Chapter 13 Tea And Tennis

"Met the professor's late boatman on the Cob," said Mr. Chase,dissecting a chocolate cake.

　　"Clumsy man," said Phyllis. "I hope he was ashamed of himself. I shallnever forgive him for trying to drown papa."My heart bled for Mr. Henry Hawk, that modern martyr.

　　"When I met him," said Tom Chase, "he looked as if he had been tryingto drown his sorrow as well.""I knew he drank," said Phyllis severely, "the very first time I sawhim.""You might have warned the professor," murmured Mr. Chase.

　　"He couldn't have upset the boat if he had been sober.""You never know. He may have done it on purpose.""Tom, how absurd.""Rather rough on the man, aren't you?" I said.

　　"Merely a suggestion," continued Mr. Chase airily. "I've been readingsensational novels lately, and it seems to me that Mr. Hawk's cut outto be a minion. Probably some secret foe of the professor's bribedhim."My heart stood still. Did he know, I wondered, and was this all aroundabout way of telling me he knew?

　　"The professor may be a member of an Anarchist League, or something,and this is his punishment for refusing to assassinate somesportsman.""Have another cup of tea, Tom, and stop talking nonsense."Mr. Chase handed in his cup.

　　"What gave me the idea that the upset was done on purpose was this. Isaw the whole thing from the Ware Cliff. The spill looked to me justlike dozens I had seen at Malta.""Why do they upset themselves on purpose at Malta particularly?"inquired Phyllis.

　　"Listen carefully, my dear, and you'll know more about the ways of theNavy that guards your coasts than you did before. When men are allowedon shore at Malta, the owner has a fancy to see them snugly on boardagain at a certain reasonable hour. After that hour any Maltesepoliceman who brings them aboard gets one sovereign, cash. But he hasto do all the bringing part of it on his own. Consequence is, you seeboats rowing out to the ship, carrying men who have overstayed theirleave; and when they get near enough, the able-bodied gentleman incustody jumps to his feet, upsets the boat, and swims for the gangway.

　　The policemen, if they aren't drowned--they sometimes are--race him,and whichever gets there first wins. If it's the policeman, he getshis sovereign. If it's the sailor, he is considered to have arrivednot in a state of custody and gets off easier. What a judicious remarkthat was of the governor of North Carolina to the governor of SouthCarolina, respecting the length of time between drinks. Just one morecup, please, Phyllis.""But how does all that apply?" I asked, dry-mouthed.

　　"Mr. Hawk upset the professor just as those Maltese were upset.

　　There's a patent way of doing it. Furthermore, by judiciousquestioning, I found that Hawk was once in the Navy, and stationed atMalta. /Now/, who's going to drag in Sherlock Holmes?""You don't really think--?" I said, feeling like a criminal in thedock when the case is going against him.

　　"I think friend Hawk has been re-enacting the joys of his vanishedyouth, so to speak.""He ought to be prosecuted," said Phyllis, blazing with indignation.

　　Alas, poor Hawk!

　　"Nobody's safe with a man of that sort, hiring out a boat." Oh,miserable Hawk!

　　"But why on earth should he play a trick like that on ProfessorDerrick, Chase?""Pure animal spirits, probably. Or he may, as I say, be a minion."I was hot all over.

　　"I shall tell father that," said Phyllis in her most decided voice,"and see what he says. I don't wonder at the man taking to drink afterdoing such a thing.""I--I think you're making a mistake," I said.

　　"I never make mistakes," Mr. Chase replied. "I am called Archibald theAll-Right, for I am infallible. I propose to keep a reflective eyeupon the jovial Hawk."He helped himself to another section of the chocolate cake.

　　"Haven't you finished /yet/, Tom?" inquired Phyllis. "I'm sure Mr.

　　Garnet's getting tired of sitting talking here," she said.

　　I shot out a polite negative. Mr. Chase explained with his mouth fullthat he had by no means finished. Chocolate cake, it appeared, was thedream of his life. When at sea he was accustomed to lie awake o'

　　nights thinking of it.

　　"You don't seem to realise," he said, "that I have just come from acruise on a torpedo-boat. There was such a sea on as a rule thatcooking operations were entirely suspended, and we lived on ham andsardines--without bread.""How horrible!""On the other hand," added Mr. Chase philosophically, "it didn'tmatter much, because we were all ill most of the time.""Don't be nasty, Tom.""I was merely defending myself. I hope Mr. Hawk will be able to do aswell when his turn comes. My aim, my dear Phyllis, is to show you in aseries of impressionist pictures the sort of thing I have to gothrough when I'm not here. Then perhaps you won't rend me so savagelyover a matter of five minutes' lateness for breakfast.""Five minutes! It was three-quarters of an hour, and everything wassimply frozen.""Quite right too in weather like this. You're a slave to convention,Phyllis. You think breakfast ought to be hot, so you always have ithot. On occasion I prefer mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. You cangive the cook my compliments, Phyllis, and tell her--gently, for Idon't wish the glad news to overwhelm her--that I enjoyed that cake.

