defeating the younger Slade in two straight sets, to his own and
Grace’s satisfaction; but Mr. Thatcher’s satisfaction was somewhat
dampened when Grace polished him off in the next round, after a game
which Grace made as close as he could.
Other rounds were going on in the other courts, and at five o’clock
Grace and the elder Slade came together in the finals. Thatcher had
gone home after wishing his conqueror luck, and Grace was left alone.
He was not pleased to see that Slade’s brother was to act as one of
the umpires, as he had noticed that his decisions in other games were
carelessly incorrect.
But he was in no way prepared for what followed.
For the younger Slade’s umpiring in the final game was even more
efficient in gaining points for the Hilltown side than was the elder’s
playing.
It was a matter of principle with Grace, as with all good players,
never to question an umpire’s decision, and he had been taught the good
old rule to “Never kick in a winning game.” But the decisions were
so outrageous that it soon came too close to being a losing game for
him to allow them to continue. So, finally, after a decision of the
brother’s had given Slade the second one of the two sets, Grace went to
the referee and asked that some one be appointed to act in Mr. Slade’s
place, as he did not seem to understand or to pay proper attention to
the game.
“Mr. Slade’s decisions have been simply ridiculous,” said Grace,
“and they have all been against myself. This may be due to ignorance
or carelessness, but in any case I object to him as an umpire most
emphatically.”
“Well, you can object to him all you please,” retorted the elder
brother. “If you don’t like the way this tournament is conducted you
can withdraw. You needn’t think you can come down here and attempt to
run everything to suit yourself, even if you are a crack player. Do you
mean to forfeit the game or not?”
“It seems to me, gentlemen,” stammered Mr. Percy Clay, excitedly, “that
if Mr. Grace desires another umpire--”
“Oh, you keep out of this, will you!” retorted the omnipotent Slade,
and Mr. Clay retreated hurriedly.
Grace walked back into the court, and nodded to the referee that he was
ready to go on.
He was too angry to speak, but he mentally determined to beat his
opponent so badly, umpire or no umpire, that his friends would avoid
tennis as a topic of conversation for months to come.
This incendiary spirit made him hammer the innocent rubber balls to
such purpose that the elder Slade was almost afraid of his life, and
failed to return more than a dozen of the opponent’s strokes in the
next two sets.
His brother’s decisions were now even more ridiculous than before, but
Grace pretended not to notice them.
The game now stood two straight sets in Grace’s favor, and one set 6-5
in Slade’s--or in favor of both the Slades, for they had both helped to
win it.
Grace had four games love, in the final set, when in running back after
a returned ball he tripped and fell over an obstacle, spraining his
right ankle very badly. The obstacle proved to be the leg of one of the
Hilltown youths who was lying in the grass with his feet stuck out so
far that they touched the line.
Grace got up and tried to rest his weight on his leg, and then sat down
again very promptly.
He shut his teeth and looked around him.
Nobody moved except Mr. Clay, who asked anxiously if Grace were hurt.
Grace said that he was; that he had sprained his ankle.
The young gentleman over whom he had fallen had by this time curled his
legs up under him, but made no proffer of assistance or apology.
“Oh, that’s an old trick!” Grace heard the younger Slade say, in a tone
which was meant to reach him. “Some men always sprain their ankles when
they are not sure of winning. I guess he’ll be able to walk before the
year’s out.”
Grace would have got up then and there and thrashed the younger Slade,
ankle or no ankle, if he had not been pounced upon by the two Malvern
boys, who pushed their way through the crowd with a pail of lemonade
and a half dozen towels that they had picked up in the club-house. They
slipped off his shoe and stocking, and dipping a towel in the iced
lemonade, bound it about his ankle and repeated the operation several
times, much to Grace’s relief.
“This lemonade was prepared for drinking purposes, I fancy,” said one
of them, “but we couldn’t find anything else. I never heard of its
being good for sprains, but it will have to do. How do you feel now?”
“All right, thank you,” said Grace. “I’ve only these two games to play
now, and it’s my serve. I needn’t run around much in that. Just give me
a lift, will you? Thanks.”
