“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.