　　Say that I shall be glad to hear from her again. Care for a game oftennis, Garnet?""What a pity Norah isn't here," said Phyllis. "We could have had afour.""But she is a present wasting her sweetness on the desert air ofYeovil. You had better sit down and watch us, Phyllis. Tennis in thissort of weather is no job for the delicately-nurtured feminine. I willexplain the finer points of my play as we go on. Look out particularlyfor the Tilden Back-Handed Slosh. A winner every time."We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. Imight, if I chose, emphasise that fact, and attribute my subsequentrout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I wasplaying in a strange court with a borrowed racquet, and that my mindwas preoccupied--firstly, with /l'affaire/ Hawk, secondly, andchiefly, with the gloomy thought that Phyllis and my opponent seemedto be on friendly terms with each other. Their manner at tea had beenalmost that of an engaged couple. There was a thorough understandingbetween them. I will not, however, take refuge behind excuses. Iadmit, without qualifying the statement, that Mr. Chase was too goodfor me. I had always been under the impression that lieutenants in theRoyal Navy were not brilliant at tennis. I had met them at varioushouses, but they had never shone conspicuously. They had played anearnest, unobtrusive game, and generally seemed glad when it was over.

　　Mr. Chase was not of this sort. His service was bottled lightning. Hisreturns behaved like jumping crackers. He won the first game inprecisely six strokes. He served. Only once did I take the servicewith the full face of the racquet, and then I seemed to be stopping abullet. I returned it into the net. The last of the series struck thewooden edge of my racquet, and soared over the back net into theshrubbery, after the manner of a snick to long slip off a fast bowler.

　　"Game," said Mr. Chase, "we'll look for that afterwards."I felt a worm and no man. Phyllis, I thought, would probably judge myentire character from this exhibition. A man, she would reflect, whocould be so feeble and miserable a failure at tennis, could not begood for much in any department of life. She would compare meinstinctively with my opponent, and contrast his dash and brilliancewith my own inefficiency. Somehow the massacre was beginning to have abad effect on my character. All my self-respect was ebbing. A littlemore of this, and I should become crushed,--a mere human jelly. It wasmy turn to serve. Service is my strong point at tennis. I aminaccurate, but vigorous, and occasionally send in a quite unplayableshot. One or two of these, even at the expense of a fault or so, and Imight be permitted to retain at least a portion of my self-respect.

　　I opened with a couple of faults. The sight of Phyllis, sitting calmand cool in her chair under the cedar, unnerved me. I served anotherfault. And yet another.

　　"Here, I say, Garnet," observed Mr. Chase plaintively, "do put me outof this hideous suspense. I'm becoming a mere bundle of quiveringganglions."I loathe facetiousness in moments of stress.

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

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

　　I restrained myself this time, eschewing the careless vigour which hadmarked my previous efforts. The ball flew in a slow semicircle, andpitched inside the correct court. At least, I told myself, I had notserved a fault.

　　What happened then I cannot exactly say. I saw my opponent springforward like a panther and whirl his racquet. The next moment the backnet was shaking violently, and the ball was rolling swiftly along theground 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 Ireturned one of his red-hot serves, and--probably through surprise--hefailed to send it back again.

　　In the fourth and fifth games I omitted to score. Phyllis had left thecedar 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 aproportion of my serves went over the net instead of trying to getthrough. The score went from fifteen all to forty-fifteen. Hope beganto 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 reallyfine serve, which beat him. 'Vantage In. Another Slosh. Deuce. AnotherSlam. 'Vantage out. It was an awesome moment. There is a tide in theaffairs of men, which, taken by the flood--I served. Fault. I servedagain,--a beauty. He returned it like a flash into the corner of thecourt. With a supreme effort I got to it. We rallied. I was playinglike a professor. Then whizz--!

　　The Slosh had beaten me on the post.

　　"Game /and/--," said Mr. Chase, tossing his racquet into the air andcatching 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 joiningme in my court, "she's gone into the house.""When did she go?""At the end of the fifth game," said Chase.

　　"Gone to dress for dinner, I suppose," he continued. "It must begetting late. I think I ought to be going, too, if you don't mind. Theprofessor gets a little restive if I keep him waiting for his dailybread. Great Scott, that watch can't be right! What do you make of it?

　　Yes, so do I. I really think I must run. You won't mind. Good-night,then. See you to-morrow, I hope."I walked slowly out across the fields. That same star, in which I hadconfided on a former occasion, was at its post. It looked placid andcheerful. /It/ never got beaten by six games to love under the veryeyes of a lady-star. /It/ was never cut out ignominiously byinfernally capable lieutenants in His Majesty's Navy. No wonder it wascheerful.