ON THE SERVICE LINE
Clasping hands, the Tramp Boys formed a ring about Harriet, Sam among the
number, and danced and sang as they swung about her, to all of which she
protested laughingly.
“Save your congratulations until after we have practised for a few weeks.
We shall be better able to judge then what the prospects are.”
“But you said you were going to win,” cried Dill, excitedly. “You know
you did.”
“I still say so,” returned Harriet Burrell.
“Then don’t give us shivers up and down our backs by such statements as
‘save your congratulations,’” advised Billy. “We’ll congratulate now and
cry later if we have to. Let’s start in practising at once.”
“Not to-night. The girls are getting supper. Besides, it is too late in
the day; they couldn’t see the ball,” answered George. “To-morrow, too,
Sam’s nose will be better. He wouldn’t enjoy seeing a game now, anyway.”
“I’d enjoy seeing them play any old time, but you’ll excuse me if I get
behind a tree somewhere when the serving and the volleying are going on.
Once is enough for me, especially when Sister Tommy is on the line. Come,
fellows, come home and get my supper.”
“Yes, please do, boys,” urged Harriet. “I want to think. You will agree
that we have several things to think over between now and to-morrow, and
a number of things to talk over together, too.”
Captain Baker shook hands with her.
“I won’t try to tell you how much we appreciate what you’ve done,” he
said with feeling. “I knew all along that you could do it if you would,
but I had almost given up all hope that you’d try. I might have known you
would. Meadow-Brook Girls always come to the line when the time arrives.
You will in this instance, too.”
Harriet smiled, but made no reply to this confident remark.
“I thank you, too, for fixing my nose,” said Sam, shaking hands with Miss
Elting. “It’s a pretty poor nose at its best, I know, but it’s the only
one I have and I couldn’t get along very well without it. Good night,
ladies. I’ll say more when I can do so without danger of damaging my
countenance.”
The boys trooped away singing. They were far happier than they had been
since George Baker first broached the subject of the tennis tournament.
After the sound of their voices had died away, Harriet sat down by the
fire, and, clasping her hands about her knees, gazed into it without
saying a word to her companions. She remained in that position until the
supper call was sounded.
“Well, my dear, have you planned it all out?” questioned Miss Elting.
“Far from it, Miss Elting. I am beginning to realize that it is a pretty
big thing I have promised to do, and I shall need the help and
encouragement of every one of you girls even to keep my spirits up to
concert pitch.”
“Oh, fiddlethtickth!” scoffed Tommy.
“I think we have forgotten one important factor,” reminded Miss Elting;
“that is, the consent of your parents.”
“No, I have not overlooked that. I shall get the consent of each girl’s
parents as soon as I find there is any necessity for it.”
The guardian nodded.
“I can’t see how you can hope even to get a place in the tournament.
Tennis is a game of skill requiring years to make one proficient, and how
you can expect to get into shape to play in a tournament five weeks hence
is beyond me.”
Harriet laughed lightly.
“I am glad to hear you offer objections. That is exactly what I need to
stir me up. That no one else could hope to accomplish this thing is the
very reason why I have decided to attempt it. And I, for one, am going to
win,” she added reflectively.
“I actually believe you think you will,” exclaimed the guardian.
“Of course I do. Otherwise I should not try.”
Miss Elting regarded Harriet thoughtfully for some time, then sighed and
gave it up. Of course, the subject was discussed among the girls all the
rest of the evening, Harriet most of the time remaining in the background
and listening to the remarks of the guardian and her own companions. The
general trend of the conversation was that the Meadow-Brook Girls stood
not even a ghost of a chance to win anything in the tournament. They
would be fortunate if, after the first set, they were not barred from
further participation. Harriet had already expressed her opinion and from
that time on her whole thought would be to play to win. If she failed, it
would be through no lack of belief in herself, no lack of effort on her
part to perfect herself. She determined to turn her face to the front and
never once look back. That was what she did on the following morning.
The boys came trooping in at an early hour, but early as they were, the
girls were ready for them, with the morning work all cleared away and
Harriet and Hazel at work at the net industriously tossing the ball back
and forth.
“That’s the idea,” declared George glowingly. “I told the boys we should
find you at work.”
“Oh, good morning, boys,” greeted Harriet. “How is your poor nose this
morning, Sam!”
“It is all there still, but I can’t smell with it yet. Why, do you know
my breakfast was spoiled for me because I couldn’t get the odor of the
bacon and coffee. I wish some one would tell me how to smell through my
mouth.”
“I’ll think about it to-night,” answered Harriet mischievously. “I was
going to suggest that you boys play a game of tennis while we look on. I
am sure we shall get some pointers from your playing.”
“Miss Elting, will you play a set with me?” asked George.
“With pleasure, though I am but an indifferent player.”
“I guess you can handle a racquet as well as I can.”
“Then let us get at it. We have no time to lose. Every minute is precious
from now on for the coming five weeks.”
George chose a racquet. They began to play a few minutes later. It was
plain that they were evenly matched, though George appeared to be a
little more skilful than his opponent. The girls were enthusiastic, the
boys sitting on the side lines offering suggestions to both players from
time to time. Harriet Burrell never spoke a word throughout the game.
Instead, she watched every play with keen eyes, gaining no little
knowledge of the principles of the game from such observation.
George won the first set by a narrow margin. Miss Elting had made him
work for it, fighting him every inch of the way. While her playing was
good, it was not what might be called skilful. She played such a game as
might be expected of a country player.
“Want to try another with me? No? Who else wishes to put himself up as an
easy mark for me?”
“That’s it—easy mark,” chuckled Sam. “Any other kind would win the game
before you really got started.”
