“Bravo,” called Miss Dale, and laughed and laughed. “Hotto smasho!”
“Sorry,” I called, rushing across; “I’ll get it.”
“Try,” laughed the lonely spectator on the hill. “Serves you right, Paula. The great big brute of a man!”
“I think it went into the stream,” said Miss Lebetwood. “You’ll have to run.”
“Oh, I’ll save it right enough; plenty of time to intercept it,” I answered, turning my rush toward Aidenn Water, which, owing to a convolution of its course, was some forty yards above the end of the court and about twice that distance from the side-line.
I kept a careful watch; no ball came down.
“It must be among the strawberry trees after all,” I said, and we commenced a search through the planted grove which had been so grateful to the dead Irishman, while Lib favoured us with audible quips at our discomfiture.
“Just the same, I believe it went into the water,” said Miss Lebetwood at the outset of our hunt.
“Well, I’m sure it didn’t,” I contradicted. “How could it have? I got over there in plenty of time—”
“Well then, find it here.”