The Day's Work

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HE MALTESE CAT

stride, Shiraz ! We ' ve pulled up from bottom to second
place in two weeks against all those fellows on the
ground here. That 's because we play with our heads
as well as our feet."

" It makes me feel undersized and unhappy all the
same," said Kittiwynk, a mouse-coloured mare with
a red brow-band and the cleanest pair of legs that
ever an aged pony owned. " They 've twice our style,
these others."

Kittiwynk looked at the gathering and sighed. The
hard, dusty polo-ground was lined with thousands of
soldiers, black and white, not counting hundreds and
hundreds of carriages and drags and dog-carts, and
ladies with brilliant-coloured parasols, and officers
in uniform and out of it, and crowds of natives behind
them; and orderlies on camels, who had halted to watch
the game, instead of carrying letters up and down the
station; and native horse-dealers running about on thin-
eared Biluchi mares, looking for a chance to sell a few
first-class polo-ponies. Then there were the ponies of
thirty teams that had entered for the Upper India
Free-for-All Cup— nearly every pony of worth and
dignity, from Mhow to Peshawar, from Allahabad to
Multan; prize ponies, Arabs, Syrian, Barb, country-
bred, Deccanee, Waziri, and Kabul ponies of every
colour and shape and temper that you could imagine.
Some of them were in mat-roofed stables, close to the
polo-ground, but most were under saddle, while their
masters, who had been defeated in the earlier games,
trotted in and out and told the world exactly how the
game should be played.

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It was a glorious sight, and the come and go of the
little, quick hooves, and the incessant salutations of
ponies that had met before on other polo-grounds or race-
courses were enough to drive a four-footed thing wild.

But the Skidars' team were careful not to know their
neighbours, though half the ponies on the ground were
anxious to scrape acquaintance with the little fellows
that had come from the North, and, so far, had swept
the board.

44 Let 's see," said a soft gold-coloured Arab, who
had been playing very badly the day before, to The
Maltese Cat; "did n't we meet in Abdul Rahman's
stable in Bombay, four seasons ago? I won the Paik-
pattan Cup next season, you may remember? "

" Not me," said The Maltese Cat, politely. " I was
at Malta then, pulling a vegetable-cart. I don't race.
I play the game."

uOh!" said the Arab, cocking his tail and swag-
gering off.

" Keep yourselves to yourselves," said The Maltese
Cat to his companions. " We don't want to rub noses
with all those goose-rumped half-breeds of Upper India.
When we 've won this Cup they '11 give their shoes to
know us."

" We sha'n't win the Cup," said Shiraz. " How do
you feel?"

" Stale as last night's feed when a muskrat has run
over it," said Polaris, a rather heavy-shouldered grey;
and the rest of the team agreed with him.

"The sooner you forget that the better," said The
Maltese Cat, cheerfully. "They 've finished tiffin in
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THE MALTESE CAT

the big tent. We shall be wanted now. If your saddles
are not comfy, kick. If your bits are n't easy, rear, and
let the saises know whether your boots are tight."

Each pony had his sais, his groom, who lived and ate
and slept with the animal, and had betted a good
deal more than he could afford on the result of the game.
There was no chance of anything going wrong, but to
make sure, each sais was shampooing the legs of his
pony to the last minute. Behind the saises sat as
many of the Skidars' regiment as had leave to attend
the match — about half the native officers, and a hun-
dred or two dark, black-bearded men with the regi-
mental pipers nervously fingering the big, beribboned
bagpipes. The Skidars were what they call a Pioneer
regiment, and the bagpipes made the national music of
half their men. The native officers held bundles of polo-
sticks, long cane-handled mallets, and as the grand stand
filled after lunch they arranged themselves by ones and
twos at different points round the ground, so that if a
stick were broken the player would not have far to ride
for a new one. An impatient British Cavalry Band
struck up u If you want to know the time, ask a p'leece-
man! " and the two umpires in light dust-coats danced
out on two little excited ponies. The four players of the
Archangels' team followed, and the sight of their beau-
tiful mounts made Shiraz groan again.

4 * Wait till we know, ' ' said The Maltese Cat. " Two of
'em are playing in blinkers, and that means they can't
see to get out of the way of their own side, or they may
shy at the umpires' ponies. They ' ve all got white web-
reins that are sure to stretch or slip! "
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THE MALTESE CAT

" And," said Kittiwynk, dancing to take the stiffness
out of her, " they carry their whips in their hands in-
stead of on their wrists. Hah ! ' '

' ' True enough. No man can manage his stick and his
reins and his whip that way," said The Maltese Cat.
"I 've fallen over every square yard of the Malta
ground, and I ought to know."

