Mr. Brown walks back toward me and starts firing questions.

How much do you play?

Every day.

No—how long do you play at one time? An hour? Couple of hours?

My father's back. He's got a fistful of hundreds. He waves it in the air. But Mr. Brown has had a change of heart.

Here's what we'll do, Mr. Brown tells my father. We'll play two sets, then decide how much to bet on the third.

Whatever you say.

We play on Court 7, just inside the door. A crowd has gathered, and they cheer themselves hoarse as I win the first set 6--3. Mr. Brown shakes his head. He talks to himself. He bangs his racket on the ground. He's not happy, which makes two of us. I feel as if I might have to stop playing at any moment, because I need to throw up.

Still, I win the second set 6--3.

Now Mr. Brown is furious. He drops to one knee, laces his sneakers. My father approaches him.