Morris shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so. I haven’t heard anything about it yet. Caspar’s a friend of mine, though. We don’t move out to the Point until the seventeenth this summer. Dad’s full of business and as grouchy as the dickens. Sis and I have been trying to get mother to spunk up and insist on moving right away, but she won’t. Who’s on your team, Gordon?” Gordon told him. Morris criticised several of his selections and was infinitely amused at the idea of Fudge Shaw playing. Gordon had an uneasy feeling that Morris perhaps resented not being asked to join. But if Morris held any resentment, he didn’t show it. “We ought to have some good games,” he said finally and approvingly. “I dare say Caspar will want me to play on his team. You know him, don’t you?” Gordon was doubtful. “I think I remember him,” he said, “but I’m not sure. What does he look like?” “Oh, rather a good-looking chap—big, dark hair, plays tennis a lot and is pretty good at it. He lives in a cottage near the hotel, the second in the row at the left. He’s a dandy chap, Billings. I don’t see, though, where he’s going to get enough fellows at the Point to make up a nine, unless there are more there this year than usual. Perhaps he’s got some fellows staying with him. He goes to St. George’s, you know, and last year he brought a couple of friends home with him for a while.” “Dick went over to the Point this morning to see about coaching a boy who is going to Rifle Point in the Fall,” said Gordon. “He’s going to look up Billings and tell him we’ll play him a week from Saturday.” “Could Dick do that? Coach, I mean.” “I guess so. You know he’s about the smartest fellow in his class at school. He wants to earn some money, and there aren’t many things he can do. I hope he gets the job.” “Yes. I like Dick. He’s terribly white, isn’t he? Gee, if I had a bum hip like his and had to live on crutches, I’d—I’d——” But words failed him. He shook his head. “He’s so awfully cheerful. Who is the kid he’s going to coach?” “I’ve forgotten the name. He told me. Something like Prentiss, I think.” Morris shook his head again. “Don’t know them. They must be new. When I get over there, Gordon, I’ll see if I can’t drum up some trade for Dick. I know about everyone there.” He paused, and then added morosely, with a wry smile: “It might be a mighty good scheme if I had him coach me a bit. I’ve got to take my college exams next year, and I know blamed well I won’t pass them.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’ve got another year yet. Do you have to go? Stay and play a couple of sets of tennis with me. You’ve never tried our court, have you?” “I’d like to, but I want to get this business settled. I guess I’d better go and see your father about the field. I’d like to play, though, some time,” he added, as he saw Morris’ face fall. “It looks like a bully court.”