In a short time it was arranged. For Springbrook, St. Ives, Harden, Merriwell and Diamond were the players; for Meadowfair, Stone, Kimball, Fenton and a jolly young man by the name of Lock were to handle the mallets.
“Come, Mr. Diamond and Mr. Merriwell,” called Kenneth; “I will provide you with suits.”
They followed him into the summerhouse, where such paraphernalia was kept, and in a short time all three were rigged out in white breeches, striped blouses and high boots.
“You will find Liner a dandy polo pony, Mr. Merriwell,” declared Kenneth. “Father paid nine hundred dollars for him.”
“It’s jolly good of you to let me have him, St. Ives,” said Frank. “Why don’t you ride him yourself? I don’t feel like taking him away from you.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed Kenneth. “You are my guest. I’ll ride Coffin Head.”
“Coffin Head! What a name for a horse!”
“He’s an old-timer—a gone-by; but he knows the game, and that is something in his favor. Of course, I do not expect to cut much ice with him, but I want Diamond to have a good mount. Coffin Head has seen his day, but he has been a dandy.”
Frank mentally decided that St. Ives was a fine fellow, and all right in every way.
They went out to the stable, hearing the ringing sound of a coach horn, and seeing a coaching party approaching along the road.