A silence followed this announcement. Jack and Watkins each strove to look indifferent and only succeeded in appearing very self-conscious.
“Guess we won’t know it until just before the game, will we, Ted?” asked Smythe with a yawn. He had not gone to sleep until after three in the morning and was feeling the effects of his dissipation.
“I suppose not,” replied Ted. “Who’s got a ball?”
Midget made a convulsive sound, threw himself back until his feet were in air and produced one from his trousers pocket after much struggling. “Take mine,” he said breathlessly.
“Thanks. Want to pass, Harry?”
Harry shook his head. “Not much. I’m going to sleep.”
“I will,” said Will Watkins. The two moved over to the gravel and began throwing the ball back and forth.
“Who wants some tennis?” asked Gus Turnbull.
“I’ll play you, Gus,” said Tyler Wicks.
But Ted overheard and interposed sternly. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, you idiots. Shay told us to keep quiet this morning. You’ll be all done up if you play tennis in this heat.”