To Him That Hath: A Tale of the West of Today. Ralph Connor

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СКАЧАТЬ then, Stillwell,” said Captain Jack, with a curt nod at him. “Whenever you are ready.”

      “Oh, come, Maitland. I was only joshing, you know. You don't want to play with me to-day,” said Stillwell, not relishing the look on Maitland's face. “We can have a set any time.”

      “No!” said Maitland shortly. “It's now or never.”

      “Oh, all right,” said Stillwell, with an uneasy laugh, going into the Club house for his racquet.

      The proposed match had brought a new atmosphere into the Club house, an atmosphere of contest with all the fun left out.

      “I don't like this at all,” said a man with iron grey hair and deeply tanned face.

      “One can't well object, Russell,” said a younger man, evidently a friend of Stillwell's. “Maitland brought it on, and I hope he gets mighty well trimmed. He is altogether too high and mighty these days.”

      “Oh, I don't agree with you at all,” broke in Frances, in a voice coldly proper. “You heard what Mr. Stillwell said?”

      “Well, not exactly.”

      “Ah, I might have guessed you had not,” answered the young lady, turning away.

      Edwards looked foolishly round upon the circle of men who stood grinning at him.

      “Now will you be good?” said a youngster who had led the laugh at Edwards' expense.

      “What the devil are you laughing at, Menzies?” he asked hotly.

      “Why, don't you see the joke?” enquired Menzies innocently. “Well, carry on! You will to-morrow.”

      Edwards growled out an oath and took himself off.

      Meantime the match was making furious progress, with the fury, it must be confessed, confined to one side only of the net. Captain Jack was playing a driving, ruthless game, snatching and employing without mercy every advantage that he could legitimately claim. He delivered his service with deadly precision, following up at the net with a smashing return, which left his opponent helpless. His aggressive tactics gave his opponent almost no opportunity to score, and he kept the pace going at the height of his speed. The onlookers were divided in their sentiments. Stillwell had a strong following of his own who expressed their feelings by their silence at Jack's brilliant strokes and their loud approval of Stillwell's good work when he gave them opportunity, while many of Maitland's friends deprecated his tactics and more especially his spirit.

      At whirlwind pace Captain Jack made the first three games a “love” score, leaving his opponent dazed, bewildered with his smashing play and blind with rage at his contemptuous bearing.

      “I think I must go home, Frances,” said Adrien to her friend, her face pale, her head carried high.

      Frances seized her by the arm and drew her to one side.

      “Adrien, you must not go! You simply must not!” she said in a low tense voice. “It will be misunderstood, and—”

      “I am going, Frances,” said her friend in a cold, clear voice. “I have had enough tennis for this afternoon. Where is Sidney? Ah, there he is across the court. No! Let me go, Frances!”

      “You simply must not go like that in the middle of a game, Adrien. Wait at least till this game is over,” said her friend, clutching hard at her arm.

      “Very well. Let us go to Sidney,” said Adrien.

      Together they made their way round the court almost wholly unobserved, so intent was the crowd upon the struggle going on before them. As the game finished Adrien laid her hand upon her cousin's arm.

      “Haven't you had enough of this?” she said. Her voice carried clear across the court.

      “What d'ye say? By Jove, no!” said her cousin in a joyous voice. “This is the most cheering thing I've seen for many moons, Adrien. Eh, what? Oh, I beg pardon, are you seedy?” he added glancing at her. “Oh, certainly, I'll come at once.”

      “Not at all. Don't think of it. I have a call to make on my way home. Please don't come.”

      “But, Adrien, I say, this will be over now in a few minutes. Can't you really wait?”

      “No, I am not in the least interested in this—this kind of tennis,” she said in a bored voice.

      Her tone, pitched rather higher than usual, carried to the ears of the players who were changing ends at the moment. Both of the men glanced at her. Stillwell's face showed swift gratitude. On Jack's face the shadow darkened but except for a slight straightening of the line of his lips he gave no sign.

      “You are quite sure you don't care?” said Sidney. “You don't want me? This really is great, you know.”

      “Not for worlds would I drag you away,” said Adrien in a cool, clear voice. “Frances will keep you company.” She turned to her friend. “Look after him, Frances,” she said. “Good-bye. Dinner at seven to-night, you know.”

      “Right-o!” said Sidney, raising his hat in farewell. “By Jove, I wouldn't miss this for millions,” he continued, making room for Frances beside him. “Your young friend is really somewhat violent in his style, eh, what?”

      “There are times when violence is the only possible thing,” replied Frances grimly.

      “By the way, who is the victim? I mean, what is he exactly?”

      “Mr. Stillwell? Oh, he is the son of his father, the biggest merchant in Blackwater. Oh, lovely! Beautiful return! Jack is simply away above his form! And something of a merchant and financier on his own account, to be quite fair. Making money fast and using it wisely. But I'm not going to talk about him. You see a lot of him about the Rectory, don't you?”

      “Well, something,” replied Sidney. “I can't quite understand the situation, I confess. To be quite frank, I don't cotton much to him. A bit sweetish, eh, what?”

      “Yes, at the Rectory doubtless. I would hardly attribute to him a sweet disposition. Oh, quit talking about him. He had flat feet in the war, I think it was. Jack's twin brother was killed, you know—and mine—well, you know how mine is.”

      A swift vision of a bright-faced, cheery-voiced soldier, feeling his way around a darkened room in the Amory home, leaped to Sidney's mind and overwhelmed him with pity and self-reproach.

      “Dear Miss Frances, will you forgive me? I hadn't quite got on to the thing. I understand the game better now.”

      “Now, I don't want to poison your mind. I shouldn't have said that—about the flat feet, I mean. He goes to the Rectory, you know. I want to be fair—”

      “Please don't worry. We know all about that sort at home,” said Sidney, touching her hand for a moment. “My word, that was a hot one! The flat-footed Johnnie is obviously bewildered. The last game was sheer massacre, eh, what?”

      If Maitland was not in form there was no sign of it in his work on the court. There was little of courtesy, less of СКАЧАТЬ