The Westminster Welt is in theory the same as the Hampstead Smash, but goes over the net. One must be in very good form (or have been recently insulted) to bring this off.
Well, we won that game, a breeze having just sprung up; and, carried away by enthusiasm and mutual admiration, we collected another. (Five, two.) Then it was Miss Hope's serve again.
"Good-bye," I said; "I suppose you want me in the forefront again?"
"Please."
"I don't mind her shots—the bottle of scent is absolutely safe; but I'm afraid he'll win another packet of woodbines."
Miss Hope started off with a double, which was rather a pity, and then gave our masculine adversary what is technically called "one to kill." I saw instinctively that I was the one, and I held my racquet ready with both hands. Our opponent, who had been wanting his tea for the last two games, was in no mood of dalliance; he fairly let himself go over this shot. In a moment I was down on my knees behind the net ... and the next moment I saw through the meshes a very strange thing. The other man, with his racquet on the ground, was holding his eye with both hands!
"Don't you think," said Miss Hope (two, five—abandoned) "that your overhead volleying is just a little severe?"
XXVI. TEN AND EIGHT
The only event of importance last week was my victory over Henry by ten and eight. If you don't want to hear about that, then I shall have to pass on to you a few facts about his motor-bicycle. You'd rather have the other? I thought so.