Eva Severne made a desperate effort to recapture the Kooringal lead in that last sett. There were times when she played so brilliantly that no mere insanity on the part of the twins could enable them to meet her balls. But Mona Burton was manifestly weighed down by the madness of the flitting pair opposite, who never by any chance were where you might expect them to be, and who seemed capable of acrobatic feats worthy of a circus. They never looked worried; in fact, they laughed a great deal, until the spectators caught the infection, and rocked with laughter themselves. It was a delirious game, full of amazing incidents, in which the inferior players scored simply by desperate hitting and by taking chances that no one would, in sober moments, have dreamed of taking. Nine times out of ten, the system—if system it could be called—would have failed. But this happened to be the tenth time. Luck held, and impossibilities happened. Finally, a smashing half-volley from Eva, on its way to annihilate Jo, was intercepted by Jean, who executed a leap into mid-air only comparable to the jump of a performing flea! The ball seemed to wobble in the air for a moment, and then dropped weakly on the far side of the net. Eva and Mona, rushing madly to reach it, collided violently; the spent ball dropped: and, amid a gale of laughter from all round the court, and a crescendo of delirium from the ranks of Merriwa, the sett ended in victory for the twins at 6-3!
Jean and Jo, laughing and half-apologetic, shook hands with their opponents.
“Of course, it’s the most amazing luck!” Jean said. “You’re simply miles beyond us, really: we haven’t a scrap of science.”
“I don’t believe you have,” said Eva, regarding them with an amazed air. “But I hope we’ll meet some one scientific next time, that’s all! You’re so hopelessly unexpected!”
“The win was unexpected, at any rate,” Jo laughed. “We looked on ourselves as utterly beaten at the end of the first sett, so we just went Berserk. It was great fun!”
“Fun—to you!” Mona Burton was still panting. “I feel as if I should never get my breath again. Never—never—never did I play at such a rate! Do you ever get tired, you two wild things?”
“Oh, not often,” Jo answered. “And it was far too exciting to think of getting tired.” Then suddenly they were swamped in a wild surge of school-fellows, their hands pumped, their backs patted. Delighted juniors bore their blazers, holding them proudly while they donned them, and uttering incoherent murmurs of joy. Amidst the general delirium two majestic figures detached themselves from the throng at the far end of the court. The crowd melted like magic at their approach, and presently Jean and Jo, blushing like poppies, found themselves receiving the dignified congratulations of the two principals.
“A most interesting game—and a truly energetic one!” said Miss Atchison, of Kooringal, in the measured tones that made her least remark seem like an anthem. “Miss Dampier tells me you are twins—and not sixteen yet. You should play well when you are a year older.”
“Oh, but it was only luck,” the twins assured her. “You wouldn’t really call our play tennis!”
“Well, it was too good for us!” said Eva Severne, laughing. Then Miss Atchison and Miss Dampier drifted away into the throng of parents and visitors, who were beginning to think of trams and motors, and the girls closed once more round the twins. Every one discussed points of the play, and most people seemed to concur in the view that the twins were mad. But it was, as Helen Forester said, a pleasant madness.