Chapter X: A Joy and a Disappointment

“I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’ll yell,” shouted Dill Dodd. He did. His companions set up a perfect bedlam of yells and howls.

The girls regarded them with puzzled looks.

“Have they gone crathy?” questioned Tommy apprehensively, ready to run the instant she was thoroughly satisfied that the Tramp Boys really had lost their minds. They had for the moment lost their heads, but not their minds. They were howling in sympathy with George Baker, who appeared to have good reason for all the noise he was making.

Miss Elting sat down and laughed heartily. Then, bethinking herself of the fact that George had been reading the paper at the time of his outburst, she reached for the paper, which he had by this time tossed aside, and began reading the headlines.

“It’s there, it’s there!” howled George. “I tell you it’s there. We’re saved. The thing is as good as done. Oh, who would have thought it! I said there were no miracles that could happen up in these woods. One has come to pass. Do you hear me? A miracle, and nothing less!”

“What’s the row about, if I might pause long enough to inquire?” asked Sam Crocker.

“Give me a piece of paper—quick!” commanded the captain. Harriet got a sheet of writing paper from the tent, but not before Tommy had handed him the newspaper. “Yes, it’s writing paper I want. You’ve a head on your shoulders, Harriet.”

“I thought you considered me a hopeless case,” laughed Harriet.

“I’ll tell you what I think of you after I’ve got this off my mind. Oh, this is great!” George began scribbling on the sheet of writing paper.

“It is,” agreed Sam. “I’m taking your word for it, you see, not having been let into the mystery.”

“Who is the fastest runner in the outfit?” demanded Baker, standing up and glaring about him.

“I gueth I am,” answered Tommy.

“I don’t want a girl, I want a boy. Here, Charlie Mabie, come here—on the jump. You are the swiftest runner at hare and hounds, especially when there’s a square meal at the other end. I want you to take this to Meadow-Brook at top speed. If you fall down, don’t stop to get up, just keep right on running. Run for your life,” commanded the captain breathlessly.

“Wha—at shall I do with it when I get to Meadow-Brook?” questioned Charlie.

“Send it!” exploded George.

“By mail?”

“No, by freight,” drawled Sam.

“By telegraph, of course.”

“What is it all about?” demanded Dill.

“Read it. They won’t understand anything until you do read it. No, give it to me. You’ll stumble over it and waste time. Listen, you people, to the telegram that is going to produce the real thing. Listen, I tell you: ‘You said you would do anything on earth for me. If you mean it, wire me that you are coming here on the next train ready to serve me to the limit for the next four weeks. It’s a case of life and death!’ Now, run, you Indian! Burn up the road, and WAIT for an answer even if you have to sleep on a baggage truck on the station platform. _Go!_”

Charlie Mabie started away at a long, loping run, quickly crossing the open space and disappearing in the forest beyond. Captain Baker sat down heavily, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a sleeve.

“Whew! Never got such a shock in my life. Think that will bring him? Well, I guess yes.”

“Bring whom?” asked Bill.

“Disbrow. Must I draw a diagram of the whole thing?” retorted the captain irritably.

“Disbrow,” reflected Sam. “That’s all right, but who is Disbrow?”

“Who is Disbrow?” groaned George. “Never hear of P. Earlington Disbrow? You mean to say you never heard?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not a walking edition of ‘Who’s Who,’” he reminded.

“We are all equally in the dark,” interjected Harriet. “Why not explain to us?”

“Yeth, thith thuthpenthe ith terrible,” agreed Tommy with emphasis. “I can’t thtand much more of thith.”

George Baker made a helpless gesture.

“P. Earlington Disbrow,” he began, with slow, measured words, “is an Englishman—an Englishman from England. Get that, Sam?”

Sam grinned and nodded.

“P. Earlington Disbrow is one of the greatest tennis players in the world, champion of all England and half of the United States. _Now_ do you get me?”

“I do,” answered Sam, nodding understandingly. “This Disbrow fellow is an Englishman—from England—and you’ve sent for him to come all the way over the ocean to——”

“Will you be quiet? No! He already is over the ocean. He is in New York, and I’ve wired him to come along a-whooping.”

“Is he going to whoop for us at the tournament?” questioned Jane.

“He may, though he isn’t of the whooping kind,” replied the captain in a slightly modified tone. “I have sent for him to come here to teach you girls to play tennis. If he can’t do it, no other person on earth can. Listen, and I’ll read the item from the newspaper: ‘P. Earlington Disbrow, the well-known tennis champion, arrived in New York on the “Caledonian” yesterday. When interviewed as to the purpose of his visit to America, he denied that he had come here for the purpose of arranging any matches. Mr. Disbrow announces his intention of visiting old friends, but wishes to witness the mid-season tournaments, for most of which he is ineligible.’ That is the whole story,” finished George. “Are there any other questions you wish to ask?”

“Yes; I’d like to ask how you happen to have such a pull with this fellow?” questioned Sam. “Is it a real drag or are you doing it on your nerve?”

“I have an idea that Captain George knew what he was doing when he sent that telegram,” spoke up Miss Elting.

“Thank you, Miss Elting. I am pleased that some one takes me seriously. It is what Sam calls ‘a real drag.’ I didn’t wish to say anything about it. Two years ago I had the good luck to be at Newport and to drag P. E. ashore unconscious. A floating spar had hit him on the head while he was swimming in the surf. But I wasn’t far away, so I just swam over and dragged him ashore. That’s the kind of a drag it is, Samuel. P. E. naturally was grateful. This is what he said: ‘George, if you ever need me, your Uncle Disbrow is at your command no matter where he may be at the time. You send for me and I’ll be there as fast as steam and lightning will take me.’ Not much of a drag, eh?” chuckled George.

