Willis and Mrs. Woodford arrived,
Willis in home-made knickers and black sneakers through at the toe;
then Dr. and Mrs. Harvey Dillon, people as harmless and grateful as the
Woodfords.
Carol was embarrassed and excessively agreeable, like the bishop's lady
trying not to feel out of place at a Baptist bazaar.
They waited.
The match was scheduled for three. As spectators there assembled one
youthful grocery clerk, stopping his Ford delivery wagon to stare from
the seat, and one solemn small boy, tugging a smaller sister who had a
careless nose.
"I wonder where the Haydocks are? They ought to show up, at least," said
Erik.
Carol smiled confidently at him, and peered down the empty road toward
town. Only heat-waves and dust and dusty weeds.
At half-past three no one had come, and the grocery boy reluctantly got
out, cranked his Ford, glared at them in a disillusioned manner, and
rattled away. The small boy and his sister ate grass and sighed.
The players pretended to be exhilarated by practising service, but they
startled at each dust-cloud from a motor car.
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