e of accidents,
but it upset the pony nevertheless, and he blundered into another, who
blundered into the left-hand post, and then there was confusion and dust
and wood. Bamboo was lying on the ground, seeing stars; an Archangel
pony rolled beside him, breathless and angry; Shikast had sat down
dog-fashion to avoid falling over the others, and was sliding along on
his little bobtail in a cloud of dust; and Powell was sitting on the
ground, hammering with his stick and trying to cheer. All the others
were shouting at the top of what was left of their voices, and the men
who had been spilt were shouting too. As soon as the people saw no
one was hurt, ten thousand native and English shouted and clapped and
yelled, and before any one could stop them the pipers of the Skidars
broke on to the ground, with all the native officers and men behind
them, and marched up and down, playing a wild Northern tune called
"Zakhme Began," and through the insolent blaring of the pipes and the
high-pitched native yells you could hear the Archangels' band hammering,
"For they are all jolly good fellows," and then reproachfully to the
losing team, "Ooh, Kafoozalum! Kafoozalum! Kafoozalum!"

Besides all these things and many more, there was a Commander-in-chief,
and an Inspector-General of Cavalry, and the principal veterinary
officer of all India standing on the top of a regimental coach, yelling
like school-boys; and brigadiers and colonels and commissioners, and
hundreds of pretty ladies joined the chorus. 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. I've an idea he's saved my life," said Lutyens, getting
off and lying down at full length. Both teams were on the ground too,
waving their boots in the air, and coughing and drawing deep breaths,
as the saises ran up to take away the ponies, and an officious
water-carrier sprinkled the players with dirty water till they sat up.

"My aunt!" said Powell, rubbing his back, and looking at the stumps of
the goal-posts, "That was a game!"

They played it over again, every stroke of it, that night at the big
dinner, when the Free-for-All Cup was filled and passed