As we wheeled quickly, I saw that one of
the other two men on our side had stopped it and was beginning to
"dribble" it along. This was very bad play, both Westonhaugh and I being
so far forward, and it met its reward. Isaacs and Kildare raced down on
him, but the latter soon pulled up on finding himself passed, and
waited. Isaacs rushed upon the temporising player and got the ball away
from him in no time; eluded the other man, and with a neat stroke sent
the ball right between the poles. The game had hardly lasted three
minutes, and a little sound of clapping was heard from where the
spectators were standing, far off on one side. I could see Miss
Westonhaugh plainly, as she cantered with her uncle to where the victors
were standing together on the other side, patting their ponies and
adjusting stirrup and saddle. Isaacs had his back turned, but wheeled
round as he heard the sound of hoofs behind him and bowed low in his
saddle to the fair girl, whose face, I could see even at that distance,
was flushed with pleasure. They remained a few minutes in conversation,
and then the two spectators rode away, and we took up our positions once
more.
The next game was a much longer one. It was the turn of the other party
to hit off, for Kildare won the charge. There were encounters of all
kinds; twice the ball was sent over the line, but outside the goal, by
long sweeping blows from Isaacs, who ever hovered on the edge of the
scrimmage, and, by his good riding, and the help of a splendid pony,
often had a chance where another would have had none.
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