Chapter VI: A Discouraging Try-Out

“And you have done all this for us?” asked Miss Elting, stepping over and placing a hand on the shoulder of the disconsolate George, who, sitting with his chin in his palms, never so much as glanced up at her.

“No; just for the sake of showing you what fools fellows can make of themselves,” he answered sourly.

“Oh, don’t say that, Captain,” begged Harriet, running to him. “We shall never forget your goodness—never! It was splendid in you!”

“A real tennis net!” cried Margery. “What a lot of fun we shall have with it.”

“It is a splendid outfit, too,” declared Miss Elting, examining the contents of the bundle with critical eyes; “everything complete, even to racquets, and the best to be had in the market, too. Oh, how can we thank you? But isn’t this outfit new?” she asked, a sudden thought occurring to her.

Sam nodded and smiled.

“To whom does it belong?” she continued.

He waved his hand as indicating that it was the property of the Tramp Club. In the meantime George’s face was taking on a deeper flush, the heel of one boot was digging more and more savagely into the turf, and his hair, through which he had run his fingers, was standing up wildly.

“The property of the Tramp Club?” repeated the guardian.

Sam nodded, but George did not.

“When did you get it?” questioned Miss Elting.

“It came the day before yesterday,” Dill informed her. “We’ve been looking for it for more than a week—we could hardly wait till it got here. When it came, we hustled right over to Meadow-Brook, where we learned that you were out here.”

“But—but you didn’t carry it all the way from Meadow-Brook here, did you?” demanded Jane.

“No, we didn’t tote it,” answered Sam. “We got a farmer who was on his way out here to carry it in his wagon. We carried it up from the road, about a mile. That was far enough. We are very sorry we had all our trouble for nothing.”

“We’re _not_ sorry!” roared George. “We aren’t sorry for anything we do for the Meadow-Brook Girls. The fellow who says that isn’t a Tramp by a long shot.”

“I—I didn’t mean it just that way,” apologized Sam. “You know what I meant.”

Harriet, who had been watching the faces of the boys and listening to what was said, had already come to a certain conclusion regarding the thoughtfulness of the boys. She put that conclusion into words a few moments later.

“You mean that you boys bought this outfit, net, balls, racquets and all? Is that it?”

“We certainly did,” cried Sam.

“Will you keep quiet?” demanded George angrily. “You ramble on and tell everything you know almost before you are asked. We got that outfit, ladies, because we wanted it and for no other reason. We thought, seeing you were going to play in the tournament at Newtown, that you might like to practise while you were out here. That’s all there is to it. Don’t pay any attention to what Sam says; he isn’t always responsible.”

Harriet was not deceived. Neither was Miss Elting. It was plain to both that George Baker and his fellows had purchased this tennis outfit solely in the interest of the Meadow-Brook Girls. The guardian, knowing something of these matters, realized that the boys must have purchased the outfit at a great personal sacrifice, thus increasing her wonder and admiration for the unselfish Tramp Club. As a matter of fact, the boys had sacrificed their pocket money in order to get the outfit, fully expecting the girls to be overcome with joy. Instead of this the girls had met them with the amazing news that they had never played a game of tennis in their lives!

“You bought it for us,” reflected Harriet, with her chin in her hand, regarding the disconsolate George with thoughtful eyes.

“Suppose we purchase the outfit?” suggested Miss Elting.

Captain George sprang up, his face reflecting his indignation.

“Do you think we are that kind of fellows?” he demanded. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to speak to you in that tone, Miss Elting,” he apologized.

“You need not apologize. We accept your kind thoughtfulness and appreciate the spirit behind it. But it is too bad that you have had to be so disappointed. Let me think it over and see what can be done.”

“Nothing can be done,” groaned George. “We’re in up to our chins and we’re going in up to our eyes before we’ve done with it.”

Tommy and Margery had taken up racquets and balls and were batting the balls about, shouting delightedly. They already had volleyed one ball off into the bushes and lost it. Billy Burgess was down on his knees crawling about in the bushes in search of it. Already a hopeful spirit was apparent in the faces of nearly all the boys and most of the girls. Harriet was thoughtful, while Miss Elting smiled her appreciation upon the boys, of whom she was almost as fond as of her own young charges.

