The girls were dressing for the tennis tournament. The games were to begin at noon, and continue until six o’clock. Three hours later the annual tennis ball took place at the Casino.
“You know, Ruth,” said Bab, fixing a pin in her friend’s collar, as they stood before the mirror, “that the really most important thing in our whole stay at Newport is your winning the silver cup in the tournament to-day.”
“Oh!” cried Ruth. “Don’t be quite so energetic, Bab. You jabbed that pin right into my neck. I believe I am going to win. I can’t imagine a good soldier going into battle with the idea that he is going to be beaten. Why, an idea like that would take all the fight out of a man, or a girl either, for that matter. No, Hugh and I are going to do everything we possibly can to come out winners. But, if we do, Bab, Hugh and I will think we owe it to you and Ralph. You have been such trumps about keeping us up to the mark with your fine playing.”
“Nonsense, Ruth!” retorted Bab, decidedly. “All Ralph and I ask this afternoon is a chance to do some shouting for the winners. What time is the tourney on for the ‘eighteen-year-olds’?”
“Just after lunch; about two o’clock, I believe. Bab, are you nervous about to-night?” Ruth asked. “Do you think there is going to be a scene at the ball? The detectives will be watching Mr. Townsend closely. They suspect that he means to make another big attempt, don’t they?”
“I really don’t know, Ruth,” Barbara answered. “I had a short note from Mr. Burton this morning. I meant to show it to you, but I did not have a chance. It simply said: ‘Thanks. The game is ours. Keep a sharp lookout!’ But I want to forget the whole burglary business to-day. Tennis is the only really important thing. Hurrah for Miss Ruth Stuart, the famous girl champion!” cried Barbara, then suddenly sobered down. The two girls had been in the wildest spirits all day. Indeed, Miss Sallie had sent them into the same room to dress, in order to get rid of them.
“What is the matter, Bab?” said Ruth, turning round to look into her friend’s face.
“I’ve a confession to make to you. In my heart of hearts, way down underneath, I am kind of sneakingly sorry for Harry Townsend. I know he is a rogue and everything that’s wicked. When I think of him in that way I am not sorry for him a bit. Then the thought comes of the man who has been around with us for weeks, playing tennis with us and going to our parties, and I can’t quite take it in.”
“I know just what you mean, Bab,” replied Ruth, reflectively. “Don’t you think it must be the same idea as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Everyone has a good and a bad side. We can’t help being sorry for the good part of a person, when the evil gets ahead of it. But, then, you and I have never really liked even the good side of Harry Townsend much. So I wonder why we both feel sorry.”
“It’s the woman in us, I suppose,” sighed Bab.