“I told him to stay there until P. E. either telegraphed or wrote.”
“You think there is some prospect of his coming, then, do you?”
“Not one chance in a million,” answered George with emphasis. “Would you, if you had a sprained ankle? I reckon he will make the Pullman Company pay very dearly for this, though. The ankle of a tennis player is worth something, I should say.”
“What do you think of the girls’ playing now?”
“In some ways it is an improvement, but——”
“But! There is just the trouble,” cried Harriet. “When we do our best you say, ‘It is very good, but——’”
“Well, isn’t it?” he demanded a little sourly.
“I have not permitted myself to think of the matter in that way,” replied Harriet.
“Then you have given up hope so far as the tournament is concerned?” questioned the guardian, fixing a steady look on the face of the captain.
“I—I should hardly care to say that,” stammered George, avoiding her eyes.