The story of the next set of the match is briefly told. Harriet and Tommy played three strong games, not perfect games by any manner of means, but Disbrow, who was watching their every movement with the eyes of an expert, saw that they were coming up magnificently. Each succeeding game was played better than the previous one.
“Set and match for the Meadow-Brook Girls,” called the referee, in stentorian tones.
The Tramp Boys were beside themselves with joy. Regardless of time or place, they uttered a series of blood-curdling war whoops.
But there was little time for congratulation. The Scott Sisters had won their match, and therefore would be pitted against Harriet and Tommy in the final match of the tournament. Fifteen minutes were allowed each team to recuperate.
The Tramp Boys were becoming worked up to a pitch of enthusiasm that threatened the temporary loss of their reason. Sam suddenly made a discovery. A young man in a white suit was seen talking with the Scott Sisters. There was something very familiar about his appearance. Sam drew near. When the man left the two girls, Sam followed him until the young man reached a secluded place at the end of the grand stand.
“You are the fellow who hit me on the nose!” he hissed. “Put up your hands! I am going to pay my debts.”
When Samuel Crocker had finished with the stranger the white suit was sadly stained with mud, and the young man’s own nose was in need of repairs. The fellow fled from the field, while Sam returned triumphantly to his companions, one eye blackened, his hair standing up, but his heart full of unholy joy. He felt that he had wiped out two scores instead of one.
The ranks of the players were thinning. It was well along in the afternoon now. Players moved about wearily. Their feet were not nearly so light as when the work of the day had begun and there were many disappointed faces to be seen. As for the Meadow-Brook Girls, instead of growing weary, they plainly were gaining in strength. Perhaps their success was largely responsible for this. But their endurance was undeniable. Still, the work of the day was far from done, the championship a long way off, for the team that had been picked to win were still to be beaten.
Enthusiasm was running high. The Meadow-Brook Girls had by this time become very prominent. They were nearing the blazing cup which had served as Tommy’s inspiration and which seemed almost within reach now. But there remained the other team, before which everything had gone down. It seemed hopeless for Harriet and her slender, excitable little companion to hope to win against the hard-hitting, quick-footed, skilful Scott Sisters.
“They can’t do it,” declared Disbrow. “But even if they do not, they have won second place. That alone I should think ought to be triumph enough for any team that has been on the court only five weeks. Oh, this is splendid! It’s glorious!”