“We are,” agreed Harriet, balancing a racquet on the first finger of her right hand.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” demanded the captain sharply.
“Why, I—I didn’t know I was doing anything so remarkable,” stammered Harriet.
“That’s a trick of expert tennis players to learn whether a racquet is properly balanced. You needn’t tell me you don’t know anything about the game. Sam, bring a ball here. You fellows are going to get a surprise in about a minute and a half. Harriet, you and Hazel take your places. No, not in the middle of the court—diagonally in those squares. There. Now play!”
Harriet tossed up the ball and made a swing at it with the racquet. She did not even hit the ball. Her companions laughed merrily at her awkwardness.
“Try again. That was no stroke,” said George.
Harriet tried again, sending the ball toward Hazel. Hazel struck at it with so much force that she spun her body completely about, but she did not hit it.
“Where is it?” cried Hazel.
“Gone where the poison ivy twineth,” announced Sam solemnly. “I reckon that ball is going yet. Woof! What a stroke!”
“Don’t you know that after a service in the beginning of the game the ball must first touch the ground and be taken on the first rebound?” asked Dill.