“I would suggest that we put up the net. Even if we aren’t able to play, we shall be able to have a lot of enjoyment out of the tennis outfit,” said Harriet. “Do you object to our using it while we are here, boys?”

“Object?” George Baker was on his feet instantly, the set lines of his face relaxing somewhat. “Well, I should say not! Do you really mean that you’ll play over the net?”

“I don’t know about playing,” answered Harriet laughingly. “We will agree to volley the balls back and forth.”

“You’re fooling me!” shouted George. “You said ‘_volley_.’ No one but a tennis player would know about that word. Hurrah! Put up the net, fellows. We’ll see about this.”

“Please do not deceive yourself,” begged Harriet. “We have told you the simple truth. We do not play. I knew the word and what it means, having heard Miss Elting use it. But we will put up the net just the same and have ever and ever so much fun. I’ll tell you what, George. You teach us how to play. Miss Elting will play with you. She can play.”

“Indifferently,” answered the guardian. “I fear I should cut but a sorry figure with such experts as the Tramp Club, especially such an expert as Mr. Baker.”

“Expert! Ho-ho! Ha-ha!” chuckled Sam. “Wait till you see him play! Oh, yes, he’s the original and unconquerable champion of the Granite State. Get busy, fellows. Don’t stand about like a lot of wooden Indians waiting to be placed on your pedestals. There aren’t any pedestals here. If there were, you wouldn’t occupy them, not while there are ladies present.”

“Where shall we place the net?” asked Hazel.

“Over yonder,” answered George. “You must level off the ground first, boys.” He was full of new interest now. “Wait. I’ll trim down the bushes, then some of you get to work and dig them up—dig up the roots, I mean. It’s not exactly an ideal place for a court.”

The boys fell to with a will, the girls getting to work assisting them in clearing the ground in preparation for a tennis court. Nearly an hour was occupied with this work, with the result that a fairly level and smooth court had been constructed, George having paced off the measurements so that they were almost accurate. It would not do for the girls to learn on a court that was either too large or too small, for this would have an effect on their playing when they came to play on a real court.

While the others were setting the net, George with a stick was busily engaged in marking out the base line and other lines of the court. All this was of interest to the Meadow-Brook Girls because they did not understand the purpose of it. They had no idea what the lines were for nor why they should be there at all. But Harriet early began asking questions, and by the time the markings were down she had some inkling as to their uses.

“Chalk is used to mark the lines ordinarily,” explained George. “Having no chalk, we fall back on a sharp stick. The lines aren’t very plain, but plain enough, I guess, for all we shall require of them. I reckon we’ll have time to volley a few times before night,” he added, consulting the skies. “I know you girls are going to give us the surprise of our young lives.”

“We are,” agreed Harriet, balancing a racquet on the first finger of her right hand.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” demanded the captain sharply.

“Why, I—I didn’t know I was doing anything so remarkable,” stammered Harriet.

“That’s a trick of expert tennis players to learn whether a racquet is properly balanced. You needn’t tell me you don’t know anything about the game. Sam, bring a ball here. You fellows are going to get a surprise in about a minute and a half. Harriet, you and Hazel take your places. No, not in the middle of the court—diagonally in those squares. There. Now play!”

Harriet tossed up the ball and made a swing at it with the racquet. She did not even hit the ball. Her companions laughed merrily at her awkwardness.

“Try again. That was no stroke,” said George.

Harriet tried again, sending the ball toward Hazel. Hazel struck at it with so much force that she spun her body completely about, but she did not hit it.

“Where is it?” cried Hazel.

“Gone where the poison ivy twineth,” announced Sam solemnly. “I reckon that ball is going yet. Woof! What a stroke!”

“Don’t you know that after a service in the beginning of the game the ball must first touch the ground and be taken on the first rebound?” asked Dill.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit it so hard,” apologized Harriet. “Better luck next time.”

“She didn’t _mean_ to hit it so hard,” mocked Sam.

Billy recovered the ball after considerable hunting about in the bushes. In the meantime another ball had been pressed into service. This time Harriet succeeded in serving it into the court of her opponent, but Hazel did not see it coming. The ball rolled out of bounds and lay waiting to be picked up.

