business of life, bar love-making, and straightway it had become Hector's business too. Never would he admit that there could be anything in the way of sports or games at which he could not excel if he chose, and he set to work to provide himself with ponies, first-class tournament ponies too; he would look at nothing else. He had now six, bought at a price far beyond his means, the purchase of which had necessitated the assistance of Ram Lai, the native banker of Riwala, and this done, and all other pursuits abandoned for the nonce, he laid himself out to learn the game.

Henceforth his conversation, his thoughts, his very dreams were of polo, while his contempt for and intolerance of those who had no liking for the pursuit were unbounded. Morning and evening he could be seen assiduously practising shots on the disused drill-ground at the back of his Riwala bungalow, while in odd moments he would employ the saises, khitmagars, and on one occasion—though Lucy had immediately intervened—the cook, in throwing him balls from every direction, while he, astride on a wooden horse, drove the said balls all over the compound. The result of all this was on the whole gratifying, the progress he made being generally conceded to be remarkable, though this verdict was usually qualified by the remark that his proficiency was mainly due to the excellence of his ponies. "Anyone could play who was so well mounted as that bounder Graeme," men were wont to observe, for in India, even more than elsewhere, possessions in excess of one's neighbours are wont to evoke caustic remarks.

Whether this were true or not, Graeme was now able to hold his own in most companies, and was anticipating a veritable triumph this afternoon, when he intended to show the spectators how polo should be played, even though by a novice. His conversation was brought to an end by the loud ringing of a bell, followed by the appearance of Ferrers, fussy and important, summoning his men to the fray. With a hasty farewell to Lucy, and final examination of his stirrup-leathers, Hector mounted the grey pony and cantered into the field, where the rival teams were drawn up in two lines facing each other.

After some delay, owing to young Gubbins' endeavours to secure a flying start, the ball was at length thrown in between the lines by the umpire, and the battle for the Cup had begun.

Straightway arose a confused mêlée of sticks and ponies, followed by much wild hitting, much missing, and considerable dangerous riding, Graeme being neatly bowled over by Gubbins before three minutes had elapsed. All were anxious to hit the ball, no matter where, so long as they hit it, though the general tendency indubitably lay in the direction of the gallery, where the various divinities sat enthroned, watching the doings of their own particular twin souls.

For the first two chukkers there was no score, though this, it must be owned, was chiefly due to the mistaken zeal of the Dragon Flies' Number One, who, forgetful of his good intentions, persisted in trying to hit goals of which he was incapable, instead of devoting his energies to the opposing back and leaving the job to Major Rocket. Had it not been for this, the score would by this time have been very heavy against the Lancers. In the third chukker the disaster so long impending occurred. Rocket, who in the interval had spoken very seriously to Gubbins, at length secured the ball, and with a resounding smack lifted it well over the opposing back's head, when it rolled to within twenty-five yards of the Lancers' goal. Ferrers—the back in question—turned, and slipping the enemy's Number One, made for the ball and ... missed it, leaving Gubbins the chance of his life.

Exultantly the youth raised his stick, and was about to add one more to his already lengthy list of failures, when his arm was paralysed by a roar from behind of "Leave it, you infernal young idiot, leave it, out of the way, confound you!" Though hurt at being thus addressed, the more so as the opprobrious epithet must have reached the owner of a certain pink parasol in the gallery yonder, Gubbins this time managed to restrain his ardour, and obediently sheering off to one side was rewarded by hearing a good clean crack behind him, as the skilful Rocket sent the ball whizzing through the Lancers' goal-post. Instantly arose loud and prolonged applause from the excited gallery, and thus encouraged the Dragon Flies set to work with a will, and by the end of the chukker had scored again twice.

Three to love, two more chukkers to go, and their opponents flushed with success—truly, a bad business for the cavalry team; and faces were troubled and brows gloomy, as they rode slowly away to change their ponies. So far Hector had not distinguished himself. His early upset at the hands of Gubbins had ruffled him badly, and, this disaster having been followed by frequent defeats at the hands of the tricky Rocket, he had finally lost his temper in earnest, with consequent evil results to his play. The recent reverses, however, had affected him very differently from his companions. They were disheartened; he, on the contrary, was thirsting for revenge, and more than ever determined to win the contest, even if it meant the riding down of each individual member of the enemy in turn—indeed, his tactics in the last chukker had evoked more than one indignant cry of "Foul!"

He was now gloomily debating in his mind on whom to commence operations when he came upon the other three standing together, and at sight of the despondency on their faces wrath boiled up in Hector's breast.

"What the devil are you looking so sick for, all of you?" he said angrily. "What if they have got three goals, we can beat them all right. Damme, I'll give you this pony, if we don't!"

They stared at him, and, as they looked, something in his face caused theirs to brighten, and hope once more to dawn in their hearts. In the hour of adversity man will cling to the rottenest straw, but here was a rock, solid and unmoved by the seas in which they were drowning.

"What do you suggest then, Graeme?" said Ferrers, after a pause, oblivious of the fact that he, the hero of many contests, was now asking advice of a novice, of one, moreover, whom he had been wont to consider a fool, so true it is that mere skill and experience must ever bow to strength of personality.

"Do?" said Graeme, seizing the reins of government thus abandoned. "Why, go for them, attack all we know, not merely try to prevent them scoring, as we've been doing up till now. Look here, Ferrers, I'll take charge: you go up 'Two,' I'll take your place at 'Three.' Now, come on, and remember what I say. Force the game for all you're worth. Knock 'em over, doesn't matter, but win we will."

Thus saying, and without a word of protest from his erstwhile captain, Hector led the way into the field, and once more the game started; but this time a very different state of affairs was manifest. The Dragon Flies, so far from attacking now, were soon solely occupied in the endeavour to save their goal from the furious and repeated attacks of the Lancers. For some time they were successful, but the latter would not be denied, and quite outclassing their opponents at length triumphed over the defence, the goal being followed by a second, scored just as the bell rang. Two goals to three, one more chukker to go, and the excitement in the gallery rising, which excitement increased to frenzy when Carruthers in the next few minutes scored one more goal for the Lancers.

Then an unlooked-for misfortune befell them, for Gubbins, by some happy accident, managed to