“Lucky for us that George isn’t going to try to defend the Meadow-Brook
title,” scoffed Dill.
“Harriet, suppose you try a set with me this morning?” proposed George.
Harriet stepped forward. George, standing beside her, gave her such
advice as he was able, regarding serving, volleying and position in the
court.
The game started, the boys and girls pressing close about the court, not
very much interested in George Baker’s playing, but watching eagerly
every stroke Harriet made. Was not she going to play in the tournament?
Harriet worked hard, worked until the beads of perspiration stood out on
her forehead, but she was awkward, she was uncertain in placing the ball,
sending it out of bounds fully as often as she dropped it within reach of
her opponent. George won easily.
“You are the worst I ever saw,” declared Sam very frankly. “You couldn’t
win a game in a thousand years.”
“Keep quiet,” commanded George. “We can’t all be champions the first day
we stand before a net. Give her a chance, can’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t mind Sam’s criticism,” answered Harriet brightly. “Instead
of discouraging me, it makes me all the more determined to learn to
play.”
“And only five weeks to learn in,” groaned Billy.
“And a wooden man to teach her,” mumbled Sam.
“Any fellow who is so slow that he can’t dodge a racquet shouldn’t
criticise his betters,” retorted George cuttingly. “Before we go any
further I shall deliver a lecture. The ladies will please give their
attention while I explain a few of the terms. A ‘volley,’ as you know, is
hitting the ball before it touches the ground. The ‘server’ is the one
who hits the ball from behind his base line and at one side of the center
diagonally over the net into his opponent’s service court. Understand?”
The girls nodded, but did not interrupt by speaking.
“The one who serves the ball is called ‘the server,’ his opponent ‘the
striker-out.’ In the first play, as I think I have already told you, the
ball must hit the ground before being returned. The latter stroke is
called a ‘ground stroke.’ There are some other fancy strokes that I have
seen, but can’t explain to you. I’ll have some one who knows more about
the game than I do tell you about these later on.”
“I don’t believe we quite understand how the scoring is done,” said
Harriet.
“That is easily explained. In the first place, four points make a game
unless the score is tied at three points each, when two points in
succession must be secured to win the game.”
“But how are they scored?” interjected Jane.
“I’m trying to tell you,” answered George. “They are scored as follows:
‘love,’ or no points; fifteen, or one point; thirty, or two points;
forty, or three points; game, or four points. Love-all, fifteen-all,
thirty-all are called when the score is even, each side having nothing or
one or two points, as the case may be. At forty-all the score is called
‘deuce,’ each side having three points, and as either side secures the
next point it becomes ‘vantage-in’ or ‘vantage-out’ according to whether
server or striker has the advantage.”
“My grathiouth! you make my head thwim,” murmured Tommy.
“Then the score hovers between vantage and deuce until one side secures
two points in succession,” explained Miss Elting.
“Yes,” agreed George, nodding. “And six games won by either side
constitute a set unless the score is tied at five-all, when
deuce-and-advantage games are generally played, the score going on up to
six, seven, eight-all and so forth until one side gets two successive
games.”
“Isn’t it awful?” wailed Margery. “I never, never can get all of that
into my head.”
“That ith becauthe you are fat,” retorted Tommy. “You know a lot, don’t
you, George?”
“If he could play half as well as he can talk about it, he’d be the
champion player of the United States,” declared Dill.
They began another game, Jane taking Harriet’s place this time. Jane was
fully as awkward as Harriet had been, but she made a somewhat better
showing, playing to better advantage. Hazel and Tommy played the same
awkward game that had marked Harriet Burrell’s exhibition. One after
another took her place on the service line, over and over again, this
continuing all through the forenoon until half-past eleven, when George
announced that they must go back to camp and get their noon meal. They
declined to stay to luncheon with the girls. Besides, George said Fred
Avery had gone to town to bring some supplies that were needed and they
were to meet him at the camp.
George was gloomy all the way back to camp. He did not speak a word to
his companions, but tramped along looking deeply dejected.
“Well, what do you think of it?” demanded Dill quizzically.
“What do I think of it? Hopeless—utterly hopeless!” groaned Captain
George. “Did you ever see such work in all your life?”
“I never did,” agreed Dill. “It was bad.”
“Then you don’t think they stand any show to win any of the prizes in the
tournament?” questioned Dodd.
“None at all. The way they play they couldn’t win a game from a team of
six-year-old boys. And what is worse, they don’t realize what a spectacle
they are making of themselves trying to play. But they’re plucky. We all
knew they were. They will keep on fighting, and in the end we shall have
to tell them there isn’t the least show. I’ll have to go to Herrington,
after all, and tell him that they can’t enter the tournament.”
“If we had some one who knew something to teach them how to play, things
might be different,” declared Sam Crocker maliciously. “Maybe a miracle
will happen.”
“Miracles don’t happen in these woods. And what’s more, I want you to
understand that I know how to play tennis fully as well as you do. It’s
hopeless, though. I wonder why Fred hasn’t got back yet? Go on and get
your luncheon ready. I don’t want anything to eat.”
George walked off into the woods and sat down on a log, holding his head
in his hands, now and then uttering a deep sigh. It was he who had
proposed this surprise, he who had urged upon the boys the purchase of
the tennis outfit, so he received no sympathy from them. But to their
credit be it said, the boys of the Tramp Club felt as much concerned over
the failure of their well-laid plans as did Captain George Baker himself.
George stuck to his determination not to eat anything. He remained in the
woods until long after the boys had finished their luncheon and had come
to look for him.
“Are you going back for practice?” asked Billy.
“Of course. What do you think I am?” retorted George savagely. But the
afternoon was destined to bring with it a surprise that set their pulses
throbbing, that filled them with new hope and courage.