“A fine lot of young women,” answered Disbrow enthusiastically.
“I know all about that. But what about this tournament—what are the prospects, do you think?”
“Pretty early to answer that question, isn’t it?”
“You have come to some conclusion about it, I know.”
“Miss Burrell has the making of a great tennis player,” answered the champion.
“Just what I said,” cried George enthusiastically. “I knew I’d picked a winner.”
“She has a wise little head on her shoulders, George. She uses it, too. It is working all the time, which is a most necessary quality in a tennis player. I know of no sport that requires more of this quality.”
“Then you think the girls have a chance to win out in the tournament! I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you say that. It repays me for a lot of stewing, old man.”
“Not so fast, old chappie. I haven’t said that at all. On the contrary, I do not consider that they have the slightest chance of winning in the doubles at your tournament if, as you say, there are several clever teams entered. How could you expect it? They may stay in for a few sets just because of that wonderful pluck and spirit. But the finals”—the Englishman shook his head. “Hopeless, George. You might as well make up your mind to that.”
George Baker groaned dismally. Then he gripped his friend’s arm.