hole-high in seven and himself fifty yards from the green in eleven, Alonzo Wetherby at length held his head steady. A dead silence fell as he stood like a statue, glaring fixedly at the ball. Then, with a perfect follow through, he caught the ball squarely with his Benny mashie and sent it hurtling through the air into a clump of trees a hundred yards away. After this he raised his hand in token of defeat.

Five minutes later, the two antagonists having shaken hands as decorum ordains, Alonzo joined the two young people in Milroy's car. He Iwas not in the least depressed; on the

contrary he actually smiled.

"Luck was n't running my way, that's all," he explained.

"Then you did n't move your head?" asked his daughter. Mr. Wetherby shook his head calmly. "Steady as a rock," he affirmed; "but things just did n't break my way."

"Good!" cried Milroy. "You told me to ask you something if you won the match.

"I might do worse than patent this thing," he began. "Do you mind if I take some measurements while you are in it?"

He was moving to and fro as he spoke, applying the tape to the steel framework. Alonzo scowled as he inserted his head in the accustomed place. Milroy, on the contrary, smiled.

"We missed several holes," the young man explained as he worked.

You did n't, but I'll ask it just the same." The car, which had already entered the lower part of the Wetherby property, now paused before the ancient barn. Taking a midiron from his bag, the young man leaped to the ground. "If you will come with me a minute," he suggested, "I will explain exactly what I want."

Alonzo shrugged his shoulders as he stepped to the ground. Once more the look had come into his eyes-the look that seemed to be reflected from miles and miles of polished steel. Frowning at his daughter to remain in the car, he strode after Milroy, whom he found staring at the contraption which had been devised for the purpose of keeping Alonzo's head still. In his hand he held a tape-measure.

"Marie and you?" asked the other, sharply.

"Exactly," was the placid answer. "Went for a run in the car."

"Yes," said Alonzo, coldly. Had there been a thermometer in the barn it would have shown a drop of several degrees in the temperature.

"Marie and I love each other," Milroy explained.

Even a saint could not be expected to lose a golf match without a mental reaction; Alonzo, who was merely human, boiled over at once. The idea was preposterous, as he very promptly explained. He endeavored to withdraw his head from its steel surroundings and failed.

"What's this?" he asked angrily.

"A great idea of mine. A little attachment up beyond your reach locks you in. There is n't the slightest chance for you to get away until you change your mind. And your language," added the young man, severely. "How much do you expect to make out of this?"

"Not a cent. Just your blessing on our marriage."

Alonzo Wetherby's face grew apoplectic with rage. Young Milroy, producing a slip of paper, held it out with a laugh.

you if you yell your lungs out," he remarked consolingly, "so you might as well practise your swing. In half an hour my wife and I will release you."

With one hand he opened the door, while with the other he held out the midiron to Mr. Wetherby. It was so managed that the door acted as a screen, and attack was futile. Seeing this, the prisoner took the club unresistingly.

"Roll the forearms," advised the young man from behind the door. "Do not let the right shoulder drop, and above all-follow through."

Half an hour later Mr. and Mrs. Milroy entered the barn arm in arm. "We are really truly married, Daddy," the bride explained, "and we want

Her father, who should have been grieving for his lost daughter, surveyed them with an air of abstraction.

"You could have locked me in jail for a year provided you could have taught me that," declared Alonzo as his club came to rest over his left shoulder. Milroy nodded, and a look of understanding passed between the two men that spoke of common joys.

"But what is it he has, Arthur?" questioned the puzzled bride.

"A perfect follow through, darling!" explained her husband, with a look of solemnity.

Her father nodded approval. As he turned to his new son-in-law, his eyes were wet.

"God bless you, boy!" he cried in a voice hoarse with joyful emotion. "You 've done something for me I can never repay. And now, if you unfasten my head, I'll try to get in nine holes before dark."

EN days after he was shot

as he was leaving the Gare

T de Lyon in Paris, Premier

Venizelos resumed his in

terrupted journey homeward. The newspapers carried glowing accounts of the welcome the Piræus gave his ship, and of how "a hundred thousand acclaimed their idol" when he reached the capital. But the next day the Associated Press received the following telegram:

ATHENS, Sept. 7.-Premier Venizelos, with his arm in a sling and his voice rather feeble, delivered a long address at tonight's sitting of Parliament. The house was barely half full, as only the Venizelist deputies and a few Independents were present. M. Venizelos laid on the table the treaty with Turkey and the treaty with Italy, dealing with the Dodecanese Islands, which will be ratified by the next Parliament.

