To Him That Hath: A Tale of the West of Today. Ralph Connor

TO HIM THAT HATH

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CHAPTER I

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THE GAME

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      “Forty-Love.”

      “Game! and Set. Six to two.”

      A ripple of cheers ran round the court, followed by a buzz of excited conversation.

      The young men smiled at each other and at their friends on the side lines and proceeded to change courts for the next set, pausing for refreshments on the way.

      “Much too lazy, Captain Jack. I am quite out of patience with you,” cried a young girl whose brown eyes were dancing with mock indignation.

      Captain Jack turned with a slightly bored look on his thin dark face.

      “Too lazy, Frances?” drawled he. “I believe you. But think of the temperature.”

      “You have humiliated me dreadfully,” she said severely.

      “Humiliated you? You shock me. But how, pray?” Captain Jack's eyes opened wide.

      “You, a Canadian, and our best player—at least, you used to be—to allow yourself to be beaten by a—a—” she glanced at his opponent with a defiant smile—“a foreigner.”

      “Oh! I say, Miss Frances,” exclaimed that young man.

      “A foreigner?” exclaimed Captain Jack. “Better not let Adrien hear you.” He turned toward a tall fair girl standing near.

      “What's that?” said the girl. “Did I hear aright?”

      “Well, he's not a Canadian, I mean,” said Frances, sticking to her guns. “Besides, I can't stand Adrien crowing over me. She is already far too English, don-che-know. You have given her one more occasion for triumph over us Colonials.”

      “Ah, this is serious,” said Captain Jack. “But really it is too hot you know for—what shall I say?—International complications.”

      “Jack, you are plain lazy,” said Frances. “You know you are. You don't deserve to win, but if you really would put your back into it—”

      “Oh,