gallery at the Championship, quick to appreciate any mannerism of
a player, and to, know him by it, enjoyed the remark on many
occasions as the ball went floating by me. In my match with
Kingscote in the final set, the court was very slippery owing to
the heavy drizzle that had been falling throughout the match. At
3-2 in my favour, I essayed a journey to the net, only to have
Kingscote pass me 'cross court to my backhand. I turned and
started rapidly for the shot murmuring "Peach" as I went.
Suddenly my feet went out and I rolled over on the ground,
sliding some distance, mainly on my face. I arose, dripping, just
in time to hear, sotto voce, in the gallery at my side: "A little
bit crushed, that Peach." The sense of humour of the speaker was
delightful. The whole side-line howled with joy, and the joke was
on me.

I am always the goat for the gallery in these little jokes,
because it is seldom I can refrain from saying something loud
enough to be heard.

I remember an incident that caused great joy to a large gallery
in Philadelphia during a match between two prominent local
players. One of the men had been charging the net and volleying
consistently off the frame of his racquet, giving a wonderful
display of that remarkable shot known the world over as "the
mahogany volley." His luck was phenomenal for all his mis-hit
volleys won him points. Finally, at the end of a bitterly
contested deuce game in the last set he again won the deciding
point with a volley off the wood, just as a small insect flew in
his eye.