A MEMORABLE BATTLE
As the Meadow-Brook Girls neared the grounds they saw that great throngs
were there, while a constant stream of spectators poured across the
field. Now that the sun had come out, nearly every one was dressed in
white. The stand was still nearly empty, the seats there being sold by
numbers, making it unnecessary for the ticket holders to come early in
order to get a seat.
George was waiting for the girls at their tent, to which they went
directly and, disappearing within, were seen no more until Jane and Hazel
were called for their match. Their entrance had attracted no attention,
however, as little was known concerning them.
“How are the courts?” was Harriet’s first question.
“Slippery as a skating rink,” answered George.
“It is as fair for one as another,” reflected Harriet, nodding. “I don’t
know that I mind it particularly. Not very nice for white shoes, though,
is it?”
“Now you may go out,” said the guardian. “We must get the girls ready. I
will let you know as soon as we have finished.”
George promptly stepped outside. In front of the tent stood Charlie Mabie
on guard. George directed him to permit no one to come near the tent
until the guardian had notified him they were ready, and then only the
friends of the party. There was little left to be done in the dressing.
They took off their muddy shoes, putting on tennis shoes in place of the
others.
There was but little talking in the dressing tent, but outside a great
wave of conversation rose, reaching the tent in a confused murmur. The
girls were rather pale, but this might be the result of the trying night
through which they had passed. Harriet pulled herself together and began
a series of cheerful remarks. She soon had her companions laughing, and
by the time they had finished their preparations the color had returned
to their faces and each had found her voice.
Mr. Disbrow was their first caller. He turned Harriet toward the light
that shone through the tent opening and gazed quizzically down into her
eyes.
“Just a wee bit nervous, eh? You will get over that when you get to work.
It is perfectly natural. Everyone feels nervous before going into a
tournament. Why, when I am going into a match I am so nervous that I
can’t talk without breaking down, but the moment I feel the grip of the
racquet in my hand and see the net before me I want to shout for joy. Ah,
life is worth while when you are facing a hard-hitter across the net, and
there leaps into your heart a savage determination to drive him from the
court, a defeated man. Of course, it doesn’t always work out that way.
Sometimes you are the fellow who gets driven off, but it is the spirit,
almost as much as the skill, that wins games. No one with a faint heart
ever won anything except defeat.”
“Have you theen that beautiful cup thith morning?” questioned Tommy
eagerly.
“No, I did not come over that way,” answered P. E. laughingly.
“I hope it ith thtill there,” was the little girl’s anxious remark.
“You may depend upon it. Later in the day it will be brought over to the
grounds so that it may serve as an encouragement to the contestants.
Don’t lose yourself gazing at it while you are playing,” he warned
jokingly.
“Have you seen the other teams?” asked the guardian.
“Yes, they are thick as flies on a summer’s day. They are literally
swarming about the place. But there will be a thinning out soon. I was
not misinformed regarding the Scott Sisters. They are fine championship
material.”
“Aren’t we?” demanded Harriet quickly.
“You will be in time.”
“Yeth, in about two hourth from now,” answered Tommy. “But I do withh I
wath not tho weak in my kneeth. Why, do you think, am I tho weak in my
kneeth, Mr. Dithbrow?”
“You imagine that. Forget all about it. Think of the beautiful cup and
the weakness will leave your knees,” he advised.
“Yeth, I have notithed that. I——”
“Time to go out,” called George cheerily, poking his head into the tent.
“All fit and fine, I see. There’s going to be some lively work pretty
soon. Jack Herrington says this is going to be a rattling tournament. You
know where your courts are. Now go in and win. Good luck to the
Meadow-Brook Girls.”
“We are going to,” answered Harriet Burrell, but her voice, though having
lost none of its determination, seemed rather weak to Captain Baker.
Already the teams were taking their places in their respective courts and
an air of tense expectancy was beginning to be noticeable over the great
throng of spectators. It was all confusion to the girls. They did not
appear to see any one individually, and in their ears was that confused
murmur that they had heard while in their tent.
George led Jane and Hazel to their respective courts, Miss Elting and
Disbrow accompanying them at a short distance behind. The trim figures of
the Meadow-Brook Girls clad in their dark blue serge uniforms attracted
no little attention as the two stepped into the courts where they were to
play. Pressing close against the ropes, anxiously twirling their hats in
their hands, were the boys of the Tramp Club, so nervous that they could
scarcely control themselves. Harriet and Tommy also came out to watch
this first match of their companions.
