid sir, but these auld bones will fair rattle wi’ the pleesure o’t! Will ’ee dae’t?’

‘I will,’ I solemnly replied. What else could I have said?

‘Then hud yer wheest whiles I fetch the clubs.’

With this His Eminence turned to the tapestry behind him, and, drawing it aside, disclosed a deep and narrow cavity in the rock. From this he extracted, one by one, a set of seven such extraordinarily unwieldy-looking golf clubs that I felt it in me to laugh aloud. Needless to say I indulged in no such folly. I examined them one by one with apparent interest and simulated appreciation, as, fondling them lovingly, my companion expatiated on their obviously obsolete beauties. A strange and almost pathetic enthusiasm shone in his eyes.

‘Nane o’ yer new-fangled clubs for me,’ cried the Cardinal; ‘they auld things canna be bate. Tak’ them wi’ ye back tae whaur ye bide; bring them to the links the moarn’s moarn, and as sure as we stand here this nicht – or moarn, fur the brak o’ day is close at haun’ – I’ll be wi’ ye at the first tee, tae witness sic a game o’ gowf as never mortal played before. But eh! guid sir, as ye’d conserve yer body and soul frae destruction and damnation, breathe nae word o’ this queer compact tae man, wumman, or bairn. Sweer it, man, sweer it on this skull!’

His bloodless hands extended the grinning skull towards me, and I, repressing an involuntary shudder, stooped and kissed it.

A gleam of malignant triumph again lit up his face as I took the oath. Then he seized the weird-looking clubs, and, caressing them with loving care, muttered to himself reminiscences of bygone years.

‘Ay, fine I mind it‚’ he cried, ‘when young Ruthven came gallivantin’ tae St Magnus, and thocht his match was naewhere tae be foond. We had but five holes in thae days, ye ken, and ilka yin a mile in length. Hech, sir! what a match was that! I dinged him doon wi’ three up and twa tae play. Ye’ll no be disposed to gie me credence, but it’s a fact that I did yin hole in seventeen!’

‘That was unfortunate,’ I replied, mistaking his meaning.

‘Ay, for Ruthven,’ was his quick and peevish rejoinder. ‘For he took thirty-seven and lost the hole.’

I had not grasped that he considered his own score extremely good.

‘Of course I meant for Ruthven,’ I stammered, with the vague and silly smile of clumsy apology.

‘Ye didna,’ replied His Eminence; ‘but I’m no mindin’.

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