“Um,” the boy nodded. “Hush, be still. Now skip for your room.”
“Beresford,” said Joel, his black eyes shining as he paused a breathing space before rushing back to Davie, the new racket gripped fast, “if I don't pay Jenk for this!”
“Do.” Tom grinned all over his face in great delight; “you'll be a public benefactor,” and he softly beat his hands together.
II THE TENNIS MATCH
Joel, hugging his recovered tennis racket, rushed off to the court. Tom Beresford, staring out of his window, paused while pulling on his sweater to see him go, a sorry little feeling at his heart, after all, at Joe's good spirits.
“He'll play like the mischief, and a great deal better for the row and the fright over that old racket. Well, I had to tell. 'Twould have been too mean for anything to have kept still.”
So he smothered a sigh, and got into his togs, seized his implements of battle, and dashed off too. Streams of boys were rushing down to the court, and the yard was black with them. In the best places were the visitors. Royalty couldn't have held stronger claims to distinction in the eyes of Dr. Marks' boys; and many were the anxious glances sent over at the four St. Andrew's boys. If the playing shouldn't come up to the usual high mark!
“Pepper will score high,” one after another said as he dropped to the ground next to his chums, in the circle around the court.