He quivered his little, flea-bitten withers just to show
how satisfied he felt; but his heart was not so light.
Ever since he had drifted into India on a troop-ship,
taken, with an old rifle, as part payment for a racing
debt, The Maltese Cat had played and preached polo to
the Skidars' team on the Skidars' stony polo-ground.
Now a polo-pony is like a poet. If he is born with a
love for the game, he can be made. The Maltese Cat
knew that bamboos grew solely in order that polo-
balls might be turned from their roots, that grain was
given to ponies to keep them in hard condition, and
that ponies were shod to prevent them slipping on a turn.
But, besides all these things, he knew every trick and
device of the finest game in the world, and for two sea-
sons had been teaching the others all he knew or guessed.

"Remember," he said for the hundredth tune, as
the riders came up, " you must play together, and you
must play with your heads. Whatever happens, follow
the ball. Who goes out first? "

Kittiwynk, Shiraz, Polaris, and a short high little bay
fellow with tremendous hocks and no withers worth
speaking of (he was called Corks) were being girthed
up, and the soldiers in the background stared with all
their eyes.

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" I want you men to keep quiet," said Lutyens, the
captain of the team, " and especially not to blow your
pipes. ' '

" Not if we win, Captain Sahib? " asked the piper.

"If we win you can do what you please," said Lut-
yens, with a smile, as he slipped the loop of his stick
over his wrist, and wheeled to canter to his place. The
Archangels' ponies were a little bit above themselves
on account of the many-coloured crowd so close to the
ground. Their riders were excellent players, but they
were a team of crack players instead of a crack team;
and that made all the difference in the world. They
honestly meant to play together, but it is very hard
for four men, each the best of the team he is picked
from, to remember that in polo no brilliancy in hitting
or riding makes up for playing alone. Their captain
shouted his orders to them by name, and it is a curious
thing that if you call his name aloud in public after an
Englishman you make him hot and fretty. Lutyeris
said nothing to his men, because it had all been said be-
fore. He pulled up Shiraz, for he was playing " back,"
to guard the goal. Powell on Polaris was half-back, and
Macnamara and Hughes on Corks and Kittiwynk were
forwards. The tough, bamboo ball was set in the mid-
dle of the ground, one hundred and fifty yards from the
ends, and Hughes crossed sticks, heads up, with the
Captain of the Archangels, who saw fit to play forward;
that is a place from which you cannot easily control
your team. The little click as the cane-shafts met was
heard all over the ground, and then Hughes made some
sort of quick wrist-stroke that just dribbled the ball a
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THE MALTESE CAT

few yards. Kittiwynk knew that stroke of old, and fol-
lowed as a cat follows a mouse. While the Captain of
the Archangels was wrenching his pony round, Hughes
struck with all his strength, and next instant Kittiwynk
was away, Corks following close behind her, their little
feet pattering like raindrops on glass.

" Pull out to the left," said Kittiwynk between her
teeth; " it 's coming your way, Corks! "

The back and half-back of the Archangels were tear-
ing down on her just as she was within reach of the ball.
Hughes leaned forward with a loose rein, and cut it
away to the left almost under Kittiwynk's foot, and it
hopped and skipped off to Corks, who saw that, if he was
not quick it would run beyond the boundaries. That
long bouncing drive gave the Archangels time to wheel
and send three men across the ground to head off Corks.
Kittiwynk stayed where she was ; for she knew the game.
Corks was on the ball half a fraction of a second before
the others came up, and Macnamara, with a backhanded
stroke, sent it back across the ground to Hughes, who
saw the way clear to the Archangels' goal, and
smacked the ball in before any one quite knew what
had happened.

"That 's luck," said Corks, as they changed ends.
" A goal in three minutes for three hits, and no riding
to speak of."

"'Don't know," said Polaris. "We 've made 'em
angry too soon. Should n't wonder if they tried to
rush us off our feet next tune."

" Keep the ball hanging, then," said Shiraz. " That
wears out every pony that is not used to it."
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THE MALTESE CAT

Next time there was no easy galloping across the
ground. All the Archangels closed up as one man, but
there they stayed, for Corks, Kittiwynk, and Polaris
were somewhere on the top of the ball, marking time
among the rattling sticks, while Shiraz circled about
outside, waiting for a chance.

" We can do this all day," said Polaris, ramming his
quarters into the side of another pony. " Where do
you think you 're shoving to? "

u I '11— I '11 be driven in an ekka if I know," was the
gasping reply, " and I 'd give a week's feed to get my
blinkers off. I can't see anything. "

* ' The dust is rather bad. Whew ! That was one for
my off-hock. Where 's the ball, Corks? "

" Under my tail. At least, the man 's looking for it
there! This is beautiful. They can't use their sticks,
and it 's driving 'em wild. Give old Blinkers a push
and then he '11 go over."

