“Look out!” shouted Tommy, and without waiting for her opponent to prepare herself, she served the ball with a fairly well directed stroke, so accurate, in fact, that the ball sped true to its mark, hitting Buster squarely on the nose. The hurt of it was not so great as was the surprise. Margery staggered and fell over on her back, to the accompaniment of shouts of laughter from both boys and girls.
“I gueth I can play,” declared Tommy proudly, “but Buthter ith too fat.”
“You did it on purpose,” cried Margery, getting to her feet and touching her nose gingerly with the tips of her fingers. “Is it bleeding?”
“No, it isn’t bleeding,” assured George sympathetically.
“If it isn’t bleeding it’s broken. Oh, my poor nose!”
Tommy was regarding her quizzically, her shrewd little face wrinkled into sharp lines. Tommy was very proud of her accomplishment, for did it not prove that she was very skilful and Margery not?
“I think myself that Margery is not a success at tennis,” answered Miss Elting. “I believe you had better give it up and let Harriet and Jane have an opportunity. Jane hasn’t held a racquet yet.”
“No! I’ll play if it kills me,” declared Margery.
“That’s the talk!” cried Sam. “That’s the spirit that wins games and everything else! But,” he continued, addressing Tommy Thompson, “don’t you be so violent this time, Grace. Take it more slowly to begin with. Just drop it over into the other court; send it over so slowly that Margery cannot fail to see it. Easy as falling off a log.”
“Play!” commanded George.