The populace had yelled itself hoarse, as populaces are wont to do, even when the next movement is to rend their hero. But "the House was barely half full" to receive the Treaty of Sèvres, which assured the redemption of much of Hellas, and to listen from the lips of the creator of modern Greece the story of his triumphs in wrestling for two years with the statesmen of the great powers.

The Hellenic race had been struggling for one hundred years for what Venizelos gained for his country. To one who remembers Greece of 1910, the spirit of its people, its area, and population, its wealth, actual and potential, its international influence, its army and navy, the decade of Venizelos has been the era of miracles, of astounding change of fortune, of the transformation of a race from impotence and despair to vigor and hope. The centenary of Greece defying the Ottoman Empire is at hand. The

last year that of London, Boulogne, San Remo, and Sèvres-is the best year Greece has known in her struggle for freedom and unity. Acting on the orders of their great leader, telegraphed from the council-chambers where the battle of Hellenism was being successfully waged, Greek armies occupied Thrace, drove the Turkish Nationalists from the coast-lands of Asia Minor, and were encamped within sight of the minarets of Constantinople. Venizelos had won also northern Epirus, and had manoeuvered Great Britain and Italy into a position where the relinquishment of Cyprus and Rhodes was imminent. Faute de mieux, British diplomacy had just about decided that the commercial and political interests of Great Britain would best be served by entrusting to Greece the mandate for Constantinople and the straits.

Seemingly, when Venizelos deposited the Treaty of Sèvres in the Chamber of Deputies, he should have experienced the greatest hour of a career that has known many great hours. Seemingly, when the long-promised elections were held on November 14, Venizelos ought to have been able to count upon an overwhelming majority. But he himself was defeated in his old circumscription, the Piræus, and not a single member of his party was returned in the provinces of old Greece. The Royalists also gained a majority of the seats of Macedonia and Samos. Saloniki returned twenty-four Royalists. The land-slide against the Government was realized before midnight on election day. When Venizelos found that the Royalist coalition could count on 240 seats, while the Liberal Party had won a scant 140, he placed the resignation of his cabinet in the hands of Regent Koundouriotes, and appealed to his followers to accept the result without question. The next day

Venizelos and most of his prominent office-holders went into exile in true Athenian fashion. Admiral Koundouriotes, a friend of Venizelos and his companion in the venture of 1916 that led to a separate government at Saloniki, gave over the regency to Queen Mother Olga, who received it "in the name of my beloved son Constantine."

The Western world was bewildered by the suddenness and completeness of the defeat of Venizelos. The French press raised the cry of indignation and alarm, seconded by a number of British newspapers. The American press, as our country seemed to be unaffected politically or in its honor and pride by the debacle of Venizelos, speculated upon the probable causes of the repudiation of a leader at the moment of his greatest success, began to question whether there had been any success, and commented upon the proverbial ingratitude of the people in all countries and the mercurial disposition of the Greeks in particular. On the whole, the American press has not seen in what happened in Greece on November 14 anything that affects our own interests or that is likely to have consequences unpleasant and disquieting to us. Curiously enough, this same blindness is apparent in that portion of the British press which is trying to get back to the good old British insularism. Interest is keen, and newspapers feature Athens, Lucerne, and London despatches; but the heart of the story is the reversal of the fortunes of two men. Venizelos, who was up, is down; Constantine, who was down, is up. There is the news value of it all.

From the personal point of view and from the point of view of Greek internal politics, one could write much about the reasons that prompted the Greek people to throw out Venizelos and call back Constantine. Partizans and admirers of the two men have been at it hammer and tongs ever since November 14. The result of the election is a vindication of the war record of Constantine, say the Constantinists, and a condemnation of the unconstitutional usurpation of power, the despotism, the imperialistic fantasies of Venizelos. The old snake of German propaganda is lifting its head again, say the Venizelists, fed by money

the Greek royal family acquired recently through a lucky marriage alliance with the American tin-plate industry, and has played upon the credulity and ignorance of the peasants of old Greece through an appeal to their natural war weariness.

