THUNDER j&
& n™ E STANDS
Richards^^Q
CHAPTER XI
The ball streaked over the net.
Lefevre returned it, not too hard.
He knew, and he knew Len knew,
that his only chance now was to
outsteady the American. But Len
realized that given a sensible op
portunity he could gamble—af
ford to be daring. But until that
opportunity came—
Softly, too, he returned the
ball. It was a case now which of
the two would weaken first. And
Lefevre was the greatest, the
steadies volleyer the game had
ever known. Would he outplay
the American? Those in the
stands sat forward in breathless
suspense watching this duel of
duels.
The volleying continued stead
ily. Then Len saw a small open
ing. Swiftly he sent the ball fly
ing to Lefevre's backhand, driv
ing him out of position. The
Frenchman returned the ball and
quickly reversed to cover the
open court. Coolly, deliberately,
knowing the great Lefevre was
doomed if his own aim was true,
if his hand did not waver, Len
Rollins' racquet cut the air in a
short, swift arc.
And even as the ball "pinged"
from the taut gut he knew that
his aim had been true and that
his hand had not wavered. The
ball sped to the corner from
which had just come the great
little Frenchman.
The packed stands sat for a
split second in stunned silence
while the ball bounded crazily
away. Lefevre, a peculiar twisted
smile upon his mouth, turned and
watched it. Then he shrugged,
wearily dropped his racquet and
strode quickly forward to the net,
vanquished, hand outstretched in
congratulation.
Then there was pandemonium.
Swanstrom and Clark were be
side Len, hugging him as he
walked slowly off the court, and
Charlie Hughes and Frank
Wheatley were openly happily
crying. And from all sides came
applause. The roaring was like
thunder.
And as Len walked from the
court toward the ramp which led
to the dressing rooms, hot, pers
piring, smiling happily, suddenly
very tired, the spectators rising
in tumultous acclaim only one
thought came to him clearly—he
must not forget to cable flowers
to Grace.
* « *
Joseph Boncour's annual party
in honor of the Davis Cup par
ticipants is the social event of
every Parisian summer. The
guests are topnotchers in the
worlds of sport, art and business.
The members of the United
States Davis Cup team, on the
evening of Henri Lefevre's defeat
were Joseph Boncour's guests of
honor. And he whose praise was
sung the loudest found it diffi
cult to join in the carnival spirit.
Though he had attained that for
which all his life he had been
striving—to stand supreme in the
world of tennis—Len lacked the
feeling of elation he once thought
this achievement would give.
Had he won—or had he lost?
In gaining that which he most
wanted he had lost the one per
son in the world he most needed.
He had a fifty thousand dollar
check he could cash. But he
wouldn't. He didn't want that
sort of money. Purchase money.
Payment for a life of emptiness.
Payment for a life without Grace.
He shook his head to clear the
mist from his eyes. Two men
were standing before him and
one was talking. He recognized
Joseph Boncour; the other man
he had seen before, but he could
not recall where.
For the past hour Monsieur
Boncour had been aware of the
BOONVILLE FAIR
K Oct. 10-11-12
Thursday, P. M. Friday, P. M.
Yadkin County FOOTBALL GAME
High School Boonville vs.
Track Meet Copeland
PLAYS
Friday Afternoon Friday Night
"That Heller "Borrowed *
Family" Husbands"
By By
Shelton-Amos Players Shelton-Amos Players
SATURDAY
Live stock show including Draft Horses, Mules, Dairy
Cattle, Swine and Dogs. Saddle Horse show to be Sat
urday afternoon.
Saturday Night
"Lena Rivers" by Boonville High School
Amusement Rides by A. B. & B.
Amusement Co., Inc.
FIREWORKS SATURDAY NIGHT
strange quiet aloofness of his
most glittering guest. And Joseph
Boncour knew that there Is no
better way for a man to recover
his vitality than to take a few
strong drinks.
He had taken upon himself to
bring this about and was crossing
the wide, ancient room when
John Shay joined him. Now the
two men stood before Len—the
host and the man whose face Len
vaguely remembered—and Bon
cour was asking in meticulous if
accented English:
"You two men know each
other, yes? Mr. Rollins Mr.
Shay."
"We're from the same country
and practically in the same busi
ness." Shay laughed lightly.
"Yet we've never been introduced.
"I'm the American promoter,
you know, Rollins. Tennis. Pro
fessional tennis. I handle the
Tilden group. But we'll talk more
about that later. That was a
honey of a match this afternoon.
You were swell In those last three
sets."
Boncour's gently persuasive
voice asked: "You gentlemen
perhaps would enjoy a short per
sonally conducted tour of the
Boncour wine cellar? It is known
throughout the continent as one
of the most ancient. Some of the
brands, they are one and two
hundred years of age."
Len touched the extended
glasses of Boncour and Shay and
then the wine was warm in his
throat. It sent a glow throughout
his body. Boncour looked at
them inquiringly. "Splendid!"
John Shay exclaimed.
"This is," Len said honestly,
"the finest I've ever tasted in my
life." The Frenchman beamed.
After a few more samples all
around Shay said: "Rollins, you
know why I am here. Not only in
Europe, but—" he bowed slightly
toward the Frenchman— "also at
this charming party to which
Monsieur Boncour was so good as
to invite me."
