a mere bundle of quivering
ganglions."

I loathe facetiousness in moments of stress.

I frowned austerely, made no reply, and served another fault, my fifth.

Matters had reached a crisis. Even if I had to lob it underhand, I must
send the ball over the net with the next stroke.

I restrained myself this time, eschewing the careless vigour which had
marked my previous efforts. The ball flew in a slow semicircle, and
pitched inside the correct court. At least, I told myself, I had not
served a fault.

What happened then I cannot exactly say. I saw my opponent spring
forward like a panther and whirl his racquet. The next moment the back
net was shaking violently, and the ball was rolling swiftly along the
ground on a return journey to the other court.

"Love-forty," said Mr. Chase. "Phyllis!"

"Yes?"

"That was the Tilden Slosh."

"I thought it must be," said Phyllis.

In the third game I managed to score fifteen. By the merest chance I
returned one of his red-hot serves, and--probably through surprise--he
failed to send it back again.

In the fourth and fifth games I omitted to score. Phyllis had left the
cedar now, and was picking flowers from the beds behind the court.

We began the sixth game. And now for some reason I played really well.
I struck a little vein of brilliance. I was serving, and this time a
proportion of my serves went over the net instead of trying to get
through. The score went from fifteen all to forty-fifteen. Hope began
to surge through my veins. If I could keep this up, I might win yet.

The Tilden Slosh diminished my lead by fifteen. Then I got in a really
fine serve, which beat him. 'Vantage In. Another Slosh. Deuce. Another
Slam. 'Vantage out. It was an awesome moment. There is a tide in the
affairs of men, which, taken by the flood--I served. Fault. I served
again,--a beauty. He returned it like a flash into the corner of the
court. With a supreme effort I got to it. We rallied. I was playing
like a professor. Then whizz--!

The Slosh had beaten me on the post.

"Game _and_--," said Mr. Chase, tossing his racquet into the air and
catching it by the handle. "Good game that last one."

I turned to see what Phyllis thought of it.

At the eleventh hour I had shown her of what stuff I was made.

She had disappeared.

"Looking for Miss Derrick?" said Chase, jumping the net, and joining me
in my court, "she's gone into the house."

"When did she go?"

"At the end of the f