Frank Merriwell's Champions Part 37

"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 pa.s.sing 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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.