The chap proved to be Jimmy Logan, and when Monty returned his greeting he climbed up to them. “Hello, Crail! Say, have you seen Dud Baker? The idiot promised to play some tennis this afternoon.” Jimmy was sweeping the scattered audience in the stand and along the edge of the field with a frowning gaze. “He’s a lazy guy, though, and had rather watch other fellows exercise than do it himself. He’s probably here somewhere about.”
Monty introduced Leon to Jimmy, adding: “If Baker doesn’t show up this fellow will take you on at tennis, Logan. He’s the champion of the southern states, Desmarais is, and has never been defeated.”
“Dry up, Monty!” protested Leon.
“Do you mean it?” asked Jimmy eagerly. “Do you really want to play, Des—er—I didn’t get the name, I guess.”
“Desmarais,” supplied Monty. “The accent comes on the antepenultimate syllable. The K is silent as in French.”
“Yah! And I suppose his first name’s Harold?” jeered Jimmy. “Maybe he’s another of those Eskimo Twins!”
“Yes, he’s the third of them. Go ahead and whack your little white balls around, Leon. I’ll come over after awhile.”
“I’d like to play very much, thanks,” said Leon, “if you don’t find your friend, Mr. Logan.”
“I’m not going to look for him any longer. Have you got your racket here?”
“No, but it won’t take me a minute——”