" Here, don't touch me ! I can't see. I 'U— I '11 back
out, I think, ' ' said the pony in blinkers, who knew that
if you can't see all round your head, you cannot prop
yourself against the shock.

Corks was watching the ball where it lay in the dust,
close to his near fore-leg, with Macnamara's shortened
stick tap-tapping it from time to time. Kittiwynk was
edging her way out of the scrimmage, whisking her
stump of a tail with nervous excitement.

u Ho ! They ' ve got it, ' ' she snorted. * ' Let me out ! "
and she galloped like a rifle-bullet just behind a tall
lanky pony of the Archangels, whose rider was swing-
ing up his stick for a stroke.
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THE MALTESE CAT

" Not to-day, thank you," said Hughes, as the blow
slid off his raised stick, and Kittiwynk laid her shoulder
to the tall pony's quarters, and shoved him aside just
as Lutyens on Shiraz sent the ball where it had come
from, and the tall pony went skating and slipping away
to the left. Kittiwynk, seeing that Polaris had joined
Corks in the chase for the ball up the ground, dropped
into Polaris' place, and then " time " was called.

The Skidars' ponies wasted no time in kicking or
fuming. They knew that each minute's rest meant so
much gain, and trotted off to the rails, and their saises
began to scrape and blanket and rub them at once.

4 ' Whew ! ' ' said Corks, stiffening up to get all the tickle
of the big vulcanite scraper. " If we were playing pony
for pony, we would bend those Archangels double in half
an hour. But they '11 bring up fresh ones and fresh ones
and fresh ones after that— you see."

"Who cares?" said Polaris. "We 've drawn first
blood. Is my hock swelling? "

" Looks puffy," said Corks. " You must have had
rather a wipe. Don't let it stiffen. You '11 be wanted
again in half an hour."

" What 's the game like? " said The Maltese Cat.

" 'Ground 's like your shoe, except where they put
too much water on it," said Kittiwynk. " Then it 's
slippery. Don't play in the centre. There 's a bog
there. I don't know how their next four are going to
behave, but we kept the ball hanging, and made 'em
lather for nothing. Who goes out ? Two Arabs and a
couple of country-bredsl That 's bad. What a comfort
it is to wash your mouth out! "
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THE MALTESE CAT

Kitty was talking with a neck of a lather-covered
soda-water bottle between her teeth, and trying to look
over her withers at the same time. This gave her a
very coquettish air.

" What 's bad? " said Grey Dawn, giving to the girth
and admiring his well-set shoulders.

" You Arabs can't gallop fast enough to keep your-
selves warm— that 's what Kitty means," said Polaris,
limping to show that his hock needed attention. "Are
you playing back, Grey Dawn? "

" 'Looks like it," said Grey Dawn, as Lutyens swung
himself up. Powell mounted The Eabbit, a plain bay
country-bred much like Corks, but with mulish ears.
Macnamara took Faiz-Ullah, a handy, short-backed
little red Arab with a long tail, and Hughes mounted
Benami, an old and sullen brown beast, who stood over
in front more than a polo-pony should.

4 * Benami looks like business, ' ' said Shiraz. * * How 's
your temper, Ben?" The old campaigner hobbled off
without answering, and The Maltese Cat looked at the
new Archangel ponies prancing about on the ground.
They were four beautiful blacks, and they saddled big
enough and strong enough to eat the Skidars' team and
gallop away with the meal inside them.

"Blinkers again," said The Maltese Cat. "Good
enough! "

" They 're chargers— cavalry chargers! " said Kitti-
wynk, indignantly. "They '11 never see thirteen-three
again."

" They 've all been fairly measured, and they Ve all
got their certificates," said The Maltese Cat, " or they
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THE MALTESE CAT

would n't be here. We must take things as they come
along, and keep your eyes on the ball."

The game began, but this time the Skidars were
penned to their own end of the ground, and the watch-
ing ponies did not approve of that.

" Faiz-Ullah is shirking— as usual," said Polaris,
with a scornful grunt.

' ' Faiz-Ullah is eating whip, ' ' said Corks. They could
hear the leather- thonged polo quirt lacing the little
fellow's well-rounded barrel. Then The Babbit's shrill
neigh came across the ground.

" I can't do all the work," he cried, desperately.

"Play the game— don't talk," The Maltese Cat
whickered ; and all the ponies wriggled with excitement,
and the soldiers and the grooms gripped the railings
and shouted. A black pony with blinkers had singled
out old Benami, and was interfering with him in every
possible way. They could see Benami shaking his
head up and down, and napping his under lip.

"There '11 be a fall in a minute," said Polaris.
" Benami is getting stuffy."

