Fearing the boys would attempt to retaliate, Hans and Ephraim closed and
barricaded the door, and the Dutch boy shouted that he would "soak"
anybody who tried to force an entrance.
Thoroughly disgusted with the turn affairs had taken, Merriwell and his
friends sought towels and dry clothing, and decided to let Hans and
Ephraim alone for the rest of the night.
In the morning every one about Springbrook Farm knew of the "ghost
joke," and the boys were "jollied" unmercifully, Kenneth St. Ives being
forced to endure it with the others.
The general uproar in the summerhouse had been heard by those in the
mansion, and it had set the hounds to barking in the stable, but the
shouts of laughter coming from the house told that it was some sort of
frolic, so no one sought to investigate.
Ephraim and Hans came forth in the morning, arm in arm, although they
made a most grotesque couple, the Dutch boy being short, round and fat,
while the Yankee lad was tall, lank and angular.
The faces of this odd pair were grave and solemn, and their air of
innocence was refreshing to behold.
"Good-mornin', fellers," nodded Ephraim. "I hope yeou all slept fust
rate late night?"
"How you peen dese mornin', boys?" inquired Hans, with apparent concern.
"I hope you didn't disturb me der night in. I peen aple to slept shust
like a top all der night ofer mitout vakin' ub ad all."
"I am glad you slept so well," smiled Frank. "There was some noise about
the house in the night, and I thought it might have aroused you."
"I nefer heard something ad all," declared Hans. "I pelief me I hat a
tream someding apout a ghost, but dot peen all."
"Oh, say," grunted Browning, clinching his huge fist and shaking it
close down by his side. "You wait! There are other days coming!"
"Vell, I hope so," said the Dutch boy, blankly. "I don't vant dese von
to peen der last von."
After breakfast a jolly party came over from the Meadowfair clubhouse,
five miles away. There were nearly a dozen young ladies, and half as
many gentlemen. It was plain they were in the habit of visiting
Springbrook Farm often, for they were warmly welcomed, and made
themselves quite at home.
"This is jolly!" cried Kenneth St. Ives, as he introduced Frank to Paul
Stone, the leader of the party. "I knew something in the way of sport
would turn up to-day. Do you play polo, Mr. Merriwell?"
"Yes," nodded Frank, with unusual eagerness; "I have played the game,
but it has been some time since I have touched a mallet."
"Mr. Stone is a member of the American Polo Association, as also is
Steve Fenton, my cousin. Harden and I have applied, and we expect to get
in. Father has caused a beautiful green to be laid over yonder. He has
worked upon it till it is as solid as the finest green in the country,
and we are looking to enjoy several meets here before we return to the
city. We have been having a few games, and I think it is royal sport."
"It is the greatest sport in the world!" exclaimed Paul Stone,
enthusiastically.
Frank smiled.
"It can't be that you have played much football or baseball, Mr. Stone,"
he said.
"Baseball hasn't the dash and go of polo," declared Stone; "and too many
accidents happen at football. It is a dangerous game."
"There is some danger in polo," said Merry.
"Just enough to make it spicy," declared Stone. "There is not as much
danger of getting broken noses and broken necks as in football."
Frank's blood was beginning to bound in his veins, for the thought of a
hot, exciting polo game, with its sharp races and its fierce charges,
was quite enough to arouse the sporting instinct within him. He was like
a war horse that sniffs the smoke of battle from afar.
"Well," he cried, "if there is to be a polo match, I'd like to get into
it."
"You can," laughed Kenneth. "You shall have Liner, the finest pony in
our bunch. That animal knows as much as a human being. Why, he can
almost play polo alone!"
A short distance away Stephen Fenton was talking with another of the
Meadowfair party. He was trying to be sociable in his sullen way, but
his ears were open to all that was passing near at hand, and he plainly
heard the conversation concerning polo.
Kimball, the man Fenton was talking with, also heard something of it,
and he exclaimed:
"Polo is the very thing! I had thought of a coaching party, but it is
too late for that this morning. You'll play polo, won't you, Fenton?"
"Yes," nodded Fenton, "I'll play with your side."
"I think that will be agreeable to Stone," said Kimball; "but I don't
believe Springbrook will want to give you up."
"Well, I'll not play with those stiffs," muttered the sullen-faced
fellow. "I want a good opportunity to play against them."
