Captain of the Crew

by Ralph Henry Barbour

It was a perfect morning for tennis, bright and warm, and though it gave promise of heat later, at ten o’clock a soft, fresh breeze blew across the campus from the woods. Trevor won the toss and chose the south court.

“I see my finish here,” he said with a grin.

Stewart laughed.

“I’m glad I’ve got you scared. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“So’m I; so look out for yourself.”

Trevor’s fears appeared to be justified by events, for Stewart took the first set from him very easily, six games to three, and won the second after a somewhat harder battle to the tune of 7-5. But after that Trevor seemingly found himself, and the third encounter was brilliant enough to win almost unceasing applause from the fairly large throng of spectators. It went to him finally by six games to four, and the fourth set begun.

The two boys played very different tennis. Trevor at his best was supremely careful and painstaking; one might have thought that tennis was a game like chess, in which each stroke was the result of deep study. He played slowly, relying upon scientific placing for his points. His serve was a justly celebrated overhand cut which against almost any boy in the school save his present opponent was very dangerous. But Trevor and Stewart had played together all the spring, and knew each other’s style from A to Z, and Stewart had from long experience learned to return Trevor’s puzzling service with a forehand stroke off the ground that was almost always successful. Trevor played well back as a rule, and was the possessor of a back-hand return that was the admiration of all.

Stewart on the court was like a whirlwind in white flannels. He was all dash and go. Lithe and lightly built, he seemed capable of being everywhere at once, and that without any special effort. His playing was brilliant in the extreme; his service was a swift stroke that landed the ball almost invariably on the service-line, and that required the opponent to stand back of base-line to receive it; his return was a long, lightning-like drive that just topped the net; and his smashing was something terrific. But, like most whirlwind players, Stewart took long risks and occasionally got very wild.