“Think? Why, I think I should rather have my face than yours right this minute.”
This thrust restored Sam to good humor once more. His companions and the girls joined in the laugh at Dodd’s expense. The boys had replaced the net, but the hour was too late to think of having further practice. Harriet said they must begin to prepare their supper. The boys decided that it was time they were getting back to camp and starting their own evening meal. They declined an invitation to remain and take supper with the Meadow-Brook party. Harriet begged them to sit down a little while until the fire was fairly started. Instead, they placed the wood and started the fire for her, after which Hazel, whose turn it was to get supper that night, promptly set about her task.
Captain Baker relapsed into his gloomy state again. The recollection of the miserable failure of all his carefully laid plans rankled in his mind. He knew now that the girls were not deceiving him when they said they knew nothing about tennis playing. He had never seen a more pitiful exhibition than that of the afternoon; he hoped never to see another like it.
“Well, I’ll have to tell Herrington, I suppose,” he said, after remaining silent for several minutes. “But I’ll tell you truly, I’d rather be kicked all the way down to Newtown and back than to do it.”
“If you prefer I will write to Mr. Herrington myself and explain why it is impossible for the girls to enter the tournament,” suggested Miss Elting demurely.
“Never!” exclaimed George with strong emphasis. “I’m not quite such a namby-pamby as to hide behind a woman’s skirts. I’ll face the music, I’ll swallow my medicine and make a maple syrup face while I’m swallowing the bitter stuff. I’m going right down to-morrow and have the disagreeable job over.”
His companions had also relapsed into their former attitude of dejection. The full weight of their disappointment came back with overwhelming force.
“I wish I could talk without danger of cracking my face. I’d like to make a few remarks just at this time,” said Sam, talking as if he had a hot potato in his mouth.
“Try the sign language,” suggested Dill teasingly.
“All right, I will,” mumbled Sam Crocker, snatching up a pail of water and hurling it at Dill, who succeeded in eluding all except a few drops that rained over his head and down his neck.