The next went to deuce and hung there some time, but Amy finally captured it.

By that time Holt's spirit was pretty well broken and he put up scarcely any defence in the final game and Amy slammed his serves over almost unchallenged and won a love game.
"Game, set and match to Byrd!" announced Westcott above the applause.
"Byrd wins the School Championship!" Amy and Holt shook hands across the net and Clint, hobbling up, tossed Amy the towel.

"Got a conundrum for you, Amy," he said.

"Want to hear it ?" "Shoot!" replied Amy, from behind the towel.
"Why are you like a great English poet ?" "Give it up.

Why, Mr.Johnsing, am I like a great English poet ?" "Because," replied Clint, edging away, "you surely can play tennis, son!" "Play ten--Oh! Help! Officer, arrest this man!" "Huh," said Clint, "that's a better joke than you ever sprung.