ute. Behind the saises sat as many of the Skidars' regiment as had
leave to attend the match--about half the native officers, and a hundred
or two dark, black-bearded men with the regimental pipers nervously
fingering the big, beribboned bagpipes. The Skidars were what they call
a Pioneer regiment, and the bagpipes made the national music of half
their men. The native officers held bundles of polo-sticks, long
cane-handled mallets, and as the grand stand filled after lunch they
arranged themselves by ones and twos at different points round the
ground, so that if a stick were broken the player would not have far to
ride for a new one. An impatient British Cavalry Band struck up "If you
want to know the time, ask a p'leeceman!" and the two umpires in light
dust-coats danced out on two little excited ponies. The four players of
the Archangels' team followed, and the sight of their beautiful mounts
made Shiraz groan again.

"Wait till we know," said The Maltese Cat. "Two of 'em are playing in
blinkers, and that means they can't see to get out of the way of their
own side, or they may shy at the umpires' ponies. They've all got white
web-reins that are sure to stretch or slip!"

"And," said Kittiwynk, dancing to take the stiffness out of her, "they
carry their whips in their hands instead of on their wrists. Hah!"

"True enough. No man can manage his stick and his reins and his whip
that way," said The Maltese Cat. "I've fallen over every square yard of
the Malta ground, and I ought to know."

He quivered his little, flea-bitten withers just to show how satisfied
he felt; but his heart was not so light. Ever since he had drifted into
India on a troop-ship, taken, with an old rifle, as part payment for
a racing debt, The Maltese Cat had played and preached polo to the
Skidars' team on the Skidars' stony pologround. Now a polo-pony is like
a poet. If he is born with a love for the game, he can be made. The
Maltese Cat knew that bamboos grew solely in order that poloballs might
be turned from their roots, that grain was given to ponies to keep them
in hard condition, and that ponies were shod to prevent them slipping on
a turn. But, besides all these things, he knew every trick and device of
the finest game in the world, and for two seasons had been teaching the
others all he knew or guessed.

"Remember," he said for the hundredth time, as the riders came up, "you
must play together, and you must play with your heads. Whate