The game nickered up and down between goal-post
and goal-post, and the black ponies were getting more
confident as they felt they had the legs of the others.
The ball was hit out of a little scrimmage, and Benami
and The Eabbit followed it, Faiz-Ullah only too glad to
be quiet for an instant.

The blinkered black pony came up like a hawk, with
two of his own side behind him, and Benami's eye glit-
tered as he raced. The question was which pony should
make way for the other, for each rider was perfectly
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willing to risk a fall in a good cause. The black, who
had been driven nearly crazy by his blinkers, trusted to
his weight and his temper; but Benami knew how to ap-
ply his weight and how to keep his temper. They met,
and there was a cloud of dust. The black was lying
on his side, all the breath knocked out of his body.
The Rabbit was a hundred yards up the ground with the
ball, and Benami was sitting down. He had slid nearly
ten yards on his tail, but he had had his revenge, and
sat cracking his nostrils till the black pony rose.

"That 's what you get for interfering. Do you
want any more? " said Benami, and he plunged into the
game. Nothing was done that quarter, because Faiz-
Ullah would not gallop, though Macnamara beat him
whenever he could spare a second. The fall of the black
pony had impressed his companions tremendously, and
so the Archangels could not profit by Faiz-Ullah's bad
behaviour.

But as The Maltese Cat said when " time " was called,
and the four came back blowing and dripping, Faiz-Ullah
ought to have been kicked all round Umballa. If he
did not behave better next tune The Maltese Cat prom-
ised to pull out his Arab tail by the roots and— eat it.

There was no time to talk, for the third four were
ordered out.

The third quarter of a game is generally the hottest,
for each side thinks that the others must be pumped;
and most of the winning play in a game is made about
that tune.

Lutyens took over The Maltese Cat with a pat and a
hug, for Lutyens valued him more than anything else
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in the world; Powell had Shikast, a little grey rat with
no pedigree and no manners outside polo; Macnamara
mounted Bamboo, the largest of the team; and Hughes
Who 's Who, alias The Animal. He was supposed to
have Australian blood in his veins, but he looked like
a clothes-horse, and you could whack his legs with an
iron crow-bar without hurting him.

They went out to meet the very flower of the Arch-
angels' team; and when Who 's Who saw their ele-
gantly booted legs and their beautiful satin skins, he
grinned a grin through his light, well-worn bridle.

" My word! " said Who 's Who. " We must give 'em
a little football. These gentlemen need a rubbing
down."

"No biting," said The Maltese Cat, warningly; for
once or twice in his career Who 's Who had been
known to forget himself in that way.

" Who said anything about biting? I 'm not playing
tiddly-winks. I 'm playing the game."

The Archangels came down like a wolf on the fold,
for they were tired of football, and they wanted polo.
They got it more and more. Just after the game began,
Lutyens hit a ball that was coming towards him rap-
idly, and it rolled in the air, as a ball sometimes will,
with the whirl of a frightened partridge. Shikast
heard, but could not see it for the minute, though he
looked everywhere and up into the air as The Maltese
Cat had taught him. When he saw it ahead and over-
head he went forward with Powell as fast as he could
put foot to ground. It was then that Powell, a quiet and
level-headed man, as a rule, became inspired, and played
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THE MALTESE CAT

a stroke that sometimes comes off successfully after
long practice. He took his stick in both hands, and,
standing up in his stirrups, swiped at the ball in the air,
Munipore fashion. There was one second of paralysed
astonishment, and then all four sides of the ground went
up in a yell of applause and delight as the ball flew true
(you could see the amazed Archangels ducking in their
saddles to dodge the line of flight, and looking at it
with open mouths), and the regimental pipes of the
Skidars squealed from the railings as long as the pipers
had breath.

Shikast heard the stroke; but he heard the head
of the stick fly off at the same time. Nine hundred
and ninety -nine ponies out of a thousand would have
gone tearing on after the ball with a useless player
pulling at their heads; but Powell knew him, and he
knew Powell; and the instant he felt Powell's right leg
shift a trifle on the saddle-flap, he headed to the boun-
dary, where a native officer was frantically waving a
new stick. Before the shouts had ended, Powell was
armed again.

Once before in his life The Maltese Cat had heard
that very same stroke played off his own back, and
had profited by the confusion it wrought. This time
he acted on experience, and leaving Bamboo to guard
the goal in case of accidents, came through the others
like a flash, head and tail low— Lutyens standing up
to ease him— swept on and on before the other side
knew what was the matter, and nearly pitched on his
head between the Archangels' goal-post as Lutyens
kicked the ball in after a straight scurry of a hundred
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THE MALTESE CAT

and fifty yards. If there was one thing more than
another upon which The Maltese Cat prided himself,
it was on this quick, streaking kind of run half across
the ground. He did not believe in taking balls round
the field unless you were clearly overmatched. After
this they gave the Archangels five-minuted football;
and an expensive fast pony hates football because it
rumples his temper.

