“Well, I—I—I can’t say just——”
“Tell the truth.”
“No, I don’t. There, I’ve said it. You made me do it, so don’t blame me for saying so. I don’t believe there is the least little bit of use in our going on with this. You might learn to play the game, but you never, never will be expert enough to go into a match game,” he declared with emphasis.
“Aren’t you an encouraging boy, though?” jeered Jane. “So glad you told us.”
“Am I to understand that you are no longer our instructor, George? If so, we had better get some one else. I am quite certain that Sam would be glad to teach us the game. Wouldn’t you, Sam?” asked Harriet mischievously.
“Well, seeing that my nose is out of commission, I guess I’d have to wear a mask. If I had a mask and a coat of armor, I might be willing to take a chance at teaching you. I guess the Pickle had better do it, though. We can take turns at it and as fast as one gets knocked out another can take his place and go on with the game.”
“Oh, you fellows make me weary,” cried George, springing up. “I’ll teach you, Harriet. I said I would, and I will. I guess, if you have the pluck to stand up and keep batting away at the balls without losing your nerve, I ought to be willing to do my part, even if the tournament is out of the question. We will go on with the practice.”
Tommy smiled wisely at Jane, and the latter chuckled under her breath. The practice was resumed, this time with renewed vigor. Some slight improvement was noted, though the great difficulty seemed to be in getting the girls to place the ball accurately. They seemed to be unable to hit the ball so that it would fall in any certain designated spot. Their strokes, too, were uneven. The ball was just as likely to fall spinning on the volleyer’s side of the net as into the court of her opponent.
The technical name for this is “a fault,” and means a score for the faulter’s opponent. There were many such, the faults being about even, however, with little or no advantage for either side. It was discouraging work, discouraging for George Baker and discouraging for the girls, though they did not show by their expression that they were other than happy and contented with their work. George found himself wondering again if they really knew how badly they played. He decided that they could not know, or, with all their pluck, they would give it up.
“The gloom on our side of the camp is so thick you can cut it with a bread-knife,” thought Sam after watching the game for the better part of an hour. “What spectacles they are making of themselves, and—hooray! Good play. What’s the matter, Harriet? Did you forget yourself?”