“I did,” said that young man.
“And do you mean to tell me it was out?”
“It was—I do,” stammered the youth. “You heard what Mr. Slade said.”
“I don’t care what Mr. Slade said. I appeal to you against the most absurd decision ever heard or given on a tennis-field.”
“And I support Mr. Slade,” replied the referee.
“Oh, very well!” said Grace, with sudden quietness. “Come,” he whispered to his two lieutenants, “let’s get out of this. They’ll take our watches next!” And the three slowly made their way to the club-house.
They helped Grace into his other clothes and packed up his tennis-flannels for him. He was very quiet and seemed more concerned about his ankle than over the loss of the State championship.
Grace and his two supporters were so long in getting to the station, no one having offered Grace a carriage, that he missed his train.
He was very much annoyed, for he was anxious to shake the dust of Hilltown from his feet, and he was more than anxious about his ankle.
“Mr. Grace,” said Merton, “Prior and I were wondering if you would think we were presuming on our short acquaintance if we asked you to come home with us to Malvern. You can’t get back to college to-night from here, and Malvern is only ten miles off. My father is a doctor and could tell you what you ought to do about your ankle, and we would be very much pleased if you would stay with us.”