Tennis Shoes Read online

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said in a muffled way, ‘don’t be rough, boys.’

  ‘Come here, Pinny,’ Jim called out, for at that moment he was on the upper side. ‘Come and sit down on him.’

  ‘Sit on him!’ Pinny looked shocked. ‘Surely not, dear. I don’t think it would be nice.’

  ‘Come on!’ Jim called desperately. ‘He’s a burglar.’

  ‘A burglar!’ Pinny looked at what she could see of the man in disgust. Then sat down on the nearest bit of him, which happened to be his knees. David took advantage of this and let go of the ankle and sat down on the feet. Jim, panting but triumphant, sat on the shoulders. Pinny looked cautiously down at her bit of the man.

  ‘Are you sure he’s a burglar, Jim, dear? Oughtn’t we to ask him?’

  Before Jim could answer the door opened, and Annie raced in. She had not even bothered to put on a dressing-gown. She had nothing on but a flannel night-dress. In one hand she carried a poker, in the other a saucepan lid. She needed no advice as to what to do. She sat down at once on the only bit of the burglar left, which was his head. She raised her poker in the air.

  ‘I’ll knock him out!’ she said. ‘The dirty gangster!’

  Jim caught her arm.

  ‘Don’t do that, you might kill him. One of us must ring up the police.’

  The word ‘police’ stirred the burglar to further efforts. He heaved all over, but it is difficult to shake off four people who are sitting on you at once.

  Jim looked at them all.

  ‘The thing is, which of us can best be spared to telephone?’ David was valuable on the feet and not very good with the telephone. Pinny would almost certainly ring up the fire brigade by mistake. He could not be spared. Annie must go. ‘Annie,’ he said, ‘you go. Leave the front door open and tell them to come straight in. And tell them to be quick about it.’

  While Annie was telephoning the burglar made noises. He was obviously appealing to be let go. But it was difficult to hear what he said, because his nose and mouth were pressed into the carpet and Jim was sitting on his neck. After a few moments Annie came back. With her came Susan.

  ‘I heard the noise,’ said Susan; ‘but I couldn’t come before because when I moved Nicky turned over in bed. I was afraid she would wake up.’

  ‘She hasn’t woken, has she?’ Jim asked anxiously. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Susan nodded. ‘When I got outside I listened, and there wasn’t a sound.’

  David gave a thankful sigh.

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing. It would be most maddening if Nicky was upset before her match after all the trouble we’ve taken.’

  It seemed no time after that before the room was full of policemen. They had all hoped for a lot of cross-examining, but there was not much. The man was put into handcuffs and his mask taken off, and he was walked away. The policeman said they would be back in the morning. After the front door was shut they all felt a bit flat. It was Annie who had the bright idea.

  ‘If you all go back in the drawing-room, I’ll make you a nice cup of cocoa. But mind you’re quiet. We don’t want Nicky disturbed.’

  Just as the cocoa arrived David remembered Agag. He got up, quite pale with fright.

  ‘I believe Agag has been poisoned, otherwise he would have been bound to have barked, being the watchdog he is.’

  As quietly as possible they ran to the flower room and turned on the light. The rug was right over Agag’s basket. The shape of his body showed, but no sign of his breathing. Gently Jim uncovered him. He lay stiff and rigid, without a sign of life. David leant down and patted him.

  ‘Agag,’ he whispered desperately. ‘Agag, old man.’

  Agag looked up. He opened first his brown eye, then his blue. He stared at them all in surprise, as much as to say: ‘What an hour to wake up a tired dog!’ Then he rolled over and went to sleep again. Jim tucked him in. David looked at the basket with a puzzled air.

  ‘It’s absolutely certain,’ he said, ‘with a rug over your head, you can’t hear anything. If Agag had heard one single sound, he would have bitten that man to the bone.’

  ‘I hope not, dear,’ said Pinny. ‘Such a gentle little dog. Come and drink your cocoa before it’s cold.’

  The other three, Pinny, and Annie came to watch Nicky’s great match. It was a very tense afternoon, because the other finalist had got as far as that for the last three years, and always been beaten. Next year she would be too old to play. She was out to win.

  The game began rather dully, both the players a bit tentative. Nicky was the first to get on to her game. She found a good length for her drives and then carried on the attack by her volleying length. Then her opponent picked up. She got in some very nasty drop shots which just nipped over the net and were unreturnable. They levelled up at four games all. Then, when the score was 40—30 in the ninth game, with Nicky in the lead, she got in a very remarkable half-length backhand drive. This brought her in rounds of applause from the gallery. Applause always stimulated Nicky. It did this time. She smashed her way through the next game, with the loss of only a point, and won the first set.