Who 's Who showed himself even better than Polaris
in this game. He did not permit any wriggling away,
but bored joyfully into the scrimmage as if he had his
nose in a feed-box and was looking for something nice.
Little Shikast jumped on the ball the minute it got clear,
and every time an Archangel pony followed it, he found
Shikast standing over it, asking what was the matter.

1 * If we can live through this quarter, ' ' said The Mal-
tese Cat, " I sha'n't care. Don't take it out of your-
selves. Let them do the lathering."

So the ponies, as their riders explained afterwards,
"shut-up." The Archangels kept them tied fast
in front of their goal, but it cost the Archangels'
ponies all that was left of their tempers; and ponies
began to kick, and men began to repeat compliments,
and they chopped at the legs of Who 's Who, and he
set his teeth and stayed where he was, and the dust
stood up like a tree over the scrimmage until that hot
quarter ended.

They found the ponies very excited and confident
when they went to their saises; and The Maltese Cat
had to warn them that the worst of the game was
coming.

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THE MALTESE CAT

" Now we are all going in for the second time," said
he, "and they are trotting out fresh ponies. You
think you can gallop, but you '11 find you can't; and
then you '11 be sorry."

" But two goals to nothing is a halter-long lead," said
Kittiwynk, prancing.

"How long does it take to get a goal?" The Mal-
tese Cat answered. " For pity's sake, don't run away
with a notion that the game is half -won just because
we happen to be in luck now ! They '11 ride you into
the grand stand, if they can; you must not give 'em a
chance. Follow the ball."

"Football, as usual?" said Polaris. "My hock 's
half as big as a nose-bag."

" Don't let them have a look at the ball, if you can
help it. Now leave me alone. I must get all the rest
I can before the last quarter."

He hung down his head and let all his muscles go
slack, Shikast, Bamboo, and Who 's Who copying his
example.

" Better not watch the game," he said. " We are n't
playing, and we shall only take it out of ourselves if we
grow anxious. Look at the ground and pretend it 's
fly-time."

They did their best, but it was hard advice to follow.
The hooves were drumming and the sticks were rattling
all up and down the ground, and yells of applause from
the English troops told that the Archangels were press-
ing the Skidars hard. The native soldiers behind the
ponies groaned and grunted, and said things in under-
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THE MALTESE CAT

tones, and presently they heard a long-drawn shout and
a clatter of hurrahs!

" One to the Archangels," said Shikast, without
raising his head. " Tune 's nearly up. Oh, my sire—
and dam I ' '

"Faiz-Ullah," said The Maltese Cat, "if you don't
play to the last nail in your shoes this tune, I '11 kick
you on the ground before all the other ponies."

" I '11 do my best when my tune comes," said the
little Arab, sturdily.

The saises looked at each other gravely as they rubbed
their ponies' legs. This was the time when long purses
began to tell, and everybody knew it. Kittiwynk and
the others came back, the sweat dripping over their
hooves and their tails telling sad stories.

"They 're better than we are," said Shiraz. "I
knew how it would be."

" Shut your big head," said The Maltese Cat; " we 've
one goal to the good yet."

" Yes; but it 's two Arabs and two country-breds to
play now," said Corks. "Faiz-Ullah, remember!"
He spoke in a biting voice.

As Lutyens mounted Grey Dawn he looked at his
men, and they did not look pretty. They were covered
with dust and sweat in streaks. Their yellow boots
were almost black, their wrists were red and lumpy,
and their eyes seemed two inches deep in their heads;
but the expression in the eyes was satisfactory.

" Did you take anything at tiffin?" said Lutyens; and
the team shook their heads. They were too dry to talk.
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THE MALTESE CAT

" All right. The Archangels did. They are worse
pumped than we are. ' '

" They 've got the better ponies," said Powell. " I
sha'n't be sorry when this business is over."

That fifth quarter was a painful one in every way.
Faiz-Ullah played like a little red demon, and The Rab-
bit seemed to be everywhere at once, and Benami rode
straight at anything and everything that came in his
way; while the umpires on their ponies wheeled like
gulls outside the shifting game. But the Archangels had
the better mounts,— they had kept their racers till late
in the game,— and never allowed the Skidars to play
football. They hit the ball up and down the width
of the ground till Benami and the rest were out-
paced. Then they went forward, and time and again
Lutyens and Grey Dawn were just, and only just,
able to send the ball away with a long, spitting back-
hander. Grey Dawn forgot that he was an Arab ; and
turned from grey to blue as he galloped. Indeed, he
forgot too well, for he did not keep his eyes on the
ground as an Arab should, but stuck out his nose and
scuttled for the dear honour of the game. They had
watered the ground once or twice between the quarters,
and a careless waterman had emptied the last of his
skinful all in one place near the Skidars' goal. It
was close to the end of the play, and for the tenth time
Grey Dawn was bolting after the ball, when his near
hind-foot slipped on the greasy mud, and he rolled over
and over, pitching Lutyens just clear of the goal-post;
and the triumphant Archangels made their goal. Then
44 time" was called— two goals all; but Lutyens had
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THE MALTESE CAT

to be helped up, and Grey Dawn rose with his near
hind-leg strained somewhere.

