That night Laura and Vi worked over Billie’s knee, rubbing, massaging, as earnest in their ministrations as any professional trainer.
“I think it will do now,” said Billie, at last. “Thanks so much, girls.”
“But how does the knee feel?” Laura insisted.
“All right, most of the time. Then once in a while when I least expect it, it grows a peculiar kink. I can’t quite explain it, but suddenly all the strength goes out of it and I feel as though I’d either have to sit down or take a nose dive. Never mind!” smiling at their serious faces, “let’s hope it will last through to-morrow. That’s all I ask of it!”
“That’s all you ask of it, yes,” grumbled Vi. “But that’s an awful lot to ask of a weak knee, Billie. I’m worried about it. If you’d only kept off of it this past week or two, it might be all right now. As it is—why, don’t you know that this tournament is important?”
“Don’t I know that this tournament is important! Of course I know! Don’t be silly, Vi.” Then, seeing that Vi looked a little hurt, she went on: “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. But don’t worry. It’ll turn out all right.”
Next day dawned gloomily, with more than a hint of rain in the sky. However, by ten o’clock the sun had come out to stay, the air was crisp and cool—ideal tennis weather.
Almost the entire student body of Three Towers flocked out upon the grounds. Lessons were suspended for the two days of the tournament. The teachers often came to watch a spirited match. It was not unusual for Miss Walters herself to occupy a camp chair close to the courts during the finals.
Billie crashed through the elimination sets, crushing her opponents without mercy.
“There she goes!” cried Vi, gnawing the ends of her fingers in her excitement. “6—0, 6—2, 6—0. Rose is down, and she waves a wicked racket, too. Oh, boy, there’s nobody can stand before Billie to-day!”