chagrin was swallowed by his admiration and envy.

“Say, kid, you got more wind than a factory whistle. Who learned you to play?”

She struck her chest with a hard brown fist. “Tennis � Tim taught me.”

“Who’s Tim?”

“The — a chauffeur.”

Nick leaned closer. “Say, do you ever go to the dances at Englewood Masonic Hall?”

“I never have.”

“‘Jah like to go some time?”

“I’d love it.” She grinned up at him, her teeth flashing white in her brown face.