The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1940-06-27

want to play tennis, big-time
tennis. And I don't want you to.
I,don't want to be tennis buns
wife, travelling all over the world
living out of a suitcase. So this
is goodbye forever-unless you
change your mind. If you get a
job and feel you still want me,
need me, send me a wire and I'll
come"
And then she had turned quick
! ly and run from him and he had
thought that she was crying IS
she ran.
The voice from the top of the
referees ladder broke in on his
thoughts.
Lien Rollins vesus Don Clark
for the Aiken Club championship.
Best three sets out of five. Mr..
Rollins will serve. Are you ready,
gentlemen? Linesmen ready?"
play"
Like a bird getting ready for
flight Len poised on his left foot,
served. Clark's return of the SER
i vice was weak. Len went quick
! ly to the net for the kill. Fifteen
i love-" came the voice of the re-
fierce from above.
Len forgot now, as he always
did once match was under way,
that people inhabited the earth
and that there was grass and sky
and air. The crowd in the sur
rounding stands fell away. A
girl named Grace Worthington
did not exist. The white ball fly
ing back and forth, the boun-
diaries of the court, the sloping
net, Don Clark, crouching, run
: ming, sweating on the other side
of it-of these only was he aware.
This now was his one one and
only world.
They changed courts and Len
realized, with cool citation, that
he was leading two games to one.
They paused at the table to sip
lemon water and wipe the rae
quet handles. If he could break
Don Clark's service he'd have a
lead the Davis Cup star would
never overcome. 1t was going to
be battle all right, but he would
win.
He gripped his racquet tightly;
the ball spun up off the grass. He
stroked it to Clark's backhand.
The return from Clark was to his
own backhand. Drop-shot. Clark
racing in frantically, reaching the
ball but unable to do anything
with it. Cody Len banged it
away.
Back it came, low and hard.
Again the racquet flashed and
again the "screw ball'' was good.
He was ION" today all right.
The lob was high and deep. He
had to go back. Far back and to
his left toward the corner. He
ran swiftly, in pursuit. of the ball
already over his head and quick
ly descending.
The ground suddenly opened
under him. His feet no longer
were on firm grass. He was
strangely in the air. His arms
flayed but failed to find anything
to cling to. Don Clark's words
: flashed alarmingly in his brain:
''Hope the courts all dried up.
Looks damp in that corner"
He went down heavily, trying
desperately to keep his left free
and failing. He heard something
crack sharply, yet peculiarly
muffled. And then his foot went
dead. But only for a second it
was dead. Then soaring, wrack
ing pain-pain like thousands of
nails being driven simultaneous
ly through the ankle gripped
him. A dark and merciful blan-
ket shut out everything.
Getting the job hadn't been sc
difficult, after all. He had read in
the newspaper about a European
princess who had found a posi-
ton as de luxe saleslady in an
exclusive women's shop on Fifty
seventh Street. Why then, Len
had decided, wouldn't a sporting
goods organization such as Tai,
bots with stores throughout the
country, possibly want to have
someone like him serve their ten.
mis- DEPARTMENT.
! At nine-thirty the morning
after his release from the hospi.
AVADnC