“May does. She plays red. Then you come next. Then I play.”
May took the first two wickets in one, got into position at the third wicket with the next shot, went through it with the next and then placed her ball in front of the middle arch. Rodney negotiated the first two wickets cleanly but his next shot left him badly placed for the third and his attempt to go through resulted disastrously. His ball glanced off a wire and rolled into the path of the on-coming Matty. When she arrived she hit the green ball, skillfully sent it to the further side of the third wicket, went through herself, hit him again, sent it into the path and herself to the middle wicket, played off May’s ball for two wickets and finally landed within a yard of the further stake. Rodney frowned as he recovered his ball. Evidently these young ladies knew more about croquet than he had ever dreamed of.
May cleverly got herself into position again and Rodney rolled short. Matty hit the stake, took the next two wickets at one stroke and crossed to the further side arch. May reached the first of the double wickets on her next play. Rodney got into position for his third. He was still at the middle wicket when Matty, closely pursued by May, struck the home stake.
“These wickets are awfully narrow,” murmured Rodney. “Want to try again?”
“We’d love to if you’re not tired,” replied Matty. “I’m sorry you had such poor luck, Rodney. And then of course, you’re not used to the grounds. There’s a lot in being used to the grounds, isn’t there, May?”
“Lots,” agreed May. “It’s your first, Rodney.”
The second game resulted as disastrously for Rodney as had the first, and when it was over he had the grace to acknowledge that the twins were “some players.”
“I thought I knew a little about the game,” he said ruefully, “but I guess I don’t. You girls play better than anyone I’ve seen play.”
“We play a good deal,” replied May. “Almost every day in summer. Practice makes perfect, you know.”
Rodney wished she hadn’t used the word practice. It reminded him unpleasantly of what awaited him on the morrow. His face clouded up and he sighed. Matty, seeing his expression, imagined him tired and suggested a rest. So they went into the summer-house, which was almost enveloped in honeysuckle vines, and sat down on the curving seat.