“This lemonade was prepared for drinking purposes, I fancy,” said one of them, “but we couldn’t find anything else. I never heard of its being good for sprains, but it will have to do. How do you feel now?” “All right, thank you,” said Grace. “I’ve only these two games to play now, and it’s my serve. I needn’t run around much in that. Just give me a lift, will you? Thanks.” But as soon as Grace touched his foot to the ground, the boys saw that he was anything but all right. His face grew very white, and his lips lost their color. Whenever he moved he drew in his breath in short, quick gasps, and his teeth were clinched with pain. He lost his serve, and the next game as well, and before five minutes had passed he was two games to the bad in the last set. The Malvern boys came to him and told him to rest; that he was not only going to lose the game, but that he might be doing serious injury as well to his ankle, which was already swelling perceptibly. But Grace only unlaced his shoe the further and set his teeth. One of the Malvernites took upon himself to ask the referee if he did not intend giving Mr. Grace a quarter of an hour’s “time” at least. The referee said that the rules did not say anything about sprained ankles. “Why, I know of tennis matches,” returned the Malvernite champion excitedly, “that have been laid over for hours because of a sprained ankle. It will be no glory to Mr. Slade to win from a man who has to hop about on one foot, and no credit either.” “Mr. Grace is a crack player, and I’m not,” said Slade; “but I asked no favors of him on that account, and I don’t expect him to ask any of me.” “I haven’t asked any of you!” roared Grace, now wholly exasperated with anger and pain, “and you’ll wait some time before I do. Go on with the game.” The ankle grew worse, but Grace’s playing improved, notwithstanding. He felt that he would rather beat “that Slade man” than the champion himself; and he won each of his serves, not one of the balls being returned. They were now “five all,” and the expressed excitement was uproarious in its bitterness and intensity. Slade had the serve, and it was with a look of perfect self-satisfaction that he pounded the first ball across the net. Grace returned it, and the others that followed brought the score up to ’vantage in Slade’s favor, so that he only needed one more point to win. The people stood up in breathless silence. Grace limped into position and waited, Slade bit his under lip nervously, and served the ball easily, and his opponent sent it back to him like an arrow; it struck within a foot of the serving line on the inside, making the score “deuce.” “Outside! Game and set in favor of Mr. Slade,” chanted the younger Slade with an exultant cry. “What!” shouted Grace and the two Malvernites in chorus. But the crowd drowned their appeal in exclamations of self-congratulation and triumph. “Did you see that ball?” demanded Grace of the referee. “I did,” said that young man.