" What 's the damage? " said Powell, his arm around
Lutyens.

" Collar-bone, of course," said Lutyens, between his
teeth. It was the third time he had broken it in two
years, and it hurt him.

Powell and the others whistled.

u Game 's up," said Hughes.

" Hold on. We 've five good minutes yet, and it is n't
my right hand. We '11 stick it out."

" I say," said the Captain of the Archangels, trotting
up, "are you hurt, Lutyens? We '11 wait if you care
to put in a substitute. I wish— I mean— the fact is, you
fellows deserve this game if any team does. 'Wish we
could give you a man, or some of our ponies— or some-
thing."

" You 're awfully good, but we 11 play it to a finish,
I think."

The Captain of the Archangels stared for a little.
"That 's not half bad," he said, and went back
to his own side, while Lutyens borrowed a scarf
from one of his native officers and made a sling of it.
Then an Archangel galloped up with a big bath-sponge,
and advised Lutyens to put it under his armpit to ease
his shoulder, and between them they tied up his left arm
scientifically ; and one of the native officers leaped for-
ward with four long glasses that fizzed and bubbled.

The team looked at Lutyens piteously, and he nodded.
It was the last quarter, and nothing would matter after
that. They drank out the dark golden drink, and
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THE MALTESE CAT

wiped their moustaches, and things looked more hope-
ful.

The Maltese Cat had put his nose into the front of
Lutyens' shirt and was trying to say how sorry he was.

"He knows," said Lutyens, proudly. "The beg-
gar knows. I Ve played him without a bridle be-
fore now— for fun."

"It 's no fun now," said Powell. " But we have n't
a decent substitute. ' '

"No," said Lutyens. "It 's the last quarter, and
we Ve got to make our goal and win. I '11 trust The
Cat."

"If you fall this tune, you '11 suffer a little," said
Macnamara.

" I '11 trust The Cat," said Lutyens.

"You hear that?" said The Maltese Cat, proudly,
to the others. "It 's worth while playing polo for ten
years to have that said of you. Now then, my sons,
come along. We '11 kick up a little bit, just to show
the Archangels this team have n't suffered."

And, sure enough, as they went on to the ground, The
Maltese Cat, after satisfying himself that Lutyens was
home in the saddle, kicked out three or four times, and
Lutyens laughed. The reins were caught up anyhow
in the tips of his strapped left hand, and he never pre-
tended to rely on them. He knew The Cat would an-
swer to the least pressure of the leg, and by way of
showing off— for his shoulder hurt him very much— he
bent the little fellow in a close figure-of-eight in and out
between the goal-posts. There was a roar from the
native officers and men, who dearly loved a piece of
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THE MALTESE CAT

dugdbashi (horse-trick work), as they called it, and the
pipes very quietly and scornfully droned out the first
bars of a common bazaar tune called ' ' Freshly Fresh and
Newly New," just as a warning to the other regiments
that the Skidars were fit. All the natives laughed.

" And now," said The Maltese Cat, as they took their
place, " remember that this is the last quarter, and fol-
low the ball!"

" Don't need to be told," said Who 's Who.

4 ' Let me go on. All those people on all four sides
will begin to crowd in— just as they did at Malta. You '11
hear people calling out, and moving forward and being
pushed back ; and that is going to make the Archangel
ponies very unhappy. But if a ball is struck to the
boundary, you go after it, and let the people get out of
your way. I went over the pole of a four-in-hand once,
and picked a game out of the dust by it. Back me up
when I run, and follow the ball."

There was a sort of an all-round sound of sympathy and
wonder as the last quarter opened, and then there began
exactly what The Maltese Cat had foreseen. People
crowded in close to the boundaries, and the Archangels'
ponies kept looking sideways at the narrowing space.
If you know how a man feels to be cramped at tennis—
not because he wants to run out of the court, but because
he likes to know that he can at a pinch— you will guess
how ponies must feel when they are playing in a box of
human beings.

