Charles Grace arrived at Hilltown one Wednesday morning. All but the final game of the doubles had been played off on the two days previous, and the singles were to be begun and completed that afternoon. The grounds were well filled when he reached them, and looked as pretty as only pretty tennis-grounds can look when they are gay with well-dressed girls, wonderfully bright blazers, and marquees of vividly brilliant stripes. Grace found the list of entries to the singles posted up in the club-house, and discovered that they were few in number, and that there was among them only one name that was familiar to him. As he turned away from the list, two very young and bright-faced boys, in very well-worn flannels, came up the steps of the club-house just as one of the Slades was leaving it. “Hullo,” said Slade, “you back again?” It was such an unusual and impertinent welcome that Grace paused in some surprise and turned to listen. The eldest of the boys laughed good-naturedly and said: “Yes, we’re here, Mr. Slade. You know we drew a bye, and so we play in the finals.” “Well, of course you’ll play my brother and myself then. I hope the novelty of playing in the last round won’t paralyze you. If it doesn’t, we will,” he added with a short laugh. “I say, Ed,” he continued, turning to his elder brother, “here are Merton and his partner come all the way from Malvern to play in the finals. They might have saved their car-fare, don’t you think?” The elder brother scowled at the unfortunate representatives of Malvern. “You don’t really mean to make us stand out here in the hot sun fooling with you, do you?” he asked impatiently. “You’ll only make a spectacle of yourselves. Why don’t you drop out? We’ve beaten you often enough before, I should think, to suit you, and we want to begin the singles.” But the Malvern youths were not to be browbeaten. They said they knew they would be defeated, but that the people at Malvern were very anxious to have them play, and had insisted on their coming up. “They wish to see what sort of a chance we have for the tri-club tournament, next week,” they explained. “Well, we’ll show what sort of chance you have with a vengeance,” laughed one of the brothers. “But it really is hard on us.” The two boys flushed, and one of them began hotly, “Let me tell you, Mr. Slade,”--but the other put his hand on his arm, saying, “What’s the use?” and pushed him gently toward the grounds. The Slades went into the club-house grumbling. “Nice lot, those home players,” soliloquized Grace. “I’ll pound the life out of them for that!”