But as soon as Grace touched his foot to the ground, the boys saw that
he was anything but all right. His face grew very white, and his lips
lost their color. Whenever he moved he drew in his breath in short,
quick gasps, and his teeth were clinched with pain.
He lost his serve, and the next game as well, and before five minutes
had passed he was two games to the bad in the last set.
The Malvern boys came to him and told him to rest; that he was not
only going to lose the game, but that he might be doing serious injury
as well to his ankle, which was already swelling perceptibly. But
Grace only unlaced his shoe the further and set his teeth. One of the
Malvernites took upon himself to ask the referee if he did not intend
giving Mr. Grace a quarter of an hour’s “time” at least.
The referee said that the rules did not say anything about sprained
ankles.
“Why, I know of tennis matches,” returned the Malvernite champion
excitedly, “that have been laid over for hours because of a sprained
ankle. It will be no glory to Mr. Slade to win from a man who has to
hop about on one foot, and no credit either.”
“Mr. Grace is a crack player, and I’m not,” said Slade; “but I asked no
favors of him on that account, and I don’t expect him to ask any of me.”
“I haven’t asked any of you!” roared Grace, now wholly exasperated with
anger and pain, “and you’ll wait some time before I do. Go on with the
game.”
The ankle grew worse, but Grace’s playing improved, notwithstanding.
He felt that he would rather beat “that Slade man” than the champion
himself; and he won each of his serves, not one of the balls being
returned.
They were now “five all,” and the expressed excitement was uproarious
in its bitterness and intensity.
Slade had the serve, and it was with a look of perfect
self-satisfaction that he pounded the first ball across the net. Grace
returned it, and the others that followed brought the score up to
’vantage in Slade’s favor, so that he only needed one more point to win.
The people stood up in breathless silence. Grace limped into position
and waited, Slade bit his under lip nervously, and served the ball
easily, and his opponent sent it back to him like an arrow; it struck
within a foot of the serving line on the inside, making the score
“deuce.”
“Outside! Game and set in favor of Mr. Slade,” chanted the younger
Slade with an exultant cry.
“What!” shouted Grace and the two Malvernites in chorus.
But the crowd drowned their appeal in exclamations of
self-congratulation and triumph.
“Did you see that ball?” demanded Grace of the referee.
“I did,” said that young man.
“And do you mean to tell me it was out?”
“It was--I do,” stammered the youth. “You heard what Mr. Slade said.”
“I don’t care what Mr. Slade said. I appeal to you against the most
absurd decision ever heard or given on a tennis-field.”
“And I support Mr. Slade,” replied the referee.
“Oh, very well!” said Grace, with sudden quietness. “Come,” he
whispered to his two lieutenants, “let’s get out of this. They’ll
take our watches next!” And the three slowly made their way to the
club-house.
They helped Grace into his other clothes and packed up his
tennis-flannels for him. He was very quiet and seemed more concerned
about his ankle than over the loss of the State championship.
Grace and his two supporters were so long in getting to the station, no
one having offered Grace a carriage, that he missed his train.
He was very much annoyed, for he was anxious to shake the dust of
Hilltown from his feet, and he was more than anxious about his ankle.
“Mr. Grace,” said Merton, “Prior and I were wondering if you would
think we were presuming on our short acquaintance if we asked you to
come home with us to Malvern. You can’t get back to college to-night
from here, and Malvern is only ten miles off. My father is a doctor and
could tell you what you ought to do about your ankle, and we would be
very much pleased if you would stay with us.”
“Yes, indeed, we would, Mr. Grace,” echoed the younger lad.
“Why, it’s very kind of you; you’re very good indeed!” stammered Grace;
“but I am afraid your family are hardly prepared to receive patients at
all hours, and to have the house turned into a hospital.”
Merton protested with dignity that he had asked Grace as a guest, not
as a patient; and they finally compromised upon Grace’s consenting to
go on to Malvern, but insisting on going to the hotel.
Grace had not been at the Malvern Hotel, which was the only one in the
place, and more of an inn than a hotel, for over ten minutes before
Dr. Merton arrived in an open carriage and carried him off, whether
he would or no, to his own house, where, after the ankle was dressed,
Grace was promptly put to bed.
