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Updated: June 13, 2025
Then an Archangel galloped up with a big bath-sponge, and advised Lutyens to put it under his armpit to ease his shoulder, and between them they tied up his left arm scientifically; and one of the native officers leaped forward with four long glasses that fizzed and bubbled. The team looked at Lutyens piteously, and he nodded. It was the last quarter, and nothing would matter after that.
Their captain shouted his orders to them by name, and it is a curious thing that if you call his name aloud in public after an Englishman you make him hot and fretty. Lutyens said nothing to his men, because it had all been said before. He pulled up Shiraz, for he was playing "back," to guard the goal. Powell on Polaris was half-back, and Macnamara and Hughes on Corks and Kittiwynk were forwards.
But The Maltese Cat stood with his head down, wondering how many legs were left to him; and Lutyens watched the men and ponies pick themselves out of the wreck of the two goal-posts, and he patted The Maltese Cat very tenderly. "I say," said the Captain of the Archangels, spitting a pebble out of his mouth, "will you take three thousand for that pony as he stands?" "No thank you.
Bamboo and Who's Who shortened stride to give The Cat room, and Lutyens got the goal with a clean, smooth, smacking stroke that was heard all over the field. But there was no stopping the ponies. They poured through the goalposts in one mixed mob, winners and losers together, for the pace had been terrific.
It was as neat an exhibition as fancy figure-skating. Lutyens hit with all the strength he had left, but the stick slipped a little in his hand, and the ball flew off to the left instead of keeping close to the boundary. Who's Who was far across the ground, thinking hard as he galloped.
It was close to the end of the play, and for the tenth time Grey Dawn was bolting after the ball, when his near hind-foot slipped on the greasy mud, and he rolled over and over, pitching Lutyens just clear of the goal-post; and the triumphant Archangels made their goal.
"What are you doing here?" said Hughes, as The Cat crossed in front of him and rode off an Archangel. "The Cat's in charge mind the goal!" shouted Lutyens, and bowing forward hit the ball full, and followed on, forcing the Archangels towards their own goal. "No football," said The Maltese Cat. "Keep the ball by the boundaries and cramp 'em. Play open order, and drive 'em to the boundaries."
They drank out the dark golden drink, and wiped their moustaches, and things looked more hopeful. The Maltese Cat had put his nose into the front of Lutyens' shirt and was trying to say how sorry he was. "He knows," said Lutyens, proudly. "The beggar knows. I've played him without a bridle before now for fun." "It's no fun now," said Powell. "But we haven't a decent substitute."
"If we win you can do what you please," said Lutyens, with a smile, as he slipped the loop of his stick over his wrist, and wheeled to canter to his place. The Archangels' ponies were a little bit above themselves on account of the many-coloured crowd so close to the ground.
"You Arabs can't gallop fast enough to keep yourselves warm that's what Kitty means," said Polaris, limping to show that his hock needed attention. "Are you playing back, Grey Dawn?" "'Looks like it," said Grey Dawn, as Lutyens swung himself up. Powell mounted The Rabbit, a plain bay country-bred much like Corks, but with mulish ears.
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