III
She wasn't altogether pleased, the week after, when Erik was
independent and, without asking for her inspiration, planned
the tennis tournament. It proved that he had learned to play
in Minneapolis; that, next to Juanita Haydock, he had the
best serve in town. Tennis was well spoken of in Gopher
Prairie and almost never played. There were three courts:
one belonging to Harry Haydock, one to the cottages at the
lake, and one, a rough field on the outskirts, laid out by a
defunct tennis association.
Erik had been seen in flannels and an imitation panama hat,
playing on the abandoned court with Willis Woodford, the clerk
in Stowbody's bank. Suddenly he was going about proposing
the reorganization of the tennis association, and writing names
in a fifteen-cent note-book bought for the purpose at Dyer's.
When he came to Carol he was so excited over being an
organizer that he did not stop to talk of himself and Aubrey
Beardsley for more than ten minutes. He begged, "Will you
get some of the folks to come in?" and she nodded agreeably.
He proposed an informal exhibition match to advertise the
association; he suggested that Carol and himself, the Haydocks,
the Woodfords, and the Dillons play doubles, and that the
association be formed from the gathered enthusiasts. He had
asked Harry Haydock to be tentative president. Harry, he
reported, had promised, "All right. You bet. But you go
ahead and arrange things, and I'll O.K. 'em." Erik planned
that the match should be held Saturday afternoon, on the old
public court at the edge of town. He was happy in being, for
the first time, part of Gopher Prairie.
Through the week Carol heard how select an attendance
there was to be.
Kennicott growled that he didn't care to go.
Had he any objections to her playing with Erik?
No; sure not; she needed the exercise.
Carol went to the match early. The court was in a meadow
out on the New Antonia road. Only Erik was there. He was
dashing about with a rake, trying to make the court somewhat
less like a plowed field. He admitted that he had stage
fright at the thought of the coming horde. Willis and Mrs.
Woodford arrived, Willis in home-made knickers and black
sneakers through at the toe; then Dr. and Mrs. Harvey Dillon,
people as harmless and grateful as the Woodfords.
Carol was embarrassed and excessively agreeable, like the
bishop's lady trying not to feel out of place at a Baptist
bazaar.
They waited.
The match was scheduled for three. As spectators there
assembled one youthful grocery clerk, stopping his Ford delivery
wagon to stare from the seat, and one solemn small boy, tugging
a smaller sister who had a careless nose.
"I wonder where the Haydocks are? They ought to show
up, at least," said Erik.
Carol smiled confidently at him, and peered down the empty
road toward town. Only heat-waves and dust and dusty
weeds.
At half-past three no one had come, and the grocery boy
reluctantly got out, cranked his Ford, glared at them in a
disillusioned manner, and rattled away. The small boy and his
sister ate grass and sighed.
The players pretended to be exhilarated by practising
service, but they startled at each dust-cloud from a motor car.
None of the cars turned into the meadow-none till a quarter
to four, when Kennicott drove in.
Carol's heart swelled. "How loyal he is! Depend on him!
He'd come, if nobody else did. Even though he doesn't care
for the game. The old darling!"
Kennicott did not alight. He called out, "Carrie! Harry
Haydock 'phoned me that they've decided to hold the tennis
matches, or whatever you call 'em, down at the cottages at the
lake, instead of here. The bunch are down there now: Haydocks
and Dyers and Clarks and everybody. Harry wanted to
know if I'd bring you down. I guess I can take the time—
come right back after supper."
Before Carol could sum it all up, Erik stammered, "Why,
Haydock didn't say anything to me about the change. Of
course he's the president, but—"
Kennicott looked at him heavily, and grunted, "I don't know
a thing about it. . . . Coming, Carrie?"
"I am not! The match was to be here, and it will be here!
You can tell Harry Haydock that he's beastly rude!" She
rallied the five who had been left out, who would always be
left out. "Come on! We'll toss to see which four of us play
the Only and Original First Annual Tennis Tournament of
Forest Hills, Del Monte, and Gopher Prairie!"
"Don't know as I blame you," said Kennicott. "Well
have supper at home then?" He drove off.
She hated him for his composure. He had ruined her
defiance. She felt much less like Susan B. Anthony as she turned
to her huddled followers.
Mrs. Dillon and Willis Woodford lost the toss. The others
played out the game, slowly, painfully, stumbling on the rough
earth, muffing the easiest shots, watched only by the small boy
and his sniveling sister. Beyond the court stretched the eternal
stubble-fields. The four marionettes, awkwardly going through
exercises, insignificant in the hot sweep of contemptuous land,
were not heroic; their voices did not ring out in the score, but
sounded apologetic; and when the game was over they glanced
about as though they were waiting to be laughed at.
They walked home. Carol took Erik's arm. Through her
thin linen sleeve she could feel the crumply warmth of his
familiar brown jersey coat. She observed that there were
purple and red gold threads interwoven with the brown. She
remembered the first time she had seen it.
Their talk was nothing but improvisations on the theme:
"I never did like this Haydock. He just considers his own
convenience." Ahead of them, the Dillons and Woodfords
spoke of the weather and B. J. Gougerling's new bungalow. No
one referred to their tennis tournament. At her gate Carol
shook hands firmly with Erik and smiled at him.
Next morning, Sunday morning, when Carol was on the
porch, the Haydocks drove up.
"We didn't mean to be rude to you, dearie!" implored
Juanita. "I wouldn't have you think that for anything. We
planned that Will and you should come down and have supper
at our cottage."
"No. I'm sure you didn't mean to be." Carol was
super-neighborly. "But I do think you ought to apologize to poor
Erik Valborg. He was terribly hurt."
"Oh. Valborg. I don't care so much what he thinks,"
objected Harry. "He's nothing but a conceited buttinsky.
Juanita and I kind of figured he was trying to run this
tennis thing too darn much anyway."
"But you asked him to make arrangements."
"I know, but I don't like him. Good Lord, you couldn't
hurt his feelings! He dresses up like a chorus man—and,
by golly, he looks like one!—but he's nothing but a Swede farm
boy, and these foreigners, they all got hides like a covey of
rhinoceroses ."
"But he is hurt!"
"Well— I don't suppose I ought to have gone off
half-cocked, and not jollied him along. I'll give him a cigar.
He'll—"
Juanita had been licking her lips and staring at Carol. She
interrupted her husband, "Yes, I do think Harry ought to
fix it up with him. You like him,
don't you, Carol??"
Over and through Carol ran a frightened cautiousness.
"Like him? I haven't an í-dea. He seems to be a very decent
young man. I just felt that when he'd worked so hard on
the plans for the match, it was a shame not to be nice to him."
"Maybe there's something to that," mumbled Harry; then,
at sight of Kennicott coming round the corner tugging the red
garden hose by its brass nozzle, he roared in relief, "What
d' you think you're trying to do, doc?"
While Kennicott explained in detail all that he thought he
was trying to do, while he rubbed his chin and gravely stated,
"Struck me the grass was looking kind of brown in patches—
didn't know but what I'd give it a sprinkling," and while
Harry agreed that this was an excellent idea, Juanita made
friendly noises and, behind the gilt screen of an affectionate
smile, watched Carol's face.
