Cynthia played well. She flew about the court, here, there, everywhere at once, never interfering with her partner's game, but, always ready with her own play. She and Jack, though younger than the other players, held their ground well.
It was only a small tournament, and "mixed doubles" were finished up in one afternoon, Jack and Cynthia carrying off second prizes with great glee.
"Just what I wanted, mamma," said Cynthia, as she displayed a fine racket of the latest style and shape; "I hope they will have another tournament before the summer is over, so that I'll have a chance to win first prize with this new racket."
They were driving home in the dusk, for the game had lasted late, when they overtook and passed a boy who was walking on the road to Oakleigh, with a bag slung over his shoulder on a stick, while a black spaniel trotted along at his heels. Mrs. Franklin did not see him.
"I say there, Hessie! Can't you give a fellow a lift?" he shouted.
"Why, Neal!" exclaimed Mrs. Franklin; "where did you come from? Jack, stop, please. It is Neal! You dear boy, I am so glad to see you! This is my brother, children; and, Neal, here are Edith, Cynthia, and Jack Franklin."
"Whew, what a lot! I say, Hessie, what were you thinking of when you married such a family as that? But I fancy you haven't got room for me in there. I can walk it easily enough. Don't mind a bit."
"Nonsense! we can squeeze up," said his sister, which they did forthwith, and Neal Gordon climbed into the cart.
"No room for you, Bob," he remarked to the spaniel, who danced about the road in a vain endeavor to follow his master; "you can go ahead on your own legs."
He was a tall, well-developed fellow, with a hearty, cheery voice, and a frank, sometimes embarrassing, way of saying the first thing that came into his head.