The game was promptly interrupted. It would not be far from wrong to
say that Mrs. King's pretty mouth was open not entirely as an aid to
breathing. She couldn't believe her eyes as she slowly abandoned her
court and came forward to meet their advancing visitor.
"Take my racket, dear," she said to one of the Peltons, It happened
to be Fannie and the poor child almost fainted with joy.
The Prince remained in the far court, idly twirling his racket.
"Afternoon, King," said Mr. Blithers, doffing his panama--to fan a
heated brow. "Been watching the game from the road for a spell. Out
for a stroll. Couldn't resist running in for a minute. You play a
beautiful game, Mrs. King. How do you do! Pretty hot work though,
isn't it?"
He was shaking hands with King and smiling genially upon the trim,
panting figure of the Prince's adversary.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Blithers," said King, still staring." You--you
know my wife?"
Mr. Blithers ignored what might have been regarded as an
introduction, and blandly announced that tennis wasn't a game for fat
people, patting his somewhat aggressive extension in mock dolefulness
as he spoke.
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