Blissfully unconscious of the cloud on the horizon, Coote had arrived at the school just in time for chapel. On his way out Heathcote came up and took his arm.
“Well, old fellow,” said that youth in a loud voice, which made it perfectly clear to Coote that Dick must be somewhere within hearing, “come and have another jolly two-hander after school, won’t you? You and I ought to be able to lick Raggles and Culver into fits now, oughtn’t we?”
“It’s a wonder to me,” said Dick, walking off in another direction with Aspinall, “how Raggles and Culver play tennis at all; any fool could lick them left-handed.”
Aspinall knew better than to dispute the assertion, and submitted to be taken down to the courts after morning school by Dick, where, in full view of Heathcote and Coote, the two played an exciting match, in which, of course, Dick came off victorious, for the simple reason that Aspinall had not the moral courage to beat him.
Towards the end of the game Cresswell and Cartwright walked up with their rackets. Finding all the courts occupied, Cresswell said to Dick—
“You two may as well make up a four with Heathcote and Coote; we want one of the courts.”
Dick was delighted to give up the court, but he was far too fagged to play any more. So was Aspinall, wasn’t he? Besides, they neither of them cared about four-handers.
Heathcote and Coote, for their part, were far too absorbed in their game to heed Cresswell’s suggestion. They were playing best out of fifteen sets, Georgie announced, and had just finished the third. Which being known, the spectators fell away from that part of the field rapidly.
The two o’clock bell sounded before the fifth set was over, rather to Coote’s relief, who had been getting just tennis enough during the last week.
The two champions were walking back lovingly to the school, when, as they approached the Quad gate, Heathcote said—