Now, dodging players and balls, she walked past the other courts and sat down on the bench to watch. Harriet, running after a ball, saw her and waved.

"Hey!" she called.

"Hello," answered Nancy moodily. The other girl turned and looked at her. Nancy had never seen her before. She was quite cute, small and dark and quick. She wore white shorts, a white jersey with a school insignia embroidered on it in red. She had a terrific serve.

"What's the score?" called Nancy.

The other girl smiled over her shoulder as she went up to serve.

"Ad in." She served, a hard, fast, low one that whizzed by Harriet.

"Wow!" yelled Harriet, slicing the air with her racket. "What a serve! Your game, Doris- and very nicely played, too. Shall I leap over the net and shake hands?"

"How about set for the championship?" asked Doris shaking her hair back from her tanned forehead.

Harriet looked at Nancy. "O.K. with you, Nancy?"

Nancy shrugged. "Sure." But it wasn't O.K. with her. It wasn't O.K. at all. She sat through the games seething inside. She and Harriet had played every morning unless it rained. Nobody else had ever barged in and broken up their game before. Who was this girl anyhow? She wasn't from their school and she didn't live in the neighborhood. When at last the set was over, won by Doris, Nancy stood up stiffly, bouncing a ball with her racket.

The two others came over to her, Harriet shaking her head woefully and grinning. "And I thought I could play tennis!''

"You play a swell game Harriet," insisted the new girl heartily. "Doesn't she?" She turned to Nancy with her bright, friendly smile. "Her backhand is smooth."

Nancy nodded. "Not bad."

"Doris Bowman, Nancy Morrison." Said Harriet. "Doris just moved into the neighborhood."

"That's swell," said Nancy coldly, and ran out onto the court. "Are you coming, Harriet?" she called over her shoulder.

Harriet stood for a minute, talking to Doris, while Nancy sulkily batted two tennis balls over the net. "Do you want to play or not?" Nancy snapped.

Doris murmured something, laughed, and swung off with her racket under her arm. She had a jaunty, independent walk.

"She thinks she's pretty good," thought Nancy crossly.