Captain George Baker looked as he felt—thunderstruck—while his companions’ faces reflected his consternation. George groaned dismally.
“But we’ve entered you. You must go through with it,” he expostulated.
Harriet shook her head.
“It is out of the question, George. Miss Elting plays, I believe. Let her take the entry for us.”
“She isn’t eligible,” objected George. “This entry is for girls not more than eighteen years old. Of course you will play,” he added with a more hopeful note in his tone. “I know well enough that you play, and play superbly. No girls who are such clever girls, out-of-doors as well as in, could help playing tennis. Besides, you will have to do it now. I tell you I’ve entered you.”
“No, George. I am sorry, but you will have to withdraw our entry, explaining to Mr. Herrington that we don’t play and that you were led into the making of the entry by his urging.”
“The papers have printed the entries,” shouted George. “And they’ve told all about you,” he added in a tone of misery.
“Show them what the papers printed, George,” urged Dill.
Captain George drew a wrinkled piece of newspaper from his blouse pocket and flattened it out on one knee with the palms of his hands. He regarded the paper ruefully, then handed it to Dodd.
“You read it, Dill. My voice is going back on me. I must have yelled myself hoarse this morning. It’s all about you, girls. You will see that you’ve got to go through with this business, no matter what happens.”