In the morning, much to his surprise, he found that the swelling had
almost entirely disappeared, and he was allowed in consequence to come
down to the breakfast-table with the family, where he sat with his
foot propped up on a chair. He was considered a very distinguished
invalid and found it hard not to pose as a celebrity in the cross-fire
of admiring glances from the younger Merton boys and the deferential
questions of their equally young sisters.
After breakfast, he was assisted out on to the lawn and placed in a
comfortable wicker chair under a tree, where he could read his book
or watch the boys play tennis, as he pleased. The tennis was so well
worth watching that after regarding it critically for half an hour he
suddenly pounded the arm of his chair and called excitedly for the boys
to come to him. They ran up in some alarm.
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” he said. “I have a great idea. I see a
way for you to get even with those lads at Hilltown and to revenge me
by proxy. All you need is a week’s training with better players than
yourselves for this tri-club tournament and you’ll be as good or better
than they are now.”
Then the champion explained how the Malvern team, having no worthy
opponents to practise against at home, were not able to improve in
their playing; that water would not rise above its own level; and that
all they required was competitors who were much better than themselves.
“I can teach you something about team-play that you don’t seem to
understand,” said Grace. “I will write to-day to that college chap,
Thatcher, to come down with a good partner and they will give you some
fine practice.”
The Malvern boys were delighted. They wanted the lessons to begin at
once, and as soon as the letter was despatched to Thatcher, Grace had
his arm-chair moved up near the net and began his lectures on tennis,
two boys from the Malvern club acting as the team’s opponents.
Grace began by showing the boys the advantage of working as a team
and not as individuals, how to cover both alleys at once, and how to
guard both the front and back; he told them where to stand so as not to
interfere with each other’s play, when to “smash” a ball and when to
lift it high in the air, where to place it and when to let it alone.
Sometimes one play would be repeated over and over again, and though
Grace was a sharp master his team were only too willing to do as he
commanded whether they saw the advantage of it or not. When the shadows
began to grow long, and the dinner gong sounded, Grace told them they
could stop, and said they had already made marked improvement, so they
went in radiant with satisfaction and exercise, and delightfully tired.
Practice began promptly the next morning, and continued steadily on to
luncheon. At two o’clock Thatcher and another player arrived from the
college, which was only a few miles distant from Malvern, and Grace
gave them an account of his defeat at Hilltown and of the Slade’s
treatment of the Malvernites.
“You saw, Thatcher,” said Grace, “how they abused and insulted those
boys. Well, these same boys have treated me as if I were one of their
own family. Dr. and Mrs. Merton have done everything that people could
do. It has been really lovely, and I think I can show my appreciation
of it by bringing back those cups from that hole in the ground called
Hilltown. And I ask you to help me.”
The college men entered heartily into Grace’s humor, and promised to
come down every afternoon and give the boys all the practice they
wanted.
Every one belonging to the club had heard what was going on, by this
time, and the doctor’s big front lawn was crowded with people all the
afternoon in consequence.
The improvement in the Malvern boys’ playing was so great that every
one came up to be introduced, and to congratulate Grace on the work he
had done. He held quite a levee in his arm-chair.
Mrs. Merton asked the college men to supper, and had some of the
Malvern men and maidens to meet them.
The visitors presumably enjoyed their first day very much, for when
they returned the next morning they were accompanied by four more
collegians, who showed the keenest interest in the practice games.
These four men belonged to that set that is found in almost every
college, whose members always seem to have plenty of time to encourage
and aid every institution of Alma Mater, from the debating societies
to the tug-of-war team.
These particular four were always on the field when the teams
practised; they bought more tickets than any one else for the Glee Club
concerts; and no matter how far the foot-ball team might have to wander
to play a match, they could always count on the appearance of the
faithful four, clad in greatcoats down to their heels, and with enough
lung power to drown the cheers of a hundred opponents.
Barnes, Blair, Black, and Buck were their proper names, but they were
collectively known as the Four B’s, the Old Guard, or the Big Four; and
Thatcher had so worked on their feelings that they were now quite ready
to champion the Malvern team against their disagreeable opponents.
They made a deep impression on the good townsfolk of Malvern. Different
people carried them off to supper, but they all met later at Dr.