The linesmen were in their places at the sides of the courts, the referee
sat in his high chair, where he commanded a clear view of the court over
which he was to make decisions. Tommy laughed and poked Harriet in the
ribs with her racquet.
“Doethn’t he look funny in hith high chair?” she chuckled. “Jutht like a
baby. They ought to give him a bib and tucker.”
“Sh-h-h-h!” The referee was instructing the players as to what was
expected of them. This finished, the sides tossed for the courts and
service. In the case of the Meadow-Brook team the toss was won by their
opponents, giving the opponents the service, the right to serve the first
ball, a considerable advantage and one that frequently leads to victory.
The team opposed to Hazel and Jane were Miss Sprague and Miss Collins,
the famous Riversides. Each girl was larger than either Hazel or her
teammate, but to Disbrow’s keen eyes the two Riverside girls did not
appear to be in the fittest condition. They were a little too stout, it
seemed to him.
“Play!” called the referee.
Jane and Hazel stood in position, Jane apparently all ready to return the
first ball that went over the net. Disbrow uttered a sigh of relief as he
saw the lack of force with which Miss Sprague served the ball. Surely his
pupil would send it back in the approved “smashing” manner. But Jane
stood as if rooted to the spot; her first experience of playing before a
crowd of onlookers had given her an unprecedented attack of “stage
fright.” She partially recovered when the ball was on its second bounce,
but then it was too late, for the Meadow-Brooks had lost the first point.
And so it was throughout the six games that followed. Both Hazel and Jane
played more like wooden automatons than like the strong, agile girls they
were known to be. Their opponents were weak players, but they had entered
tournaments before and therefore had more self-confidence than the
Meadow-Brook Girls. In nearly every game either Jane or Hazel would
manage to get a point or two, but Miss Sprague and her partner succeeded
in getting six games before Disbrow’s pupils had won any, and therefore
were credited with the first set of the match.
The Tramp Boys had cheered the girls whenever they had the slightest
excuse, but they were too despondent to offer any real encouragement to
the defeated teammates as they made their weary way to the dressing tent
for a seven minutes’ rest. Even Disbrow could not conceal his
disappointment, for he knew the Meadow-Brook team had not played as well
as they had done in practice. Jane realized this, too, and just before
they reached the court for the second set she whispered to Hazel in a
very decided tone, “This set we _must_ win. You know perfectly well that
we can play better than those girls. If we lose, it will be a disgrace to
Mr. Disbrow, and if we make use of all he has so patiently taught us, we
shall not lose. Come on, let’s ‘thhow’ him, as Tommy would say.”
The next set told a very different story. Miss Collins and Miss Sprague
had become over-confident because they had won the first set so easily;
the Meadow-Brook spirit had asserted itself once more, with the result
that Jane and Hazel had three games to their credit almost before they
knew it. The Tramp Boys were yelling with delight, but the Englishman’s
team were so intent on the business at hand that they were hardly
conscious of the din. The second set they won easily, the final score
being 6-2 in their favor. In the third decisive set of the match every
point marked a long struggle, and the Riversides had to fight for every
point they gained. The games stood 5-2 in their favor when Jane caught
sight of Disbrow’s tense, excited face and tightly clasped hands. That
was enough.
“Remember P. E.,” she whispered to Hazel, and thereafter they played with
such vim that they brought the score up to 5-5 or deuce. Wild yells from
onlookers greeted this feat. However, the longer training and greater
poise of the Riversides told in the end, for in their eagerness to return
one of the balls, Jane and Hazel both rushed for it, collided in the
middle of the court, and the ball passed swiftly by them.
“Game and set for the Riversides!” called out the referee.
Recovering quickly from their collision, Hazel and Jane jumped gracefully
over the net and shook hands with their opponents, almost before any one
realized that the match was over.
When the Meadow-Brook Girls made their way back to the tent this time
they heard congratulations for their plucky playing on all sides, and
friendly sympathy for their bad luck. Disbrow was delighted with the
showing they had made, and as he had not expected them to win, he was
really proud of his team.
