THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.
CHARLES COLERIDGE GRACE, as he was called by the sporting editors, or Charley Grace, as he was known about college, had held the tennis championship of his Alma Mater ever since he had been a freshman.
Even before that eventful year he had carried off so many silver cups and highly ornamented racquets at the different tournaments all over the country, that his entering college was quite as important an event to the college as it was to Charles.
His career was not marked by the winning of any scholarships, nor by any brazen prominence in the way of first honors; and though the president may have wondered at the frequency of his applications to attend funerals, marriages, and the family dentist, he was always careful to look the other way when he met him hurrying to the station with three racquets in one hand and a travelling bag in the other.
Nor was he greatly surprised to read in the next morning’s paper that “this brought the winner of the last set and Charles Coleridge Grace together in the finals, which were won by Mr. Grace, 6-4, 6-4, 6-2.”
It was near the end of the first term in Grace’s junior year, and at the time when the dates of tournaments and examinations were hopelessly clashing, that he received another of many invitations to attend an open tournament. This particular circular announced that the N. L. T. A. of the United States had given the Hilltown Tennis Club permission to hold on their own grounds a tournament for the championship of the State.
Mr. Grace was cordially invited to participate, not only through the formal wording of the circular, but in a note of somewhat extravagant courtesy signed by the club’s secretary.
Hilltown is a very pretty place, and some of its people are very wealthy. They see that it has good roads for their village-carts and landaus to roll over, and their Queen Anne cottages are distinctly ornamental to the surrounding landscape.
They have also laid out and inclosed eight tennis-courts of both clay and turf, to suit every one’s taste, and have erected a club-house which is apparently fashioned after no one’s. Every year Hilltown invited the neighboring tennis-clubs of Malvern and Pineville to compete with them in an interclub tournament, and offered handsome prizes which were invariably won by representatives of Hilltown.
But this year, owing chiefly to the energies of Mr. C. Percy Clay, the club’s enthusiastic secretary, Hilltown had been allowed to hold a tournament on its own tennis-ground for the double and single championship of the State. This honor necessitated the postponement of the annual tri-club meeting until ten days after the championship games had been played.
The team who did the playing for the Hilltown club were two young men locally known as the Slade brothers.
They were not popular, owing to their assuming an air of superiority over every one in the town, from their father down to C. Percy Clay. But as they had won every prize of which the tennis-club could boast, they of necessity enjoyed a prominence which their personal conduct alone could not have gained for them.
Charles Grace arrived at Hilltown one Wednesday morning. All but the final game of the doubles had been played off on the two days previous, and the singles were to be begun and completed that afternoon. The grounds were well filled when he reached them, and looked as pretty as only pretty tennis-grounds can look when they are gay with well-dressed girls, wonderfully bright blazers, and marquees of vividly brilliant stripes.
Grace found the list of entries to the singles posted up in the club-house, and discovered that they were few in number, and that there was among them only one name that was familiar to him.
As he turned away from the list, two very young and bright-faced boys, in very well-worn flannels, came up the steps of the club-house just as one of the Slades was leaving it.
“Hullo,” said Slade, “you back again?”
It was such an unusual and impertinent welcome that Grace paused in some surprise and turned to listen.
The eldest of the boys laughed good-naturedly and said: “Yes, we’re here, Mr. Slade. You know we drew a bye, and so we play in the finals.”
“Well, of course you’ll play my brother and myself then. I hope the novelty of playing in the last round won’t paralyze you. If it doesn’t, we will,” he added with a short laugh. “I say, Ed,” he continued, turning to his elder brother, “here are Merton and his partner come all the way from Malvern to play in the finals. They might have saved their car-fare, don’t you think?”
The elder brother scowled at the unfortunate representatives of Malvern.
“You don’t really mean to make us stand out here in the hot sun fooling with you, do you?” he asked impatiently. “You’ll only make a spectacle of yourselves. Why don’t you drop out? We’ve beaten you often enough before, I should think, to suit you, and we want to begin the singles.”
But the Malvern youths were not to be browbeaten. They said they knew they would be defeated, but that the people at Malvern were very anxious to have them play, and had insisted on their coming up. “They wish to see what sort of a chance we have for the tri-club tournament, next week,” they explained.
“Well, we’ll show what sort of chance you have with a vengeance,” laughed one of the brothers. “But it really is hard on us.”
The two boys flushed, and one of them began hotly, “Let me tell you, Mr. Slade,”—but the other put his hand on his arm, saying, “What’s the use?” and pushed him gently toward the grounds.
The Slades went into the club-house grumbling.
“Nice lot, those home players,” soliloquized Grace. “I’ll pound the life out of them for that!”
He was still more inclined to revenge the Malvern youths later, after their defeat by the Slades,—which was not such a bad defeat after all, as they had won one of the four sets, and scored games in the others. But the Slades, with complete disregard for all rules of hospitality to say nothing of the etiquette of tennis, kept up a running comment of ridicule and criticism on their hopeful opponents’ play, and, much to Grace’s disgust, the spectators laughed and encouraged them. The visitors struggled hard, but everything was against them; they did not understand playing as a team, and though they were quick and sure-eyed enough, and their service was wonderfully strong, the partiality of the crowd “rattled” them, and the ridicule of their opponents was not likely to put them more at their ease.
