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and though they differed as much in personality as in the methods of their play they enjoyed the common heritage of a forceful character.

Norman Brookes also had the asset of surprise attack. Britons and Americans were in the lead; no other country was deemed ripe enough to dispute their claim. Norman Brookes was the dark horse of 1905. His destructive service and magical volleying dominated Wimbledon of that year; his path to the title was only checked by H. L. Doherty, who stood out of the championship until the challenge round. When Brookes returned to England two years later his service was strengthened materially. A great English driver, S. H. Smith, had demonstrated that a break delivery, however sinister, could be smothered at birth if the proper weapon was employed. The Brookes of 1907 had added length and pace to his service, qualities which strengthened his complementary volleying and added to the total of his victims.

Wilding's physique came from New Zealand; his game developed in England, where he graduated at Cambridge University. His was the sturdiest defense to a volleying assault I have ever seen. Could he have volleyed more himself, like W. M. Johnston, he would have been irresistible throughout his epoch. Without the generalship of Brookes, Beals Wright, or Tilden, he beat McLoughlin at Wimbledon in 1913 by a superb display of robust and coördinated driving. Incidentally he exposed the limitations of McLoughlin's art, forestalling R. N. Williams in that achievement.

There is no poison which has not its antidote. Provided the sting of McLoughlin's service could be extracted, there was just a chance for his opponent. And in the case of Norman Brookes, as both H. L. Doherty

and Tilden proved, the most disturbing reply to his volleying campaign was a shrewd and well-placed lob. There has been no last word in lawn tennis yet; therein lies its compelling interest-the Roland has been awaiting the Oliver. The first volleyer of all, Spencer Gore, was defeated in his second year because his adversary conceived the notion of raising the ball over his head; and at the last American championship final at Forest Hills the volleying skill of Borotra, which had defeated both Johnston and Richards, was curbed by the calculating tossing of Lacoste.

The supremacy of America in the lawn-tennis world—a supremacy that she still holds, though with less assurance of its continuity — did not assert itself until the last decade. Previous to the Great War no American had succeeded in winning the men's championship at Wimbledon, and if the Davis Cup had been won back in 1913 the margin of victory was perilously small, while the failure which had attended three excursions to Australasia confirmed the view that Americans were more formidable in their own country than abroad. In the fifty months of the Great War the closure of competitive sport in Europe was complete; in America the interregnum was much briefer. When the Armistice was declared all nations, irrespective of side, reacted from the strain and concentration of arms; they turned with avid relief to the peaceful exercise of sport. America enjoyed this reaction like other belligerents, but she had the advantage of the shorter break, and her champions, when they emerged, were found to be in a higher class than their contemporaries. This was a natural and inevitable development; it was assisted by the more intensive organization of the game in the United States, an organization which stimulated and

enriched the game in colleges and schools and did not neglect the opportunity for expansion in public parks.

Apart from these general agencies, all working to vivify American sport, the competition between the East and the West, as between England and Ireland a generation earlier, provoked a public interest which spurred on the players, increasing alike their skill and their zeal. Without connecting poles the current cannot circulate. History has shown that countries increase their lawn-tennis standard and prestige if they can provide not only one champion of high calibre but another of equal or nearly equal strength who can extract the best from his opponent. This matter of vis-à-vis has been paramount. The annual matches between Willie Renshaw and H. F. Lawford brought fame to the old centre court at Wimbledon; they advertised lawn tennis in the early stages as nothing else I could. If in the next decade Wilfred Baddeley had not been able to cross swords with Joshua Pim, the slump in British lawn tennis after the Renshaws retired would have been disastrous. Similarly the matches between R. N. Williams of the East and M. E. McLoughlin of the West gave a fillip to American lawn tennis of a value which can only now be estimated. Later came the sequence of brilliant battles between W. T. Tilden of the East and W. M. Johnston of the West. These championship encounters focused interest throughout the whole country, but their interest was not confined to the day of the fight. The champions' prowess both at home and abroad was an educational factor of ever-deepening force. For six consecutive years Tilden was invincible in Davis Cup and championship matches

- a unique record and much more impressive because other countries,

like America, have been expanding their personnel, and the quality of opposition brought against the American champion was of the strongest.