While Jane and Hazel had been playing, the Fifth Avenues were giving a
fine exhibition of their skill in a preliminary match. Harriet and Tommy
watched with great interest, for they were to play the winners.
“Game and set for the Fifth Avenues,” announced the referee.
“In fifteen minutes the ‘running up’ matches will be played, the Scott
Sisters _vs._ The Riversides, and the Fifth Avenues _vs._ The
Meadow-Brooks,” Mr. Herrington then announced.
“That means you and me, Tommy,” whispered Harriet.
“Yeth, I know it doeth. But what did he mean by the ‘running up’
matches’?”
“Mr. Disbrow explained that to me a few minutes ago. The two teams that
win these matches play against each other for the cup. Therefore, those
three teams and we are ‘running up’ for the cup.”
“And we are going to win it, too, aren’t we?”
“Indeed, we are, for the sake of P. E. and the Tramp Boys, if not for our
own,” Harriet declared as they made their way to the court.
__“Play!” called the referee.
“Are you ready?” asked the Fifth Avenue girl who had won the right to
serve the first ball.
“Yes,” replied Harriet.
Harriet being the striker-out, it was her duty first to permit the ball
to strike the ground, taking it on its first bound and return it into the
opposite court. The service ball had been served with great swiftness, it
seemed, whereas, as a matter of fact, it was not coming nearly as fast as
Harriet had thought. The ball dropped into her court not far from the
net. Harriet saw at once that she had misjudged the serve and that she
must make a quick move.
She ran quickly and leaning slightly forward started to scoop the ball up
and return it, when suddenly both feet slipped out from under her.
Harriet measured her full length on the ground, falling flat on her face,
sliding along the slippery court until she plunged head-first into the
net.
A shout went up from the spectators. The Tramp Boys groaned. They wished
themselves miles away. Miss Elting’s face grew suddenly pale.
“Fifteen-love,” droned the referee. Harriet’s opponent had scored the
first point. Harriet got up. She was covered with brown mud from head to
feet, a good bit of it on her face. Never had she suffered the
humiliation that was hers at that moment. Tommy had not uttered a sound.
She was aghast with amazement.
The play went on, but not a point had been scored by Harriet and her
partner when the announcement fell from the lips of the referee:
“Love game.”
“Isn’t it awful!” groaned Sam Crocker.
The second game was a repetition of the first except that Harriet did not
fall down. It was a love game in favor of their opponents.
“It’s all over,” declared Dill when they began the third game.
“It’s our last chance, Tommy. We _must_ win the rest of the set. See!
They’ve brought the cup here,” said Harriet.
The cup stood out in the bright sunlight a vivid flame. Tommy gasped. It
was an inspiration to her.
“Yeth,” she breathed in awe of the beautiful sight.
They began to play. Harriet Burrell did not fall down. She was on her
mettle. All the determination that she possessed had been summoned to the
task before her. She was a different person. Tommy, inspired by the sight
of the beautiful trophy, was a different girl, too.
Their opponents won the first two games, but Harriet and Tommy gave
evidence of their splendid training and spirit by winning the next two.
“Two-all,” called the referee, and so the score went see-sawing back and
forth until it was deuce, and finally 6-5 in favor of the Meadow-Brooks.
“Drive them out,” urged Harriet. She returned the server’s stroke,
putting the ball into her opponents’ court, where neither of them
succeeded in hitting it.
The decisive game now stood forty-thirty, leaving the Meadow-Brook team
but one point to go. This Harriet made by a puzzling “floater,” a slow
ball that fell in the opposite court far out of reach.
“Game!” announced the referee. “Seven minutes’ rest at the end of third.”
For a moment the Tramp Boys were silent. They were scarcely able to
believe their eyes. Then the boys tossed their hats in the air and
uttered a great shout.
“Splendid!” cried Disbrow. “Keep on that way and you will win the match.
If you do, it will have been a magnificent thing after the awful start
you made.”
Miss Elting’s eyes were shining happily.
“Girls, do you know who the Scott Sisters are?” she cried. “Oh, you can’t
imagine! Your opponents are Patricia Scott and her sister!”
“Really!” was Harriet’s sharp exclamation.
“Yes, the same Patricia Scott who was dismissed from Camp Wau-Wau because
of her enmity for you and her disgraceful treatment of you. She saw you
girls, too. She knows all about our being entered.”