“Tell me the truth, are you girls playing off?” demanded George.

“No, indeed,” answered Harriet laughingly. “Is there still a lurking idea in your mind that we really do know how to play?”

“There was, up to a few moments ago. I know she doesn’t,” pointing to Hazel. “There couldn’t be any mistake about that. Nobody could make-believe play-off like that.”

“Let me thhow them how to play,” piped Tommy.

“Yes. You and Margery have a try-out,” suggested Miss Elting.

Harriet and Hazel willingly gave way to their two companions. Margery started in by grasping the racquet firmly in both hands. George shook his head sorrowfully.

“What do you think you are playing—baseball?” demanded Sam jeeringly. “We don’t bat in tennis. We hold the racquet artistically in one hand, then, when the ball meanders over into our court, we give it a genteel swat in the northeast corner; next, biff! bump! bang! Back she comes again, just starving to death for more. Do you see?”

Miss Elting laughed merrily.

“Your description is graphic, indeed,” she said. “I think Margery will have no difficulty in returning her opponent’s service after that.”

“Buthter ith too fat to play anything but football,” averred Tommy. “Thhe would be a thuctheth in football becauthe thhe could fall on the ball and hold it down tho nobody elthe could get it. Do I hit the ball firtht?”

“Does she hit it first?” groaned Bill. “You ‘serve’ it. That’s the polite way to express what Sam would call the opening swat.”

“Then what do I do?” questioned Margery.

Miss Elting here took a hand in the instruction.

“When your opponent serves the ball into your court, you let the ball strike the ground, bound up into the air, then you volley it back into your opponent’s court. Then, the ball being in play, you do not have to let it strike the ground again unless you wish to do so.”

“But how can I help its striking the ground if it wants to?” cried Buster.

George groaned dismally at this question.

“By hitting it!” he shouted. “Keep the ball going as long as there is any ‘go’ left in it. Play!”

“Look out!” shouted Tommy, and without waiting for her opponent to prepare herself, she served the ball with a fairly well directed stroke, so accurate, in fact, that the ball sped true to its mark, hitting Buster squarely on the nose. The hurt of it was not so great as was the surprise. Margery staggered and fell over on her back, to the accompaniment of shouts of laughter from both boys and girls.

“I gueth I can play,” declared Tommy proudly, “but Buthter ith too fat.”

“You did it on purpose,” cried Margery, getting to her feet and touching her nose gingerly with the tips of her fingers. “Is it bleeding?”

“No, it isn’t bleeding,” assured George sympathetically.

“If it isn’t bleeding it’s broken. Oh, my poor nose!”

Tommy was regarding her quizzically, her shrewd little face wrinkled into sharp lines. Tommy was very proud of her accomplishment, for did it not prove that she was very skilful and Margery not?

“I think myself that Margery is not a success at tennis,” answered Miss Elting. “I believe you had better give it up and let Harriet and Jane have an opportunity. Jane hasn’t held a racquet yet.”

“No! I’ll play if it kills me,” declared Margery.

“That’s the talk!” cried Sam. “That’s the spirit that wins games and everything else! But,” he continued, addressing Tommy Thompson, “don’t you be so violent this time, Grace. Take it more slowly to begin with. Just drop it over into the other court; send it over so slowly that Margery cannot fail to see it. Easy as falling off a log.”

“Play!” commanded George.

This time Tommy made three passes before she succeeded in hitting the ball. She gave a gentle lift on the third stroke, serving it over the net, barely missing the net itself. Margery, following Sam Crocker’s advice, ran toward the ball making wild swings with her racquet. Luckily, ball and racquet met. Margery gave the ball a toss, but it was more the force of her forward lunge than the stroke that sent the ball over the net. The girl herself kept right on going. From sheer force of her momentum she could not stop.

In the meantime Tommy had darted forward to meet the ball and volley it back into the opposite court. Just before reaching the net she stubbed her toe on a root that had been overlooked, sprawled head first into the net, and became hopelessly entangled in its meshes.

“Thave me!” moaned Tommy.

Buster, who was still lunging forward, tripped also and plunged forward head first, her own head bumping Tommy’s with great force.