“Harriet, suppose you try a set with me this morning?” proposed George.
Harriet stepped forward. George, standing beside her, gave her such advice as he was able, regarding serving, volleying and position in the court.
The game started, the boys and girls pressing close about the court, not very much interested in George Baker’s playing, but watching eagerly every stroke Harriet made. Was not she going to play in the tournament? Harriet worked hard, worked until the beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead, but she was awkward, she was uncertain in placing the ball, sending it out of bounds fully as often as she dropped it within reach of her opponent. George won easily.
“You are the worst I ever saw,” declared Sam very frankly. “You couldn’t win a game in a thousand years.”
“Keep quiet,” commanded George. “We can’t all be champions the first day we stand before a net. Give her a chance, can’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t mind Sam’s criticism,” answered Harriet brightly. “Instead of discouraging me, it makes me all the more determined to learn to play.”
“And only five weeks to learn in,” groaned Billy.
“And a wooden man to teach her,” mumbled Sam.
“Any fellow who is so slow that he can’t dodge a racquet shouldn’t criticise his betters,” retorted George cuttingly. “Before we go any further I shall deliver a lecture. The ladies will please give their attention while I explain a few of the terms. A ‘volley,’ as you know, is hitting the ball before it touches the ground. The ‘server’ is the one who hits the ball from behind his base line and at one side of the center diagonally over the net into his opponent’s service court. Understand?”
The girls nodded, but did not interrupt by speaking.