In a short time it was arranged. For Springbrook, St. Ives, Harden,
Merriwell and Diamond were the players; for Meadowfair, Stone, Kimball,
Fenton and a jolly young man by the name of Lock were to handle the
mallets.
"Come, Mr. Diamond and Mr. Merriwell," called Kenneth; "I will provide
you with suits."
They followed him into the summerhouse, where such paraphernalia was
kept, and in a short time all three were rigged out in white breeches,
striped blouses and high boots.
"You will find Liner a dandy polo pony, Mr. Merriwell," declared
Kenneth. "Father paid nine hundred dollars for him."
"It's jolly good of you to let me have him, St. Ives," said Frank. "Why
don't you ride him yourself? I don't feel like taking him away from
you."
"Oh, that's all right," laughed Kenneth. "You are my guest. I'll ride
Coffin Head."
"Coffin Head! What a name for a horse!"
"He's an old-timer--a gone-by; but he knows the game, and that is
something in his favor. Of course, I do not expect to cut much ice with
him, but I want Diamond to have a good mount. Coffin Head has seen his
day, but he has been a dandy."
Frank mentally decided that St. Ives was a fine fellow, and all right in
every way.
They went out to the stable, hearing the ringing sound of a coach horn,
and seeing a coaching party approaching along the road.
"There'll be a jolly crowd here!" cried Kenneth. "There's a party from
Cloverdale. We'll have no end of sport, fellows!"
There was a flush in Diamond's cheeks, and it was plain he was eager for
the fray, although he said very little.
Just as they were on the point of entering the stable, Stephen Fenton
rode out on a handsome pony with four white feet and a general smart
look.
St. Ives halted in astonishment.
"Hello, there!" he cried. "What are you doing with that horse, Steve?"
"I'm going to ride him in the match," answered Fenton, grimly.
"I guess not!" exclaimed Kenneth. "I have promised Liner to Mr.
Merriwell."
"Can't help that," retorted Fenton, with a sneer. "I rode him in the
last match."
"And so you should be willing to let somebody else have him to-day.
Don't be piggish, Steve."
The man scowled.
"I didn't suppose anybody would object to letting me have him to-day,
and that is why I took him. I see you are afraid of being beaten. What
pony did you propose to let me have?"
"Any one but that one. I did think of riding Coffin Head, but you may
have him."
"Coffin Head! You must think I'm a fool! Why, that old cob is played
out, and I'd be a perfect guy on him. You can't work that on me, Ken."
St. Ives was angry. He showed it in his face and voice.
"I don't care what you ride! You can have anything but Liner."
"And I'll have Liner!" flung back Fenton, defiantly. "I've got him, and
I'm going to keep him. What can you do about it? We'll show you chaps up
in great shape."
Then he started the pony up, and rode away toward the green.
St. Ives seemed about to follow him.
"I'll make him give that pony up!" he grated. "He has no right to take
Liner! If he doesn't want to play, let him get out."
"I wouldn't have any trouble with him about it," said Frank. "If you do,
he'll make a big fuss about our being scared. Let's look at the other
ponies first, anyway."
After a few moments of hesitation, St. Ives led the way into the stable,
and the boys looked the other ponies over.
One of them was a homely old crock, with knees and hocks bunched up out
of all semblance to those built on strictly anatomical principles. This
pony attracted Merriwell's attention.
"That is Coffin Head," said St. Ives.
Instantly an inspiration seized Frank.
"If you don't mind," he said, "I'll ride Coffin Head."
Kenneth gasped.
"You can't mean it!" he exclaimed.
"I do," nodded Merry. "Somehow I've taken a fancy to the old fellow. You
say he has been a good one?"
"One of the best."
"Then he hasn't forgotten the tricks of the business. I'm going to try
him."
"The boys will have sport with you, Merry," said Diamond.
"Let 'em," smiled Frank. "I may get as much sport out of it as they do.
May I have Coffin Head, St. Ives!"
"Of course you may if you want him," said Kenneth, "but I'm sorry
that----"
"Never mind it!" came gayly from Merriwell. "Saddle up old Coffin Head
for me, boy," he cried, to one of the assistant hostlers. "I'll manage
to take some part in the game. Hurrah for Coffin Head, the old-timer! He
may prove a surprise party for somebody."