“A couple of fellows who room together in Lothrop, Logan and Baker, and another chap named Gowen. Gowen’s a football player. And then there’s that Indian, Standart, and two or three fellows at Morris. I dare say some of them must be tennis fiends, eh?”
“I wish you’d ask. I’d like to get used to those courts a little before the tournament. They look faster than the ones I’ve played on. Come along, if we have to, and let’s find those silly boats.”
That task proved very easy, for both skiff and canoe were pulled up on the beach, and Monty’s straw hat was awaiting a claimant on the end of an upturned oar. “I never thought I’d see that again,” said Monty, as he tried to pull the soft straw back into shape. “Looks sort of—sort of——”
“Echevelé,” suggested Leon.
“Honest? As bad as that, eh? Well, I suppose a hat that’s sat around in the water all night has a right to look ‘aish-flay,’ or whatever you called it. I suppose you talk French like a headwaiter, eh?”
“A little,” acknowledged Leon.
“And read it, too?”
“Not so much.”
“And—and think in it? Can you think in French?”