"You look pleased, Mr. Griggs," said Miss Westonhaugh, who had probably
been watching me for a moment or two. "I did not know cynics were ever
pleased."
"I remember who it was that promised to crown the victors of this match,
Miss Westonhaugh, and I cherish some hopes of being one of them. Would
you mind very much?"
"Mind? Oh dear no; you had better try. But if you stand there with your
coat on, you will not have much chance. They are all mounted, and
waiting for you."
"Well, here goes," I said to myself, as I got into the saddle again. "I
hope he may win, but he would find me out in a minute if I tried to play
into his hands." We were only to play the best out of three goals, and
the score was "one all." All eight of us had fresh mounts, and the
experience of each other's play we had got in the preceding games made
it likely that the game would be a long one. And so it turned out.
From the first things went badly. John Westonhaugh's fresh pony was very
wild, and he had to take him a breather half over the ground before he
could take his place for the charge. When at last the first stroke was
made, the ball went low along the ground, spinning and twisting to right
and left. Both Kildare and Isaacs missed it and wheeled across to
return, when a prolonged scrimmage ensued less than thirty yards from
their goal.
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