“Oh, you keep out of this, will you!” retorted the omnipotent Slade, and Mr. Clay retreated hurriedly.
Grace walked back into the court, and nodded to the referee that he was ready to go on.
He was too angry to speak, but he mentally determined to beat his opponent so badly, umpire or no umpire, that his friends would avoid tennis as a topic of conversation for months to come.
This incendiary spirit made him hammer the innocent rubber balls to such purpose that the elder Slade was almost afraid of his life, and failed to return more than a dozen of the opponent’s strokes in the next two sets.
His brother’s decisions were now even more ridiculous than before, but Grace pretended not to notice them.
The game now stood two straight sets in Grace’s favor, and one set 6-5 in Slade’s—or in favor of both the Slades, for they had both helped to win it.
Grace had four games love, in the final set, when in running back after a returned ball he tripped and fell over an obstacle, spraining his right ankle very badly. The obstacle proved to be the leg of one of the Hilltown youths who was lying in the grass with his feet stuck out so far that they touched the line.
Grace got up and tried to rest his weight on his leg, and then sat down again very promptly.
He shut his teeth and looked around him.
Nobody moved except Mr. Clay, who asked anxiously if Grace were hurt. Grace said that he was; that he had sprained his ankle.