Len made no reply and the
tennis promoter hurried on. "I
came to Europe to offer Henri
Lefevre a contract of fifty thou
sand dollars and five per cent, of
the gate receipts for a tour of the
United States after winning the
Davis Cup final. But he did not
win. Len Rollins won. And it is
no secret that Len Rollins will be
the biggest drawing card on the
courts." He paused dramatically,
took from his inside coat pocket
a folded paper. "The contract is
yours, Rollins, if you want it.
What do you say?"
Len could not answer at first.
Fifty thousand dollars! If he
took this offer he could return
the check to Grace and still be
worth a small fortune. Still feel
secure and never have to be
afraid of the future. But what
would his friends say, what would
his country think, if he quit the
amateur ranks suddenly like
this? They were banking on him
now to help keep possession of
the cup his sensational victory
had reclaimed.
Joseph Boncour's voice came
to him as if from a great dis
tance: "Of course my young
friend is naturally a little stun
ned at the suddenness—"
And John Shay's laughter, also
from a distance. "Naturally,"
the promoter said. "We'll let it
rest then, Rollins, until—say to
morrow? Give you time to think
things out."
Len nodded. "Yes, that'll be
fine," he answered in a low voice.
"Maybe I'll let you knew even be
fore that."
The novelist, Dupre, whose
books sold by the thousands, ad
dressed Len: "Monsieur Rollins,
may I present you to a very
charming young lady?" His tone
THE ELKIN TRIBUNE. ELKIN. NORTH CAROLINA
implied that he was merely re
peating the young lady's request.
Len winked at Swanstrom and
Letenour standing together as he
crossed the room at the novelist's
side.
Dupree paused before a chair
around which a number of young
people were grouped. Len was
introduced and there were con
gratulatory murmurs and ejacu
lations in both English and
French.
"... and this," Dupree was
saying as Len turned to acknowl
edge the introduction, "is a girl
whose family I have known for
many ..."
The man's voice drifted away,
ceased to exist. Before Len a
girl was rising from the heavy
oak chair, and he blamed Joseph
Boncour's ancient wine for the
terrifying close resemblance.
"Len," she said softly. She
was here, here!—standing before
him, eyes starry, calling him by
name.
He stepped forward and grasp
ed her outstretched hands.
"Gracie darling—" a lump rose in
his throat and he could say no
more.
Somehow they made their way
out of the room to the garden
where other couples sat at tiny
tables sipping drinks. Like two
lost children returning safely at
last from out of frighteningly
dense woods they found a table
partly screened by a hedge. Len
took Grace in his arms but did
not kiss her. Tenderly, soothing
ly, he stroked her hair.
"I—l just couldn't do it, Len,"
she said. "I couldn't. He was
good and kind; perfect. But he
wasn't you. He understood. I
cau-caught the first boat I could;
I wanted to intercept that letter.
If you still love me, Len, I'll go
wherever sou say. To Boston,
Forest Hills, Bermuda, The Riv
iera—all over the world. I don't
care."
For a time he did not speak.
He knew now that in time he
could do without his game, but
never without the dark-haired,
starry-eyed girl beside him.
He kissed her. Her hand in his,
they left the garden. Frank
Wheatley was standing near the
door of the big room as they re
turned to it.
"Frank," Len said with simple
pride, "this is Mrs. Rollins. Grace,
Mr. Wheatley."
There was a second's question
ing flicker in Frank's eyes, then
he murmured softly, "I'm glad.
Very glad."
The wine merchant came for
ward with the Titian-haired girl,
on his arm but Len didn't see
her. He said to the host: "May
I use your telephone, Monsieur
Boncour?"
"But of course." The wine
merchant nodded toward a maid,
spoke rapidly to her in French.
The maid curtsied and led Len,
Grace's hand possessively tucked
under his arm, toward a quiet
part of the seventeenth-centiiry
house to where a telephone was
inclosed within a small anteroom
off the reception hall.
He took the receiver off the
hook, handed it smilingly to
Grace. "You jabber with the op
erator, darling—l don't speak her
language."
"What shall I jabber?"
"Tell her we want to put in a
trans-Atlantic call."
"But Mother and Dad know
I'm—"
"Tell her," he went on, "to get
Mr. Henry Justin; Talbot's on
Fifth Avenue, New York City.
We're going to Indianapolis."
Quietly she stood, the receiver
still in her hand, and her eyes
rested on his face. He could
hear the questioning, insistent
voice of the telephone operator
asking for the number. And
then firmly she replaced the in
strument.
"Len, darling," she said softly,
"I can't let you do that. You
would be unhappy, terribly un
happy. And if you were I would
be too. You will always love ten
nis; I shall always be jealous of
it. But we must both make con
cessions. Every couple must. I
want you to take that profession
al offer. It's honest work—and
you'll like it. I'll go alpng with
you wherever you have to go.
And we'll save our money—the
money you earn, Len darling.
Maybe you'll play for five or six
years and then you will have had
enough. Then we can settle
down. And we'll both still be
young and—and . . .
"We'll go back to 4-B."
She nodded, crept Into arms he
held toward her. "And it will be
raining, maybe, just like—just
like—oh, kiss me, Len darling;
kiss me and tell me this is real,
that we're not dreaming, that
we've really found each other at
last and for good."
"It is real, Grace. It never will
change, it will rain tonight, my
only love, and many nights to
come. And every morning the
sun will be shining brightly be
cause we'll be together."
She raised her lips. "Forever.
Len."
"Forever."
From somewhere deep in the
shadows of Joseph Bonciour's an
eient, marble-hailed castle the
crystal chimes of a grandfather
clock announced the ending of
one day and the beginning of a
new.
(THE END)
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