Nobody but yourself takes the slightest objection to his absence.
The other side appear to regard it as a good opportunity to score.
Five minutes later he resumes the game. His friend comes with him,
also the dog of his friend. The dog is welcomed with enthusiasm; all
balls are returned to the dog. Until the dog is tired you do not get
a look in. But all this will no doubt soon be changed. There are
some excellent French and Belgian players; from them their
compatriots will gradually learn higher ideals. The Frenchman is
young in the game. As the right conception of the game grows upon
him, he will also learn to keep the balls lower.

I suppose it is the continental sky. It is so blue, so beautiful; it
naturally attracts one. Anyhow, the fact remains that most tennis
players on the Continent, whether English or foreign, have a tendency
to aim the ball direct at Heaven. At an English club in Switzerland
there existed in my days a young Englishman who was really a
wonderful player. To get the ball past him was almost an
impossibility. It was his return that was weak. He only had one
stroke; the ball went a hundred feet or so into the air and descended
in his opponent's court. The other man would stand watching it, a
little speck in the Heavens, growing gradually bigger and bigger as
it neared the earth. Newcomers would chatter to him, thinking he had
detected a balloon or an eagle. He would wave them aside, explain to
them that he would talk to them later, after the arrival of the ball.
It would fall with a thud at his feet, rise another twenty yards or
so and again descend. When it was at the proper height he would hit
it back over the net, and the next moment it would be mounting the
sky again. At tournaments I have seen that young man, with tears in
his eyes, pleading to be given an umpire. Every umpire had fled.
They hid behind trees, borrowed silk hats and umbrellas and pretended