"So long as it does not necessitate any explanations," indifferently.

"In the bottom of one of Nora's trunks is a set of my old gloves. There

will not be any one up at the tennis-court this time of day. If you are

not a mean cuss, if you are not an ordinary low-down imitation of a man,

you'll meet me up there inside of five minutes. If you can stand up in

front of me for ten minutes, you need not make any explanations. On the

other hand, you'll hike out of here as fast as boats and trains can take

you. And never come back."

"I am nearly twenty years younger than you, Mr. Harrigan."

"Oh, don't let that worry you any," with a truculent laugh.

"Very well. You will find me there. After all, you are her father."

"You bet I am!"

Harrigan stole into his daughter's room and soundlessly bored into the

bottom of the trunk that contained the relics of past glory. As he pulled

them forth, a folded oblong strip of parchment came out with them and

fluttered to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to notice it, nor

would he have bothered if he had. The bottom of the trunk was littered

with old letters and programs and operatic scores. He wrapped the gloves

in a newspaper and got away without being seen. He was as happy as a boy

who had discovered an opening in the fence between him and the apple

orchard. He was rather astonished to see Courtlandt kneeling in the

clover-patch, hunting for a four-leaf clover. It was patent that the young

man was not troubled with nerves.

"Here!" he cried, bruskly, tossing over a pair of gloves. "If this method

of settling the dispute isn't satisfactory, I'll accept your

explanations."

For reply Courtlandt stood up and stripped to his undershirt. He drew on

the gloves and laced them with the aid of his teeth. Then he kneaded them

carefully. The two men eyed each other a little more respectfully than

they had ever done before.

"This single court is about as near as we can make it. The man who steps

outside is whipped."

"I agree," said Courtlandt.

"No rounds with rests; until one or the other is outside. Clean breaks.

That's about all. Now, put up your dukes and take a man's licking. I

thought you were your father's son, but I guess you are like the rest of

'em, hunters of women."

Courtlandt laughed and stepped to the middle of the court. Harrigan did

not waste any time. He sent in a straight jab to the jaw, but Courtlandt

blocked it neatly and countered with a hard one on Harrigan's ear, which

began to swell.

"Fine!" growled Harrigan. "You know something about the game. It won't be

as if I was walloping a baby." He sent a left to the body, but the right

failed to reach his man.




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