Venizelos was exhausted by his nerveracking work in the peace councils and physically handicapped by the Paris shooting; so he could not make the personal electoral campaign that is necessary in Greece and had heretofore won him his majorities. He played in tough luck when, just after signing the decree for the November election, King Alexander was bitten by a monkey and died of blood-poisoning. The unforeseen raising of the dynastic question in the midst of the electoral campaign was disastrous. Before Alexander's death, Venizelos was put in the awkward position of opposing the recognition of his marriage to Mlle. Manos and of refusing a father and mother access to the deathbed of their son. After his death, Venizelos was at the mercy of the dynasty whose members other than Alexander he had expelled.

After the attempted assassination of Venizelos in August, the Greek Government ordered the arrest of a number of prominent anti-Venizelists. Among them was Jean Dragoumis, son of the former premier, who was most popular in Athens. In making the arrests the police killed Dragoumis. The importance of this factor in creating hostility to Venizelos on the eve of the election cannot be overestimated. In his first speech in the Chamber after the return from Paris, Venizelos turned to Repoulis, who had been acting premier during his absence, and denounced the arrests as foolish and impolitic. He said, "The bullet fired in Athens hurt me more than those fired in Paris." The open rebuke alienated Repoulis and his friends without appeasing the wrath of the many who loved Dragoumis and mourned him.

The Dragoumis tragedy is an illustration of the price Venizelos had to pay for the privilege of being present at the councils of European statesmen. When the cat's away, the mice will play. The prestige and power of Venizelos rested upon personal magnetism. He had won

the Greeks by constant contact with them. At every crisis he was always ready to make a balcony speech to the Athenians. Whenever there was trouble in the provinces, his study-door was open to the disaffected. Even when he could not remedy grievances, he did not fail to mollify the men who came to complain. His genius for administration and his power to call forth the best in those who served under him were the causes of his success in ruling Greece. The personality of Venizelos imposed itself upon the peace conference and the continuation conferences, and won for Greece more than Greece ever dreamed of gaining. But Venizelos could not be in two places at once. While he was advancing Greek interests in European council-chambers, his substitutes discredited him by maladministration at home.

Constantine, the restored king, and Venizelos, the banished premier, are picturesque figures in the history of our times, and no event of the last few months has so fascinating a fiction interest as the change in their position in relation to each other. But the world is moving so rapidly that an article to appear in January devoted to explaining the change in the fortunes of two men in November must go further than a mere recording of events. 1921 brings us face to face with problems beside which what we may or may not think of Constantine and Venizelos as individual men is of little importance. We are treating this month the defeat of Venizelos and the revenge of Constantine because this event has placed Greece and her Balkan neighbors and Turkey in the maddest currents of the international whirlpool, and because it has a world-wide significance that we should do well to seek to understand. In a very real sense the Greek people, on November 14, 1920, pointed to the handwriting on the wall. And it is for the whole world to read. May I try to interpret it?

MENE. The people are weary of bearing arms and long for a return to genuine peace.

Greece mobilized for the First Balkan War in September, 1912. The Second Balkan War, following directly upon the

heels of the war with Turkey, came in July, 1913. The peace settlements with Turkey and Bulgaria left open a number of questions that precluded the possibility of returning the armies to a peace footing. Defeated foes smarted for revenge. Liberated regions were in disorder, and not all of them were satisfied with the change of sovereignty. The sovereignty of some regions, such as northern Epirus and the islands off the coast of Asia Minor, was not settled by the peace treaties. Turkey refused to give up her claims to Mytilene and Chios and Samos, and Italy still occupied the Dodecanese. Because neither Bulgaria nor Turkey was beaten to her knees, because the victory had been that of an alliance with divergent aims, the peace treaties could be executed only by keeping the victorious nations under arms and by entering into treaties that imposed limitless military obligations in the future.

The Greeks soon realized that, despite the defeat of their foes, despite the great accessions of territory, Greece had to keep up her armies not only to maintain what she had won and guard against the plans of revenge of the vanquished, but also to be ready to aid Serbia militarily in return for aid Greece might need from Serbia.

Then came the European War, with no breathing spell, and the call from Venizelos to enter on the side of the Entente: (a) to fulfil Greek military obligations to Serbia; (b) to achieve the redemption and unity of Hellas. Leaving to one side the merits of the controversy between King Constantine and Venizelos, the Greeks could not help becoming involved. Their new territories were invaded. They were called upon to make a fresh military effort. And, after the defeat of Germany and her allies, instead of demobilization, Greece faced the necessity of increased armies for taking Thrace and fighting to win the accessions of territory in Asia Minor awarded to Greece by the peace confer