The man who had been asked to umpire with Grace was a college man, and they both had heard all that went on across the net in the final round. So when their duties were over, they went up to the defeated Malvernites and shook hands with them, and said something kind to them about their playing.
But the cracks did not congratulate the winners. Indeed, they were so disgusted with the whole affair that they refused to be lionized by Mr. Clay and the spectators in any way, but went off to the hotel in the village for luncheon,—which desertion rendered the spread on the grounds as flat as a coming-of-age dinner with the comer-of-age left out.
After luncheon, Thatcher, the other collegian, had the pleasure of 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.
There was no one in the singles but Slade and Merton, the Pineville representative having decided to drop out. Merton was nervous, and Slade was determined to win. Both played as they had never played before, but Slade’s service, which was his strong point, was nothing after the one to which Grace had accustomed Merton. And in spite of Slade’s most strenuous efforts the games kept coming slowly and slightly in Merton’s favor.
They were two sets all and were beginning the final set, when Barnes arose and disappeared in the crowd. But those of the quartette who were left made noise enough to keep Merton playing his best. It became a more and more bitter fight as the end drew near. Grace was so excited that not even his sprained ankle could keep him quiet, and Thatcher had great difficulty in restraining a desire to shout. At last Merton got “’vantage,” with only one point to win, but he missed the next ball and back went the score to “deuce” again. Three times this happened, and three times the college men half rose from the ground expecting to cheer, and then sank back again. “If he does that again,” said Grace, “I’ll have nervous prostration!” But he didn’t do it again. He smashed the next ball back into Slade’s court far out of his way, and then pulled down his sleeves as unconcernedly as if he had been playing a practice game.
The next moment Prior and the others had lifted him up on their shoulders, and were tramping around the field with him shouting, “What’s the matter with Malvern?” and “We are the people!” and many other such highly ridiculous and picturesque cries of victory.
And then there came a shout from the entrance to the grounds, and up the carriageway rode Barnes mounted on top of an old-fashioned, yellow-bodied stage-coach that he had found in some Hilltown livery-stable and decorated from top to bottom with the Malvern colors. He had four horses in hand, and he was waving his whip and shouting as if a pack of wolves or Indians were in close pursuit.
The boys clambered up on top of the coach and began blowing the horns and affixing the new brooms that Barnes had thoughtfully furnished for them. They were in such a hurry to start that they forgot the prizes; and if Grace had not reminded the boys, they would have gone home content without the tokens of victory.
The faces of Mr. Percy Clay and the other contributors to the silver cups when they saw the prizes handed up to that “Malvern gang,” as they now called them, were most pitiful.
“Fancy our giving two hundred dollars extra for those cups, and then having them go to Malvern!” groaned Mr. Clay.
The boys took the prizes without remark, and had the courtesy not to open the boxes in which the cups reposed on blue velvet until they were out of sight of the men who had lost them with such bad grace.
But when once they were on the road, with the wind whistling around their hats and the trees meeting over their heads and the sun smiling its congratulations as it sank for the night, they examined the cups, and Grace said he had never seen any handsomer.
It really seemed as if the ten miles was covered in as many minutes, and though dogs ran out and barked at them, and the people in the fields stared at them as if they thought they were crazy, and although Barnes insisted on driving over every stone he could find and almost upsetting them, they kept up their spirits and shouted and sang the whole way.
The engineer of the train that had taken them up saw the coach on his return trip bounding through the shady high road where it ran parallel with his track, and told the operator at Malvern that “those boys were coming back on top of a circus band-wagon.”
And the people of Malvern were ready to receive them, though they were still ignorant of the second victory. The young people lined the high road for a distance beyond the town, and the boys saw them from afar, seated on the fence-rails and in carts and wagons. The other members of the club saw the stage, also, for one of the boys had been up in a tree on the lookout for the last half-hour. And they waved the club colors and all the flags they had been able to get at such short notice; but it was not until three of the Big Four stood up on top of the coach at the risk of breaking their necks, and held up the cups and waved them around their heads until they flashed like mirrors, that the club really cheered. And when they saw that there were THREE cups they set up such a hurrah that the cows in the next field tore madly off in a stampede. That night everybody in town came to Dr. Merton’s with the village band and thronged the big lawn; and Merton made a speech in which he spoke very highly of Prior, and of the Big Four who had helped to save the day, and of Thatcher, but most of all of Grace.
Then Grace had to speak leaning on his crutches; and the band played and the college boys sang and everybody handled the prizes and admired them even to the champions’ satisfaction.
The next day Grace bade his new friends good by and went back to college, where his absence was attributed to his sprained ankle. He thought of the people of Malvern very often, of the twilight evenings spent on Dr. Merton’s lawn listening to the college boys’ singing, and talking to the girls of the Malvern Tennis Club, and of the glorious victory of his pupils and the friendliness and kindness of his hosts.
He knew he would never forget them, but he hardly thought they would long remember him.
But, two weeks later, the expressman brought a big box with a smaller black one inside of it; and within, resting on its blue velvet bed, was a facsimile of the prize-cup of the tri-club tournament. And it was marked, “To Charles Coleridge Grace. From the people of Malvern.”
And when Grace exhibits the many prizes he has won, they say that it is this cup which he did not win that he handles most tenderly and shows with the greatest pride.