“Not so good,” Ann said critically, as the second arrow glanced off and hit the white.
A slow red mounted to Bess’s cheek. She was angry, that unpardonable sin in any sport, and she showed it. The third arrow went to the blue. Bess forgot to shrug her shoulders. Her anger was steadily mounting, and the next two arrows followed each other to the red, making a total score of twelve.
Prue marked it down on the board very slowly, and very deliberately.
“Hope her twin does no better,” Gladys said. “But I suppose she will.”
“One of them has got to make a bulls-eye, after all their boasting,” Ann laughed. “Look, there she comes.”
May took her place at the tape. She was considerably sobered by her sister’s failure. She did not shrug her shoulders, but went to her bow with a dark scowl.
Her first arrow hit the blue. She stopped to readjust her bow, before fitting in the second arrow, but the blue claimed that as well. Really angry now, she shot the third with such a vicious whang, that the arrow glanced off to the white.
“Take your time,” her sister cautioned from the side line. Her tone held a note of resentment.
May pulled herself together, and took deliberate aim. Two blues were her award.
“Making a total of nine,” Prue said as she drew an extra long stem to the figure.