  Up until that moment she had been so intent on the game that she had never thought of her family. In the pause before the next set started, she looked up to see if by chance her father and mother had arrived. It was then she discovered that not only had they not arrived, but her whole family had walked out on her. For a moment Nicky was so stunned her breath was taken away. Here she was playing a most important championship and they had all gone. Then a cold feeling seized her inside. Had she, while she was busy on the game, shown temper or bad manners? She was sure she had not. They had just imagined it. Very well, then, the dirty dogs, she would show the lot of them she could win without them.

  The last set Nicky ceased to be herself at all. She felt just a brain and a racket. She dashed about the court; she smashed here, volleyed there. Her opponent tried to strengthen her defence by an increase of pace, but Nicky, in the mood she was in, was too good for her. With the loss of only three games to that set she won the championship.

  Nicky succeeded in smiling and being grateful for all the congratulations she received, but it was acting. Inside she was blazing with temper. She went home with her eyes glinting and her lips set. The car was outside the door. Her father and mother must have come home. Well, they would hear how she was treated. Inside the hall her mother’s suit-case was standing. The drawing-room door was open. Everybody was there, including Annie and Pinny. They were all talking at once. They still had on their hats and coats. Nicky burst in.

  ‘I suppose none of you care that Miss N. Heath, at the age of fourteen, has won a championship which nobody of her age has ever won before?’

  Jim had his back to her. He turned round.

  ‘You may be good at tennis, Nicky, but, my goodness, you’re a fool at everything else. We left the club because we had a message to go to the police court, about that burglar.’

  ‘Didn’t you guess who he was, Nicky?’ Susan broke in. ‘He said you told him where the tennis house was and that it had six pounds in it.’

  ‘We only wondered you didn’t open the front door for him too,’ said David.

  ‘Do you mean to say it was my umbrella man?’ Nicky asked. They all nodded. ‘The loathly worm! I wouldn’t have thought there could be so nasty a man in the world.’

  The telephone bell rang. Dr. Heath went to answer it.

  ‘We rang up the club, dear,’ said Mrs. Heath, ‘and heard you won your match. It’s splendid.’

  Annie moved to the door. ‘If you’ll go and take your things off, all of you, tea will be coming over in two shakes.’

  Dr. Heath came back.

  ‘Was it grandfather?’ Susan asked anxiously.

  He shook his head. He looked at Nicky with a funny smile.

  ‘It was Jeffrey Miller, to congratulate you, Nicky. He said we must be careful not to let you get spoilt.’

  ‘Spoilt!’ Nicky’s tone was most e
xpressive. ‘A fat lot of spoiling I get!’

  ‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ said Jim. ‘You don’t need telling we’re all awfully pleased. You don’t care a bit if we’re watching or not. You know that.’

  ‘Aren’t you clever?’ Nicky made a face at him. ‘The odd thing is, I do care. So there!’

  Annie poked her head round the door.

  ‘Will you all go and take your things off? Tea’s just coming over.’ She looked round. ‘There’s meringues. The right food for a champ.’

  ‘Meringues! For all of us?’ asked David anxiously. ‘Or just Nicky?’

  Annie snorted.

  ‘All of you, of course.’ She looked at Agag, who was playing with one of Nicky’s tennis shoes. ‘Even him. There’s no favourites in this house.’

  About the Author

  Noel Streatfeild (1895–1986) was born in Sussex. Her father, a clergyman, was vicar of St. Leonards-on-Sea and then of Eastbourne during her childhood. She was one of five children and found vicarage life very restricting. At a young age, Streatfeild began to show a talent for acting and was sent to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, after which she acted professionally for a number of years before turning to writing. After working through the blitz of the Second World War, Noel devoted herself to the field of children’s literature. She won the Carnegie Medal for her book Ballet Shoes, and was awarded an OBE in 1983. A vicarage daughter, factory girl, actress, model, social worker, writer, and crusader for good books, Streatfeild led a full life. Her experiences enriched her stories, which were so popular that, by her eightieth birthday, she had earned herself the title of a “national monument.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1937 by Noel Streatfeild

  Cover design by Connie Gabbert

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-2105-0

  This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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