“I didn’t think it was so strong as that,” muttered Sam.

“And he may come here to coach us?” wondered Harriet. “Wouldn’t that be perfectly splendid?”

“You don’t know whether he will or not,” answered Dill. “P. E. may pay no attention to George’s telegram, then you will be up against it just as hard as before.”

“He may not get the message, of course,” agreed George. “But if it does reach him, you mark what I say, we are sure to hear from him. P. E. is a real man. Certain persons who were opposed to him in matches didn’t know this fact till they faced him across the nets; then they found out in short order. Oh, he is the right sort and you’ll like him after you get to know him as well as I do. Curious none of you folks over heard of him.”

“I have,” answered the guardian.

“And so have I,” added Harriet. “I have read of his matches, both on this and the other side of the Atlantic. What a glorious thing to think that he may be here to instruct us! He could show us how to win a match. By the way, Captain Baker, how many will there be in our class at the tournament?”

“They are all in your class—that is, eligible for the same events. Of course, you girls will play in doubles. For instance, you and Jane will play together on a side with two other girls opposed to you, while Hazel and Grace are playing together on another court against another pair of girls. If either of you win a certain number of sets, whatever may be agreed upon by the committee, then the winners play each other. Doesn’t sound so very formidable, does it?” he smiled.

“Enough so,” answered Harriet Burrell thoughtfully.

“We might as well go on with our practice. Can’t afford to waste any time, you know,” reminded George. They took up their work with new courage, and all during that afternoon the girls worked steadily and to better purpose than at any time before.

They had just stopped playing for the day when Charlie Mabie came trotting into camp. He was waving a yellow sheet over his head. He had been fortunate enough to get a ride in an automobile both going and coming and so had returned early.

“He’s got it!” yelled George. The captain sprang forward and snatched the telegram from the hands of his messenger. “Whoop! I told you so. Listen to this, ladies of the Meadow-Brook organization and gentlemen of the Tramp Club, listen to what the champion of England says in reply to George Baker’s telegram: ‘Coming, you bet! Meet me seven-thirty to-morrow morning. (Signed) Earlington Disbrow.’”

“Am I the original provider?” demanded the captain triumphantly.

The boys of the Tramp Club tossed their hats in the air, uttering a series of wild whoops, to which was added the yell of the Meadow-Brook Girls.

The entire party was wild with delight over the good news and Captain Baker was more a hero than ever before. While Harriet and Hazel were getting the supper, to which the boys had been invited, the others passed the time in song and general congratulation. It was a merry camp.

George and one of his companions were to go to Meadow-Brook early in the morning to meet the champion tennis player at half-past seven o’clock. Jane suggested that she, too, go in and bring the visitor back in her car. This Miss Elting did not approve. George said it would be unnecessary, that he could get some one to drive out with them. It was, therefore, arranged that way, and the boys left their friends shortly before ten o’clock that evening, filled with anticipation for the morrow.

A start was made next morning before daylight, George and Charlie setting out on foot for the village, more than ten miles away. However, they did not in the least mind the long walk. They were too well used to tramping over the country.

The girls fairly counted the hours next morning. They calculated that George and his friend should reach the camp in the woods no later than half-past nine o’clock. The camp had been put in perfect order for the guest, and the Tramp Boys in their own camp had set aside a small tent for Disbrow, making the interior of the tent as comfortable as possible. If he thought best after reaching the camp to transfer operations to the village, this could be very easily accomplished. They did not know how well pleased he might be with the discomforts of life in camp there in the woods.

Half-past nine passed, then ten. At noon there was still no sign of George and his friend. The girls sat down to their noon meal, which they had hoped to share with Disbrow. The boys refused to eat with them. The former were becoming gloomy. They felt that something must have occurred to detain the party at Meadow-Brook, but what that something might be they were unable to imagine.

“There comes some one,” shouted Sam suddenly, while the girls were still at their meal.

Everybody sprang up. Just emerging from the log road that led into their camp clearing they saw Captain George Baker. The captain had lost his former springiness of step, his alert manner. He was dragging himself along as though worn out with fatigue. Charlie Mabie was not with him. Neither was the expected guest, P. Earlington Disbrow, the tennis champion of all England and part of the United States.

The boys ran forward to meet George, the girls following more slowly. Harriet knew from George Baker’s attitude that something was wrong. His dejection was apparent.

“Where is he? What’s the matter?” shouted Billy.

George waved the boys aside, and stumbling into camp leaned heavily against a sapling. The Tramp Boys and the Meadow-Brook Girls gathered about him, gazing at Captain George with eyes heavy with anxiety.

“It’s all over,” groaned George. “It’s ended, like the Englishman’s sparrow, gone up the blooming spout. Don’t ever speak to me of it again; don’t ever mention tennis nor tournament nor Disbrow nor anything else.”

“Perhaps if you were to tell us what it is all about we might offer some suggestions,” said Miss Elting.

“Too late, Miss Elting. I tell you it’s finished. Read that!”

He thrust a yellow sheet toward her, the girls recognizing it to be a telegraphic message. The guardian read it hurriedly, then she, too, sat down heavily.