William Tilden has brought to the lawn-tennis court physical strength and mental equipment of no ordinary pattern. These qualities have assisted his progress; without them he could not have maintained his remarkable record. But although Tilden's personality is distinctive he has not climbed the ladder of fame without absorbing the cumulative lessons of succeeding ages. That is to say, his game has been developed and perfected after a natural and orderly evolution. Tilden's rise was not meteoric; he had to serve a stern apprenticeship; he had to pass through the mill. He had also, before his victorious career began, to reassert the orthodoxy of the all-court game. He had to restore 'Larnedism' to American lawn tennis. He had to prove that solid and lasting success can only be constructed on a foundation of sound driving strokes.

The storming volleyer, novel and daring in his methods, had his triumphs both in America and in Europe, but his reign was threatened and could be interrupted by accurate ground strokes confidently and coolly controlled. The dynamic service of Gobert, covered by volleys of wonderful variety and finish, was challenged and ultimately frustrated by Wilding's piercing drives. McLoughlin found his match in Larned and then in Williams. Brookes was beaten by H. L. Doherty at Wimbledon and by Tilden at Auckland, and Borotra finds in Lacoste the most disturbing parry to his game.

Tilden has drunk deeply at the fountain of experience. A scientific student of the game, not only has he relied on his own contemporaries for the advancement of his own game, but unconsciously 'the virtues of former

champions have been transmitted to him through the medium of his older adversaries. But, great player as Tilden is, the greatest of his epoch, he does not necessarily typify the highest potential art of the game. The future may have something greater still in store. Tilden's stature has assisted his service; his long stride, apparently fortified against fatigue, is trained to produce the fiercest drives. But even a Goliath can have his limitations; the sling of a lighter and more acrobatic David can be deadly.


We have seen that no one nation can hold indefinitely the crown of lawn tennis. The emblem of power in half a century has already crossed the Seven Seas and back again. The very catholicity of the game, its extension in hidden places, its relation to psychological factors beyond the control of organizers however zealous, make the championship breed uncertain; and of course political and industrial unrest can affect the destiny of any sport. The future of France on the lawn-tennis court has never been brighter; she has champions of youth, genius, and ambition. But the rise of France to the highest peak is no sudden, unsuspected movement. Her recent triumphs were preceded by many disappointments, even by an almost fatalistic feeling that her countrymen could never achieve signal success abroad. When the French first came to Wimbledon they used to cast wry faces at a slippery, oily surface upon which neither their feet nor their strokes would go right. Now the leading Frenchmen recognize that a turf court is the championship court par excellence; it responds to their delicacy of touch, it extracts the refinements of their game, it ministers to their buoyant nature. It was almost

the same thing when the French first went to America. They were disturbed by the American ball, disconcerted by the speed and 'devil' of the American attack. But their enthusiasm and resource were such that they came again each year with strengthened hopes and sharper weapons. If Mlle. Lenglen could hold undisputed sway in the women's realm and her career was a great incentive to her brothers they did not see why Frenchmen should not triumph as well. The first All-French final at Wimbledon was almost certain to bring another, and it may be doubted whether the last All-French final has been seen at Forest Hills. The French morale has been strengthened miraculously within the last five years. It is not at all surprising that the French should play lawn tennis well. The game lends itself directly to their mood for motion, their gift for swift repartee, their democratic bent. But before the war it was this vivacity which seemed to check their progress, robbing them of the highest honors. Perhaps the war chastened them; at any rate it has deepened their power of concentration and removed some of the insularity which handicapped their progress.

