Chapter VIII: 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.