Merton’s and sat out on his wide veranda in the moonlight, singing
college songs to a banjo accompaniment which delighted the select few
inside the grounds and equally charmed a vast number of the uninvited
who hung over the front fence.
The practice games continued day after day, and once or twice the
Malvern team succeeded in defeating their instructors, which delighted
no one more than the instructors themselves.
Grace was very much pleased. He declared he would rather have his boys
defeat the Slades than win the national tournament himself, and at the
time he said so, he really believed that he would.
He went around on crutches now, and it was very odd to see him vaulting
about the court in his excitement, scolding and approving, and
shouting, “Leave that ball alone,” “Come up, now,” “Go back, play it
easy,” “Smash it,” “Played, indeed, sir,” “Well placed.”
The tri-club tournament opened on Wednesday, and on Tuesday the Four
B’s, who had been daily visitors to Malvern, failed to appear, but sent
instead two big pasteboard boxes, each holding a blazer, cap, and silk
scarf, in blue-and-white stripes, the Malvern club colors, which they
offered as their share toward securing the Malvern champions’ victory.
On the last practice day, Grace balanced himself on his crutches and
gave the boys the hardest serving they had ever tried to stand up
against. All day long he pounded the balls just an inch above the net,
and when they were able to return three out of six he threw down his
racket and declared himself satisfied. “We may not take the singles,”
he said, “but it looks as if the doubles were coming our way.”
Grace and his boys, much to the disgust of the townspeople, all of
whom, from the burgess down to the hostler in the Malvern Hotel, were
greatly excited over the coming struggle, requested that no one should
accompany them to Hilltown. They said if they took a crowd down there
and were beaten it would only make their defeat more conspicuous,
and that the presence of so many interested friends might also make
the boys nervous. If they won, they could celebrate the victory more
decorously at home. But Grace could not keep the people from going as
far as the depot to see them off, and they were so heartily cheered as
they steamed away that the passengers and even the conductor were much
impressed.
The reappearance of Grace on crutches, and of the Malvern boys
in their new clothes caused a decided sensation. They avoided any
conversation with the Hilltown people, and allowed Grace to act for
them in arranging the preliminaries.
Pineville had sent two teams. Hilltown was satisfied with the “State
champions,” as they now fondly called the Slades, and these, with
Malvern’s one team, balanced the games evenly.
The doubles opened with Merton and Prior against the second Pineville
team, and the State champions against its first. Grace told his boys
not to exert themselves, and to play only just well enough to win.
They did as he said, and the second Pineville team were defeated
in consequence by so few points that they felt quite pleased with
themselves. The Slades had but little trouble with the other Pineville
team.
Then the finals came on, and the people of Hilltown crowded up to see
the demolition of the Malvernites, against whom they were now more than
bitter, owing to Grace’s evident interest in their success.
The Hilltown element were so anxious to show their great regard for the
champions that they had contributed an extra amount of money toward
the purchase of prize cups over and above the fixed sum subscribed by
each of the three clubs.
“Get those cups ready for us,” said the elder Slade, as the four
players took their places. Prior looked as if he was going to answer
this taunt, but Grace shook his head at him.
Thatcher, whose late service to the Malvern team was unknown, acted
at their request as one of the umpires. Two Hilltown men served as
the referee and other umpire. The game opened up in a way that caused
a cold chill to run down the backs of the Hilltown contingent. The
despised Malvernites were transformed, and Hilltown could not believe
its eyes.
“Are these the same boys who were here ten days ago?” asked an excited
old gentleman.
“They say they are,” replied Mr. Percy Clay, gloomily, “but they don’t
look it.”
The Slades felt a paralyzing numbness coming over them as ball after
ball came singing back into their court, placed in odd corners just out
of reach of their racquets.
They held a hurried consultation, and rolled up their sleeves a little
higher and tossed away their caps.
Grace had a far-away and peaceful look in his eyes that made the crowd
feel nervous. The first set went six to four in favor of Malvern.
Then the crowd surrounded the champions and poured good advice and
reproaches upon them, which did not serve to help either their play or
their temper.