" I '11 bend some of those men if I can get away," said
Who's Who, as he rocketed behind the ball; and Bamboo
nodded without speaking. They were playing the last
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THE MALTESE CAT

ounce in them, and The Maltese Cat had left the goal
undefended to join them. Lutyens gave him every
order that he could to bring him back, but this was the
first time in his career that the little wise grey had ever
played polo on his own responsibility, and he was going
to make the most of it.

" What are you doing here? " said Hughes, as The Cat
crossed in front of him and rode off an Archangel.

" The Cat 's in charge— mind the goal!" shouted Lut-
yens, and bowing forward hit the ball full, and followed
on, forcing the Archangels towards their own goal.

"No football," said The Maltese Cat. "Keep the
ball by the boundaries and cramp 'em. Play open order,
and drive 'em to the boundaries."

Across and across the ground in big diagonals flew the
ball, and whenever it came to a flying rush and a stroke
close to the boundaries the Archangel ponies moved
stiffly. They did not care to go headlong at a wall of
men and carriages, though if the ground had been open
they could have turned on a sixpence.

"Wriggle her up the sides," said The Cat. "Keep
her close to the crowd. They hate the carriages. Shi-
kast, keep her up this side."

Shikast and Powell lay left and right behind the uneasy
scuffle of an open scrimmage, and every time the ball
was hit away Shikast galloped on it at such an angle
that Powell was forced to hit it towards the boundary ;
and when the crowd had been driven away from that
side, Lutyens would send the ball over to the other, and
Shikast would slide desperately after it till his friends
came down to help. It was billiards, and no football,
[290]

THE MALTESE CAT

this time— billiards in a corner pocket ; and the cues were
not well chalked.

4 ' If they get us out in the middle of the ground they '11
walk away from us. Dribble her along the sides, " cried
The Maltese Cat.

So they dribbled all along the boundary, where a pony
could not come on their right-hand side; and the Arch-
angels were furious, and the umpires had to neglect the
game to shout at the people to get back, and several
blundering mounted policemen tried to restore order, all
close to the scrimmage, and the nerves of the Archangels'
ponies stretched and broke like cob-webs.

Five or six times an Archangel hit the ball up into the
middle of the ground, and each time the watchful Shi-
kast gave Powell his chance to send it back, and after
each return, when the dust had settled, men could see
that the Skidars had gained a few yards.

Every now and again there were shouts of " Side! Off
side!" from the spectators; but the teams were too busy
to care, and the umpires had all they could do to keep
their maddened ponies clear of the scuffle.

At last Lutyens missed a short easy stroke, and the
Skidars had to fly back helter-skelter to protect their
own goal, Shikast leading. Powell stopped the ball with
a backhander when it was not fifty yards from the goal-
posts, and Shikast spun round with a wrench that nearly
hoisted Powell out of his saddle.

" Now 's our last chance," said The Cat, wheeling like
a cockchafer on a pin. " We 've got to ride it out.
Come along."

Lutyens felt the little chap take a deep breath, and, as
[291]

THE MALTESE CAT

it were, crouch under his rider. The ball was hop-
ping towards the right-hand boundary, an Archangel
riding for it with both spurs and a whip; but neither
spur nor whip would make his pony stretch himself as
he neared the crowd. The Maltese Cat glided under his
very nose, picking up his hind legs sharp, for there was
not a foot to spare between his quarters and the other
pony's bit. It was as neat an exhibition as fancy figure-
skating. Lutyens hit with all the strength he had left,
but the stick slipped a little in his hand, and the ball flew
off to the left instead of keeping close to the boundary.
Who 's Who was far across the ground, thinking hard as
he galloped. He repeated stride for stride The Cat's
manoeuvres with another Archangel pony, nipping the
ball away from under his bridle, and clearing his oppo-
nent by half a fraction of an inch, for Who ;s Who was
clumsy behind. Then he drove away towards the right
as The Maltese Cat came up from the left ; and Bamboo
held a middle course exactly between them. The three
were making a sort of Government-broad-arrow-shaped
attack; and there was only the Archangels' back to
guard the goal; but immediately behind them were
three Archangels racing all they knew, and mixed up
with them was Powell sending Shikast along on what
he felt was their last hope. It takes a very good man
to stand up to the rush of seven crazy ponies in the last
quarters of a Cup game, when men are riding with their
necks for sale, and the ponies are delirious. The Arch-
angels' back missed his stroke and pulled aside just
in time to let the rush go by. Bamboo and Who 's
Who shortened stride to give The Cat room, and Lutyens
[292]