Harriet and Jane glanced at each other. There was the same thought in the
mind of each. Patricia, or her friends, had had something to do with the
cutting of the tent ropes. But neither girl voiced her suspicion at the
moment. They were called back to the court almost immediately. But in
Harriet Burrell’s mind was a stronger determination than ever to win
until she came face to face with Patricia Scott across the tennis net,
provided Patricia were still playing, which seemed more than likely, for
the Scott Sisters were playing a magnificent game.
The story of the next set of the match is briefly told. Harriet and Tommy
played three strong games, not perfect games by any manner of means, but
Disbrow, who was watching their every movement with the eyes of an
expert, saw that they were coming up magnificently. Each succeeding game
was played better than the previous one.
“Set and match for the Meadow-Brook Girls,” called the referee, in
stentorian tones.
The Tramp Boys were beside themselves with joy. Regardless of time or
place, they uttered a series of blood-curdling war whoops.
But there was little time for congratulation. The Scott Sisters had won
their match, and therefore would be pitted against Harriet and Tommy in
the final match of the tournament. Fifteen minutes were allowed each team
to recuperate.
The Tramp Boys were becoming worked up to a pitch of enthusiasm that
threatened the temporary loss of their reason. Sam suddenly made a
discovery. A young man in a white suit was seen talking with the Scott
Sisters. There was something very familiar about his appearance. Sam drew
near. When the man left the two girls, Sam followed him until the young
man reached a secluded place at the end of the grand stand.
“You are the fellow who hit me on the nose!” he hissed. “Put up your
hands! I am going to pay my debts.”
When Samuel Crocker had finished with the stranger the white suit was
sadly stained with mud, and the young man’s own nose was in need of
repairs. The fellow fled from the field, while Sam returned triumphantly
to his companions, one eye blackened, his hair standing up, but his heart
full of unholy joy. He felt that he had wiped out two scores instead of
one.
The ranks of the players were thinning. It was well along in the
afternoon now. Players moved about wearily. Their feet were not nearly so
light as when the work of the day had begun and there were many
disappointed faces to be seen. As for the Meadow-Brook Girls, instead of
growing weary, they plainly were gaining in strength. Perhaps their
success was largely responsible for this. But their endurance was
undeniable. Still, the work of the day was far from done, the
championship a long way off, for the team that had been picked to win
were still to be beaten.
Enthusiasm was running high. The Meadow-Brook Girls had by this time
become very prominent. They were nearing the blazing cup which had served
as Tommy’s inspiration and which seemed almost within reach now. But
there remained the other team, before which everything had gone down. It
seemed hopeless for Harriet and her slender, excitable little companion
to hope to win against the hard-hitting, quick-footed, skilful Scott
Sisters.
“They can’t do it,” declared Disbrow. “But even if they do not, they have
won second place. That alone I should think ought to be triumph enough
for any team that has been on the court only five weeks. Oh, this is
splendid! It’s glorious!”
Harriet overheard. Her eyes lighted up for a moment and, catching Mr.
Disbrow’s eyes, she smiled. Then, nudging Tommy, she moved toward the
center court, where the final game was to be played. Only Tommy, Harriet
and the Scott Sisters were left now. All the other courts were deserted
with the exception of number five, on which a series of consolation games
were to be played by the losers. But there was little interest in these.
The great and absorbing interest was for number one court. The two teams
were loudly cheered when they appeared at the court where the finals were
to be played.
The Scott girls, smiling, confident, but plainly weary from the
hard-fought battles of the day, entered the court. Patricia Scott jeered
audibly as Harriet entered the opposite court and faced her.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have met you earlier in the day,” she said
sneeringly.
“I share your regret,” answered Harriet calmly. “But better late than
never. I am going to defeat you if I can, Patricia, and I think I can. If
you win this match you will earn it, and so shall we if we win.”
Patricia tossed her head in the air and stepped back, an angry light in
her eyes.
“Some bad blood there,” said a spectator who had overheard.
“Steady,” warned the voice of Mr. Disbrow from the side lines.
Harriet nodded, but did not turn her head. She was watching her
opponents, studying their every move, planning.
“Play!” commanded the referee.
Then began the game that was to be talked of for many a day thereafter by
those who had been fortunate enough to watch it.