Read Online Tennis Shoes by Noel Streatfeild - Free Book Online Page A

round with her left shoulder facing the net. She had swung her racket properly. Each time she had been told to stop and look where it was; it was in a line with her left shoulder, which she knew was right. She had hit the ball properly at least five times out of ten. She had not even forgotten to fling out her left arm to help her balance. Most important of all, not once had she taken her eye off the ball except when the cat from next door walked across the wall, and anybody would have stopped to look at him. She had even remembered that awful follow through. Instead of being pleased and telling her how good she was, which Nicky considered was only fair, her father kept up a continual moan of: ‘Your feet, Nicky. You’re foot-faulting again.’
    Nicky argued that it was ridiculous. If she had to keep on hitting balls hard she could not keep thinking about her feet. She got very cross indeed. She had stood right to begin with—she was sure she had. Her left foot had started just behind the line and her right foot, of course, well behind that. She did not believe it was true that her right foot swung over the line before she had hit the ball and not after it. In fact, she knew quite well that it had not. What with the heat and one thing and another she would probably have gone on arguing for hours, only a patient rang up and wanted her father, and he had to go.
    After he had gone she lay flat down on the grass without bothering to put on her jersey, which would certainly have got her into trouble if Pinny or her mother had seen her. She wished she had got something to do. Something nice ought to happen every Saturday afternoon. It was mean Susan had gone out to tea. She thought it was very unfair of Susan’s friends to ask Susan out to tea and not ask her. Even David would be better than nothing, but he was in the drawing-room with Pinny, singing. She thought David’s singing a disgusting noise. She thought it was very stupid of Pinny and her mother to encourage him. There he was going on and on:
    â€˜A pocket full of rye,
    Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie—’
    â€˜What a stupid song!’ Nicky growled. If you baked birds they couldn’t sing.
    â€˜The king was in his counting-house, Counting out his money.’
    Nicky sat up. ‘Counting out his money.’ What an awful thing! Only two weeks to the holidays and she had not got her one shilling and a penny for the tennis house. Of course she had not promised to get it, but she had meant to really. One and a penny. Even if she kept to-day’s money and next Saturday’s and the Saturday’s after, that would be only sixpence. Sixpence! Well, sixpence wouldn’t be any good, so she might as well spend this week’s twopence. She got up.
    Just down the road from the Heath house there was a cake shop. It was not a very big cake shop, but they were allowed to go to it by themselves because it was on the same side of the road. It was kept by a Mrs. Pettigrew. The children always called her Mrs. Pettigrew when they spoke to her, but at home they called her Mrs. Tiggy Winkle.
    Nicky went to Mrs. Pettigrew’s and did as satisfactory a spending as was possible with twopence; just as she was going, Mrs. Pettigrew picked up a paper bag and put a macaroon in it.
    â€˜Something extra because it’s a nice day.’
    Nicky walked back up the road eating the macaroon. Because of it she would have been perfectly happy if she had not been worrying about the one and a penny. Suddenly round the corner came a man pushing a barrow. At the end of the barrow were balloons and those paper things that spin round. On the barrow were jam-jars and at the far end some old clothes. Nicky went across to have a look.
    â€˜Why have you got those balloons?’ she asked.
    The man stopped his barrow.
    â€˜Well, miss, I gives them in exchange like for the jam-jars.’
    â€˜Do you give them in exchange for the clothes