“Well, I shan’t encourage them to call, but, of course, Arn, if they should——” Toby smiled innocently.
“Well, if they do I’ll beat it. Now shut up and let me study this beastly math.”
But although Toby pretended to be undisturbed by Arnold’s predictions, secretly he was regretful. Why, he wondered, as he tried to fix his mind on the subject of French nouns, had he insisted on assuming the part of guide and mentor to those two unpromising chaps in Number 31? Of course, neither of them would keep the engagements he had made for them. Things wouldn’t happen as easy as that. Well, in that case he would have a good excuse to drop them, he reflected. After all, it wasn’t his business to look after their welfare. Besides, he was going to be far too busy, what with lessons and football, to fuss with them. Busy? Gee, he’d say he was! He meant to go after another scholarship this term, and that meant real work. He ought never to have taken on football. It wasn’t worth risking a scholarship for. No, sir, it just wasn’t! And he’d drop it the end of the week surely—if it didn’t drop him first!
To his surprise, Ramsey was awaiting him at the tennis courts when he reached them, a minute or two late, the next forenoon. Ramsey was appropriately attired in white flannels and looked less objectionable this morning, even though his nose was still somewhat larger than normal. He greeted Toby rather sheepishly, as if ashamed of having kept the appointment. But Toby pretended that there was nothing unusual in the situation, and greeted Ramsey cheerily. Perhaps he was a little bit disappointed at finding the other there, though. If he was we can scarcely blame him.
Ramsey proved to be a better player than Toby had anticipated. He had a puzzling service and a good back-hand stroke, and was rather crafty at placing. In short, if Ramsey had had half as much speed as science he would have run away with the first set. As it was, Toby finally captured it, 7 to 5. Ramsey wasn’t enthusiastic about a second set, but Toby refused to heed his reluctance and they went at it again. Now, however, Ramsey’s skill was more than offset by weariness, and Toby did pretty much as he liked with his opponent. He might have secured the victory very easily, but he purposely allowed Ramsey to take the fourth and sixth games, determined that the latter’s first dose should be a strong one. The morning was sufficiently warm to put even Toby in a perspiration, and Ramsey literally oozed moisture. The second set went as far as 4 to 2 and then recitations called them back to Oxford. There had been little conversation during the playing, but returning up the hill Ramsey became rather communicative.
“I guess I could beat you, Tucker,” he said, mopping his flushed face with a sodden handkerchief, “if I wasn’t so out of practice. I haven’t played much for a couple of years. My heart isn’t very strong, you see, and my mother doesn’t like me to do much of it. In fact, one set at a time is my usual limit.”
“Yes, you’d beat me easily if you weighed fifteen pounds less,” agreed Toby. “Who told you your heart isn’t strong?”
“Why, I don’t know,” replied the other vaguely. “It’s always been that way, ever since I was a kid. Mother says I had scarlet fever or something when I was five or six, and that sort of weakened it. I dare say it isn’t really dangerous, you know, but you can’t help thinking about it sometimes. I get tired very easily. It was about all I could do to keep on my feet toward the last, back there. My breath gives out and my heart gets to pounding horribly. I’m strong enough other ways, though.”
Toby surveyed him gravely. “You would be if you took care of yourself,” he said. “If you didn’t eat too much and took plenty of exercise you’d do, I guess. You’re as soft as a lump of dough now, though,” he added unfeelingly. “How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been weighed for a long time.” Ramsey’s tone was aggrieved.