“I lost no time in hot-crutching it out to Meadow-Brook,” added the Englishman. “I knew that you wouldn’t have said what you did in your message unless you needed me. Mr. Mabie spotted me the instant I got down from the car. But, George, old chap, I don’t think much of your conveyances up this neck of America.”
“We rode out on a lumber wagon,” explained Charlie.
“Yes, and every joint in my body was properly shaken loose.”
Miss Elting at this juncture called George aside and suggested that arrangements be made for Mr. Disbrow to remain at the Meadow-Brook camp that night on account of his lame ankle. George assented and sent two of his fellows to the Tramp camp to fetch the tent they had set aside for Disbrow.
The girls had hung upon the champion’s every word and gesture since his arrival at the camp. But they had difficulty in making themselves believe that this man was the much-heralded champion. Disbrow was thin, pale and delicate looking. His movements were slow and deliberate and he was what Jane characterized as “fussy.” But he was Disbrow, the champion tennis player. There could be no doubt as to that. George knew. Yet it did seem almost impossible.
Having finished his supper, Disbrow, with the aid of his crutch, hobbled about pluckily, testing the strength of the strained ankle. They suggested that he stop. He said the ankle would be lame just so long as it was babied, that he proposed to throw away his crutch on the following day.
“Now, old chap, tell me what it is all about?” urged the champion after having resumed his seat at the end of the table. “Charlie told me something of what you wanted of me, but he was too excited to be clear about it. It is some sort of a match game of tennis that you young ladies are wanting to take part in, I understand.”
“The coast championship,” George informed him.
“And the young ladies, they are good players?” questioned the tennis champion.
“We practically never touched a racquet until within a few days ago,” said Harriet.