o were awaiting the
arrival of "Chief" Denmead, their Scout Master, before going over
to Pioneer Lake for the opening of camp. Walter Osborne, of the
Hawk patrol, and Donald Miller, leader of the Foxes were very
evenly matched. The latter was conceded to play the steadiest,
surest all-around game, though Walter frequently surpassed him
in single shots or astonishing rallies.

That the set had been a hotly contested one was shown by the score
in games being 9 to 8 in favor of Miller. If he could make the next
game, the set would be his, and with it the championship of the
troop. He was counting on the fact that Walter was apt to go to
pieces at a critical moment; this helped to keep the playing
fairly even.

Perched on a barrel, overlooking the court, George Rawson, the
Assistant Scout Master, was scoring; while several other scouts had
various points of vantage and were watching the game with eager
interest.

In the middle of a rally, Don hit the ball a low, smashing stroke,
intending to place it in the far corner of the court. Instead, it
grazed the net and dropped dead on the serving line, before
Walter could return it.

"Vantage out!" called Rawson.

Walter laughed a trifle "sore-ly" as he returned the balls for his
opponent's next serve. He hated to lose, but he was a lad who
could take defeat gracefully if he had to, and this last play only
served to put him on his mettle.

Don's first ball was a cut, but Walter returned it easily, and a
new rally commenced. The captain of the Foxes played a net game,
trusting to his height and reach to stop every ball that came over,
while Walter preferred to, stand well back on the court where he
could place them better.

Back and forth flew the ball with such swiftness that Rawson had all
he could do to keep track of it. All at once, Walter lunged forward
to return a particularly difficult shot which Don had placed close
to the net. Biff! he just caught it and gave it a swift cut which
sent it whizzing past Don's extended racket to the base line, where
it raised a little spurt of dust.

Amid a murmur of applause from the young spectators, Rawson decided
in an instant.

"Out!" he called. "Game and set."

Before the cheers had died away, Walter walked up to the net and
shook hands with the victor.

"If you play like that when you're rusty, as you said you were, Don,"
he said pluckily, "I'd hate to be up against you when you're in
practice!"

"Oh, no,