Page:Rowland--In the shadow.djvu/19

 "Set!" cried Virginia triumphantly. "You didn't try!"

"’Pon my honor, I did!" swore Giles stoutly. His overheated appearance bore out his statement. Virginia was as cool and sleek as a kitten. "The double court is no end of a handicap. Believe I'd rather give you two points on every game; less work anyway. I only know of one chap around here who could give you that handicap and stand a chance, Virginia."

"Who is that?"

"A friend of mine, Aristide Dessalines. He can stand in the middle of the court and reach into either alley. Arms like a gorilla!"

"A Frenchman?" asked Manning.

"No!—not exactly. He's Haytian … chum of mine at Oxford … odd chap."

"Haytian?" echoed Manning. "That's worse; same thing as French, except that it often carries a dash of black."

Giles laughed. "It does better than that by Dessalines. He's all black—black as ebony!"

"What!" cried Manning, sitting bolt upright.

"Yes," replied Giles calmly. "He boasts that he has not a drop of white blood in him. Says he's what they call in Hayti a 'Congo.' Terrific looking chap, yet fascinating—rather."

Virginia nodded. "I've seen some of those people in Paris. All the rich Haytians go there, you know. Most of them are black as jet."

Manning stared from one to the other in growing perplexity.

"But I don't understand—" said he to Giles. His 9