Tang! tang!
It was the timekeeper's gong, and the game of polo was begun with a
charge.
Each team had lined up within twenty feet of their respective goals,
and, as the ball was dropped in center field, the little ponies tore
forward like blooded racers.
It was a spectacle to send the blood leaping in an instant.
For all that the game had been hastily gotten up, the boundary line was
crowded with the _elite_ of the countryside. It seemed as if people had
risen from the ground.
Merriwell's friends were all together, and, with the possible exception
of Browning, they were keenly interested. Bruce was stretched out in a
lazy position on the ground, seemingly as apathetic as usual.
Bart Hodge's dark eyes were gleaming and his cheeks glowing.
"Oh, if I could have taken part in that!" he muttered. "I don't believe
Diamond can play the game a bit better than I can."
Bart was disappointed, and a feeling of jealousy toward Diamond had been
aroused in his heart. It began to seem that Frank cared too much for
Jack.
"It's queer, too," thought Hodge. "Diamond was growling all the time
while we were in the West, and he made the rest of the crowd tired.
Merry is the only one who has had any patience with him; but that's just
like Frank. He's mighty queer, and I don't understand him now, for all
that I have known him so long."
Kenneth St. Ives was captain of the Springbrook side, while Paul Stone
commanded the other side.
"Soy," cried Mulloy, "will yez take a look at thot ould bob Frankie is
shtraddle av! Did yez ivver see th' loikes av thot?"
"Gol darned ef that don't look jest like dad's old plaow hoss!" laughed
Ephraim Gallup. "Ther sight of that critter makes me wish I was to hum
on the farm. I'm humsick, b'gosh!"
Bruce Browning grunted and looked disgusted.
"Merry must be a fool to take such a pony!" he growled. "They're making
a guy of him."
"G'way dar, boy!" muttered Toots, shaking his head. "Don't yeh beliebe
yehself! Dey don' mek no guy ob dat boy ver' much."
"Say, Browning," cried Rattleton, excitedly, "you ought to know better
than to think anybody can fake a mool--I mean make a fool of Frank."
"Yaw!" nodded Hans; "I oughter known petter dan dot, hand't you? Vot do
I take you for, Prowning! Vere you peen all my life, ain'd id? You don'd
fool Vrankie Merrivell haluf so much as I think you can, you pet my
axidental bolicy."
In the opening charge Frank did not get in quite as quick as the others.
Mounted on Liner, Steve Fenton shot down on the ball, and with a
skillful crack, sent it skimming toward the Springbrook goal, causing a
shout to go up from the spectators.
"He'll make a goal for Meadowfair, in less than two----Great Scott!
how'd the boy do that?"
Frank, somewhat behind the others, had caught the ball as it skimmed
like a bullet over the ground, even though it seemed that he must have
swung his mallet almost at the same instant as Fenton. The first crack
was answered by a second, and the basswood ball suddenly went skimming
back toward the Meadowfair side, with Diamond racing after it to send it
through.
But Liner showed his mettle. It did not seem that Fenton paid the least
attention to the pony, but the creature twisted about in a moment, and
carried its rider along at Diamond's side.
It was a brief but most exciting race, and the spectators cheered and
waved their handkerchiefs.
"Go it, Diamond, old boy!" cried Harry Rattleton.
"Go id, Shack, oldt poy!" shouted Hans, hopping about like a toad. "You
vill pet on my head!"
"Git doawn an' crawl, gol darn ye!" whooped Ephraim. "Naow hit her a
knockaout blow, and---- Great gosh!"
In a most skillful manner Fenton's pony had forced Diamond's mount over,
and the dark-faced man swung across in time to get a crack at the ball.
The skill with which he struck it told that he was the most dangerous
player on the Meadowfair side.
"Look out there, Harden!" cried St. Ives.
Harry stopped the ball, but it caromed from his mallet and came near
going out of bounds. In a twinkling there was another hot rush and a
threatened crash. Immediately all the players were clumped about the
ball.
"Where are you, number one?" cried Paul Stone. "Strike, Kimball--strike,
man! What's the matter with you?"
For some moments the ball "hung," and the players "dribbled"; but they
were cool, and Lock made a neat and quick turn, passing the ball to
Fenton, who took it up and hit it to boundary.
Over the board went the ponies, and the sticks crooked as they tried to
give the ball a fillip outside. But Diamond, "half-back" for
Springbrook, saw his opportunity, made a rush and a hard backhander on
the near side, and out shot the little white sphere on its way to glory.
Merriwell was on it, as if he had been waiting for that very play. His
stick, which he had selected with great care, seemed to swing free for a
moment from the strap about his wrist, then the malacca did its work.
"Hooray!" cried Ephraim Gallup. "It's a goal sure! Hooray!"
"Yaw!" screamed Hans, "id peen a dandy!"
"Outside! outside!"
"Who says outside?" snapped Rattleton. "The referee? I know better! It's
a goal sure!"
"Outside, I tell you!" came the voice of the referee, and the game
stopped.
It was a disappointment for Frank's friends, for they had felt certain
he would make a goal, but the fairness of the referee was not to be
questioned.
The captain of the Meadowfairs had the strike-off, and the Springbrooks
fell back from the line.
But Stone was cunning, and he gave the ball a clever sweep to right
field, and away from his goal. His "forward" knew the trick, and Liner
was keyed up for a race to boundary.
But Frank had seen that trick before, and he resolved to find out what
sort of stuff Coffin Head was made of, now that there was a good
opportunity. The pony had handled himself with such ease and skill, for
all of his awkward and homely appearance, that Merry was more than
delighted, and now came the supreme test.
Liner flew out after the ball, upon which Fenton's eyes were steadily
fastened. But Coffin Head was in the race, and the old crock didn't do a
thing but spread himself. The way he tore along over the ground amazed
everybody who saw it. It seemed that the old horse had renewed his youth
and was out for blood. He made the run of his life to get his rider on
that ball. Like a meteor he flew across the green, and Liner was fairly
beaten, causing Frank Merriwell's friends and admirers to rise up and
shout with astonishment and delight.
The check was too sudden, however, and the old pony slid on his
haunches. Then up rushed a mass of men and ponies, making for a moment a
wild _melee_.
Kimball got a crack at the ball, but it glanced off the ribs of Harden's
pony, causing the animal to wince and swerve.
That let in Merriwell, who had brought Coffin Head about, and he made a
skillful stroke. As he did so, he felt something whistle past his head,
and realized that he had narrowly escaped a blow that must have spoiled
the effectiveness of his work.
Frank did not take his eyes off the ball; but, nevertheless, he saw it
was Fenton who had attempted the foul stroke, being unable to reach the
ball himself.
Diamond went down on the sphere with a rush, and carried it along toward
the enemy's posts. With a clean lead at the proper moment, the
Virginian, who had already showed himself a perfect horseman and perfect
polo player, sent the white ball sailing through the timber, and
Springbrook had made the first goal.