The next day, as little Roger was going toward the tennis court, a large
orange and white setter ran effusively from around the corner of the inn
and greeted him. Miss Fanhall, the Worcester girls, Hollanden, and
Oglethorpe faced to the front like soldiers. Hollanden cried, "Why,
Billie Hawker must be coming!" Hawker at that moment appeared, coming
toward them with a smile which was not overconfident.
Little Roger went off to perform some festivities of his own on the
brown carpet under a clump of pines. The dog, to join him, felt obliged
to circle widely about the tennis court. He was much afraid of this
tennis court, with its tiny round things that sometimes hit him. When
near it he usually slunk along at a little sheep trot and with an eye of
wariness upon it.
At her first opportunity the younger Worcester girl said, "You didn't
come up yesterday, Mr. Hawker."
Hollanden seemed to think that Miss Fanhall turned her head as if she
wished to hear the explanation of the painter's absence, so he engaged
her in swift and fierce conversation.
"No," said Hawker. "I was resolved to finish a sketch of a stubble field
which I began a good many days ago. You see, I was going to do such a
great lot of work this summer, and I've done hardly a thing. I really
ought to compel myself to do some, you know."
"There," said Hollanden, with a victorious nod, "just what I told you!"
"You didn't tell us anything of the kind," retorted the Worcester girls
with one voice.
A middle-aged woman came upon the porch of the inn, and after scanning
for a moment the group at the tennis court she hurriedly withdrew.
Presently she appeared again, accompanied by five more middle-aged
women. "You see," she said to the others, "it is as I said. He has come
back."
The five surveyed the group at the tennis court, and then said: "So he
has. I knew he would. Well, I declare! Did you ever?" Their voices were
pitched at low keys and they moved with care, but their smiles were
broad and full of a strange glee.
"I wonder how he feels," said one in subtle ecstasy.
Another laughed. "You know how you would feel, my dear, if you were him
and saw yourself suddenly cut out by a man who was so hopelessly
superior to you. Why, Oglethorpe's a thousand times better looking. And
then think of his wealth and social position!"
One whispered dramatically, "They say he never came up here at all
yesterday."
Another replied: "No more he did. That's what we've been talking about.
Stayed down at the farm all day, poor fellow!"
"Do you really think she cares for Oglethorpe?"
"Care for him? Why, of course she does. Why, when they came up the path
yesterday morning I never saw a girl's face so bright. I asked my
husband how much of the Chambers Street Bank stock Oglethorpe owned, and
he said that if Oglethorpe took his money out there wouldn't be enough
left to buy a pie."
The youngest woman in the corps said: "Well, I don't care. I think it is
too bad. I don't see anything so much in that Mr. Oglethorpe."
The others at once patronized her. "Oh, you don't, my dear? Well, let me
tell you that bank stock waves in the air like a banner. You would see
it if you were her."
"Well, she don't have to care for his money."
"Oh, no, of course she don't have to. But they are just the ones that
do, my dear. They are just the ones that do."
"Well, it's a shame."
"Oh, of course it's a shame."
The woman who had assembled the corps said to one at her side: "Oh, the
commonest kind of people, my dear, the commonest kind. The father is a
regular farmer, you know. He drives oxen. Such language! You can really
hear him miles away bellowing at those oxen. And the girls are shy,
half-wild things--oh, you have no idea! I saw one of them yesterday when
we were out driving. She dodged as we came along, for I suppose she was
ashamed of her frock, poor child! And the mother--well, I wish you
could see her! A little, old, dried-up thing. We saw her carrying a pail
of water from the well, and, oh, she bent and staggered dreadfully, poor
thing!"
"And the gate to their front yard, it has a broken hinge, you know. Of
course, that's an awful bad sign. When people let their front gate hang
on one hinge you know what that means."
After gazing again at the group at the court, the youngest member of the
corps said, "Well, he's a good tennis player anyhow."
The others smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, my dear, he's a good tennis
player."