Evolution is taking place in other countries. The enterprise and adaptability of the Japanese, their philosophic outlook and their stamina, have made them ardent disciples. They have already proved their capacity on foreign soil; they need very little more before they are on a level with nations of greater experience. In Czechoslovakia, Italy, Spain, and Scandinavia the volume of lawn tennis has increased with unyielding vigor. The leading players of these countries, as of others, are now mixing freely with the other nationals of Europe. Each year their standard is improving; each year the disparity of form is less

marked. In India the same progress is apparent, delayed only by the wide distance which separates one tournament from another - a handicap that aviation will no doubt remove in the near future. In South America the game is marching boldly forward, favored by climate and material


The surprising thing is that in all these countries a common code of rules and etiquette should prevail. Literally there has been no legislative schism. The professional exhibition match has come to America and may be paraded elsewhere, but this excursion is at present sporadic and there

is no evidence that amateurism, upon which the game was founded and through which it has been propagated, will not maintain undisputed sway. More professional instructors are required and will doubtless be provided, but they will come in the main to teach the game and not to exploit it for personal or selfish gain. Originally a domestic pastime, lawn tennis owes its wide expansion to the cardinal virtue that it is essentially a family and social recreation. It is a game for all the peoples. A spectacle it must be; its popularity as such has grown in proportion to the number of persons who actually pursue it.



OVER the stones, over the bridge, over the sea,

After my heart went I; and followed on

Slow body after me.

After the gold, the isle of rose; after the fall

Of folding gray; - to find if that might be

The end of all.

Into the west, into the last of beckoning light;

Till the shed star made sudden lilies grow

In pools of night.



IN Bombay you may see, at one time or another, most of the races on earth, and castes innumerable. When, long ago, I went to school there I learned to know the turbans of many provinces and castes, and the manner of sari and kirtle, bodice and veil, of women from Kashmir to Ceylon. I very soon learned that certain tall, handsome men who wore baggy trousers, yards wide, long white tunics, embroidered waistcoats, long-tailed turbans wound round padded, peaked caps, and very stout, magnificently squeaking, brass-inlaid slippers, were Pathans. Whenever we saw them on the roads or beaches my ayah would shake her head, dilate her eyes, and say in a low tone full of vehement ill will, 'A bad caste, a wicked caste!' Wickedness, alas, is strangely interesting. I would ask for items, and heard many a tale of usury, extortion, and violence. In India, for no occult reason, Pathans find moneylending an easy, fattening livelihood. Hindus, however timid or indigent, will borrow money; and what with incredible interest thrice compounded, incredible impudence, incredible credulity and foolhardiness, juggled accounts, false receipts or none at all, abject illiteracy — it was no marvel that all my ayah's tales ended in irreparable disaster: "And so went all the fields of my maternal uncle's father-in-law'; or And so went all the jewels of my niece's co-wife's paternal aunt.'

And so it was that I looked at


Pathans somewhat as I looked at the beautiful lazy tigers in the Victoria Gardens, but with profound disapprobation. I never spoke with one until many years after, when, at the age of twenty-one and after six long, long years in America, I went back to the darling land of my birth - went with my homing heart flying ahead of the ship and beating back impatiently for the helpless body imprisoned in 'time and circumstance.' For three years then I lived in Bombay with my father, and learned many interesting things as, for instance, that all Pathans were not ravening tigers, that many ate their bread in the sweat of their brows; and that certain tall, freestriding men dressed altogether in dark. blue, without peaked cap or waistcoat, and with trousers only a trifle bagged, were Pathan mechanics in railway workshops. Indeed the first Pathan with whom I ever had speech was one of these, and not for many years more had I occasion to converse with one of those picturesque swaggerers who so adorn our Indian roads.

Our mission house had a latticed side verandah, easy of access, where I kept a writing table, and there many sorts of people came and went, mostly, of course, people with a matlab, a dull axe of some sort to grind on my little whetstone. Many of them were brought to me by Raghu, our officious little gardener, who accounted it glory that there should be much coming and

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