nock it over the hotel. Let the ball drop
nearer to the ground. Oh, heavens, not on the ground! Well, it's hard to
do it from the serve, anyhow. I'll go over to the other court and bat
you some easy ones."

Afterward, when they were going toward the inn, the girl suddenly began
to laugh.

"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden.

"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him a
country swain," she rejoined.

"Who?" asked Hollanden.

CHAPTER XVII.

Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from books
were the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst.
Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people.
Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions on
questions that were left to them. "That is the most odiously
aristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe.

"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally,
they are a collection of ingenious blockheads."

"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning.

"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden.

As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of the
Worcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too,
was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air.

"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said the
painter at last, in a low tone.

"Why, yes--certainly," said the girl.

Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from the
parlours drifted to the black wall of the night.

"I shall miss you," said the painter.

"Oh, I dare say," said the girl.

Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spaces
of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they
softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and
sorrowful dance.

"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said
the painter.

"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl.

From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and
the Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for their
well-being.

"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again. His manner was rather
desperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided
with an air of defeat.

Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say I
shall return to New York myself in a few weeks."

"I hope you will c