The result of the second set convinced the umpire and referee that it
was time to take a hand in the game themselves, and the decisions at
once became so unfair that Grace hobbled over to that end of the court
to see after things. But his presence had no effect on the perceptions
of the Hilltown umpire. So he hobbled back to Thatcher and asked him
what they had better do about it. Thatcher said he was powerless, and
Grace regretted bitterly that he had not brought a crowd with him to
see fair play, for the boys were getting rattled at being robbed of
so many of their hard-won points. To make matters worse, the crowd
took Thatcher in hand, and disputed every decision he gave against
Hilltown. Thatcher’s blood rose at this, and forgetting that the usual
procedure would not be recognized by a Hilltown crowd, he turned on the
spectators and told them that he would have the next man who interfered
or questioned his decisions expelled from the grounds.
His warning was received with ripples of laughter and ironical cheers.
“Who’s going to put us out?” asked the Hilltown youths, derisively.
But Thatcher had spoken in a rather loud voice, and his words and the
answer to them had reached the ears of four straight-limbed young men
who were at that moment making their way across the grounds. They broke
into a run when they heard Thatcher’s angry voice, and, shoving their
way through the big crowd with an abruptness learned only in practice
against a rush line on a foot-ball field, stood forth on the court in
all the glory of orange and black blazers.
“The Four B’s!” exclaimed Grace, with a gasp of relief.
“What seems to be the matter, Thatcher?” asked Black, quietly. “Whom do
you want put out?”
“Who are you?” demanded Mr. Clay, running up in much excitement.
“Get off this court. You’ll be put out yourselves if you attempt to
interfere.”
Several of the Hilltown young men ran to Mr. Clay’s assistance, while
one of the Slades leaped over the net and seized Mr. Clay by the
shoulder.
“Don’t be a fool, Clay!” he whispered. “I know those men. Two of them
play on the foot-ball team, and if they felt like it they could turn
the whole town out of the grounds. Leave them alone.”
Mr. Clay left them alone.
“Go on, Thatcher,” said Black, with a nod, “if any of these gentlemen
object to any decision, we will discuss it with them. That’s what
we’re here for.” Two of the Big Four seated themselves at the feet of
the Hilltown umpire, and looked wistfully up at him whenever he made
a close decision. It was remarkable how his eyesight was improved by
their presence.
The Malvern boys beamed with confidence again. The second set went to
them, 6-4. Grace was so delighted that he excitedly stamped his bad
foot on the turf, and then howled with pain.
The last set was “for blood,”--as one of the four collegians said.
The Slades overcame their first surprise, and settled down to fight for
every point. The Malvernites gave them all the fight they wanted. One
by one the games fell now on one side, now on the other side of the
net. And when it came five games all, the disgust and disappointment of
the crowd showed itself in shouts and cheers for their champions and
hoots for their young opponents.
But all the cheering and hooting could not change the result.
“Set and game! Malvern wins!” shouted Thatcher, and then, forgetting
his late judicial impartiality, threw his arms around Merton’s neck and
yelled.
The silence of the Hilltown people was so impressive that the wild yell
of the college contingent sounded like a whole battery of skyrockets
instead of only four, and Grace sat down on the court and pounded the
ground with his crutches.
“That’s enough for me,” he cried; “I don’t care for the singles. I
know when I’ve had enough! I’d have two sprained ankles to do it over
again!”
Then the Slades announced that the singles would begin immediately
after luncheon.
The Malvern contingent went to the hotel to find something to eat, and
Blair slipped away to telegraph to Malvern.
Five minutes later the operator at that place jumped as if he had
received a shock from his own battery, and ran out into the street
shouting, “Malvern’s won the doubles, three straight sets!”
Judge Prior’s coachman, who was waiting at the station for an express
package, turned his horse and galloped back up Malvern’s only street,
shouting out:
“We’ve won. Master John and Mr. Merton’s won the tennis match.”
And then the people set to work to prepare a demonstration.
The Hilltown people thought they had never seen young men so
disagreeable as were the Big Four after luncheon. They seated
themselves like sentinels at the four corners of the court, and
whenever any one ventured to jeer at Malvern’s representative they
would burst into such an enthusiasm of cheering as to drown the jeers
and deafen the spectators.