THE MALTESE CAT

got the goal with a clean, smooth, smacking stroke
that was heard all over the field. But there was no
stopping the ponies. They poured through the goal-
posts in one mixed mob, winners and losers together, for
the pace had been terrific. The Maltese Cat knew by
experience what would happen, and, to save Lutyens,
turned to the right with one last effort, that strained a
back-sinew beyond hope of repair. As he did so he
heard the right-hand goal-post crack as a pony cannoned
into it— crack, splinter and fall like a mast. It had
been sawed three parts through in case of accidents, but
it upset the pony nevertheless, and he blundered into
another, who blundered into the left-hand post, and then
there was confusion and dust and wood. Bamboo was
lying on the ground, seeing stars; an Archangel pony
rolled beside him, breathless and angry ; Shikast had sat
down dog-fashion to avoid falling over the others, and
was sliding along on his little bobtail in a cloud of dust;
and Powell was sitting on the ground, hammering with
his stick and trying to cheer. All the others were shout-
ing at the top of what was left of their voices, and the
men who had been spilt were shouting too. As soon
as the people saw no one was hurt, ten thousand native
and English shouted and clapped and yelled, and before
any one could stop them the pipers of the Skidars broke
on to the ground, with all the native officers and men
behind them, and marched up and down, playing a wild
Northern tune called " Zakhme Bagan," and through
the insolent blaring of the pipes and the high-pitched
native yells you could hear the Archangels' band ham-
mering, " For they are all jolly good fellows," and then
[293]

THE MALTESE CAT

reproachfully to the losing team, " Ooh, Kaf oozalum !
Kaf oozalum ! Kaf oozalum ! ' '

Besides all these things and many more, there was a
Commander-in-chief, and an Inspector- General of Cav-
alry, and the principal veterinary officer of all India
standing on the top of a regimental coach, yelling like
school-boys; and brigadiers and colonels and commis-
sioners, and hundreds of pretty ladies joined the chorus.
But The Maltese Cat stood with his head down, wonder-
ing how many legs were left to him; and Lutyens
watched the men and ponies pick themselves out of the
wreck of the two goal-posts, and he patted The Maltese
Cat very tenderly.

u I say," said the Captain of the Archangels, spitting
a pebble out of his mouth, ' ' will you take three thousand
for that pony— as he stands? "

" No thank you. I 've an idea he 's saved my life,"
said Lutyens, getting off and lying down at full length.
Both teams were on the ground too, waving their boots
in the air, and coughing and drawing deep breaths, as
the saises ran up to take away the ponies, and an officious
water-carrier sprinkled the players with dirty water till
they sat up.

" My aunt! " said Powell, rubbing his back, and look-
ing at the stumps of the goal-posts, " That was a
game!"

They played it over again, every stroke of it, that
night at the big dinner, when the Free-for-All Cup was
filled and passed down the table, and emptied and filled
again, and everybody made most eloquent speeches.
About two in the morning, when there might have been
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THE MALTESE CAT

some singing, a wise little, plain little, grey little head
looked in through the open door.

" Hurrah! Bring him in," said the Archangels; and
his sais, who was very happy indeed, patted The Maltese
Cat on the flank, and he limped in to the blaze of light
and the glittering uniforms, looking for Lutyens. He
was used to messes, and men's bedrooms, and places
where ponies are not usually encouraged, and in his
youth had jumped on and off a mess-table for a bet.
So he behaved himself very politely, and ate bread
dipped in salt, and was petted all round the table, mov-
ing gingerly; and they drank his health, because he had
done more to win the Cup than any man or horse on the
ground.

That was glory and honour enough for the rest of his
days, and The Maltese Cat did not complain much when
the veterinary surgeon said that he would be no good
for polo any more. When Lutyens married, his wife
did not allow him to play, so he was forced to be an
umpire ; and his pony on these occasions was a flea-bit-
ten grey with a neat polo-tail, lame all round, but des-
perately quick on his feet, and, as everybody knew, Past
Pluperfect Prestissimo Player of the Game.

[295]

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS"

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS"

IF you remember my improper friend Brugglesmith,
you will also bear in mind his friend McPhee, Chief
Engineer of the Breslau, whose dingey Brugglesmith
tried to steal. His apologies for the performances of
Brugglesmith may one day be told in their proper place :
the tale before us concerns McPhee. He was never a
racing engineer, and took special pride in saying as
much before the Liverpool men; but he had a thirty- two
years' knowledge of machinery and the humours of ships.
One side of his face had been wrecked through the burst-
ing of a pressure-gauge in the days when men knew less
than they do now, and his nose rose grandly out of the
wreck, like a club in a public riot. There were cuts and
lumps on his head, and he would guide your forefinger
through his short iron-grey hair and tell you how he
had come by his trade-marks. He owned all sorts of
certificates of extra-competency, and at the bottom of
his cabin chest of drawers, where he kept the photo-
graph of his wife, were two or three Eoyal Humane So-
ciety medals for saving lives at sea. Professionally— it
was different when crazy steerage-passengers jumped