“Well, all I’ve got to say about it is that you are a mighty good dreamer. Now, we haven’t much time left before dark, so go ahead and play. Use your signals, use everything. Work fast and do your best. There’s no one to see you. No one comes around here. They know better when we men are on hand to watch over you.”
Despite George’s boast, however, a young man had been gradually working his way through the grove, approaching the tennis court from the rear of the tents, his stealthy movements as he darted from tree to tree being shielded from their view by the tents. As the shadows grew more dense in the grove he kept creeping closer. There was still plenty of light for the players, and their movements were quite plain to the spy who had stolen upon them.
Reaching a point some little distance removed from the camp and now to one side of it, a position that commanded a fairly unobstructed view of the tennis court, he drew a pair of opera glasses from his pocket and immediately became absorbed in watching the playing on the Meadow-Brook court. Now and then he was able to hear what was said, but, fortunately, when discussing the signals the girls and boys lowered their voices instinctively. If the fellow had been a keen student of the game he undoubtedly would have seen that something was being done that looked like learning a signal code, but whether or not he understood the meaning of the natural movements of the left arms and hands of the players cannot be said. He had not crept close enough to make his observations before they began to play.
While all this was going on Sam Crocker had been to the Tramp Boys’ camp and was on his way back. All at once he halted, and, shading his eyes, gazed at the figure. The fellow’s back was turned toward Sam. Then the latter saw the opera glasses. He understood at once. Some one was spying on the camp.
“Oh!” chuckled Sam, rolling up his sleeves, “here is food for reflection, and food for my two big fists. Now, Mr. Man, look out for yourself, for the avenger is certainly on your trail!”
The avenger was. Stooping low and moving with extreme caution, Sam Crocker crept slowly up toward the supposed spy, getting nearer and nearer. All at once, after straightening up, he uttered a whoop and sprang forward, hurling himself on the man at the tree.
CHAPTER XIX
ON THE TOURNAMENT COURTS
The spy went down, more under the force of a well-directed blow that Sam had planted on the back of his neck than from the force of Sam’s weight that fell upon him.
“I’ve got him!” yelled Sam. “I’ve got the miserable spy. Come here, fellows, quick! Oh-h-h-h! Ouch!” There was a despairing wail in the voice of the Tramp Boy now. The note of triumph had left it.
Sam’s companions had sprung up with his first call and started into the grove, but though they could hear their companion they were unable to locate him.