“I don’t play for money,” answered Ray coldly, “and, to be perfectly frank, Howard, I don’t care particularly to play at all. I understand that you had money up on that last series of games, and——”
“Well, and what if I did?” broke in Howard. “Is it any of your business?”
“It is none of my business whether you bet or not, but it is some of my business whom I play tennis with, and I say again, I don’t care to play.”
“Oh, pshaw, you are afraid to play me,” said Howard.
“If I wasn’t afraid to play you before, when I thought you were the better player, why should I be afraid now, when I know I can beat you?” rejoined Ray, with a slightly sarcastic accent.
“You can’t beat me—it was all luck—you couldn’t beat me again to save your life!” burst out Howard excitedly. “I tell you I’ll bet you anything that——”
“And I tell you that I won’t bet anything, and that baseball is all I have time for at present.” Here Ray turned away.
Howard stood irresolute for a moment, as if about to say something more; then wheeling sharply on his heel, he exclaimed with a sneer, “Oh, you’re a coward!” and walked off.
Ray’s face flushed a moment as he looked after him. Then he bit his lip, and, turning to Tony, said,
“I think, perhaps, you were right about him, after all. He certainly seems to be nursing a grudge against me for some reason. Perhaps I had better play him again, and let him beat me badly. It might do him good. Anything to please him, of course.”