Hector Graeme

by Evelyn Brentwood

"What do you suggest then, Graeme?" said Ferrers, after a pause, oblivious of the fact that he, the hero of many contests, was now asking advice of a novice, of one, moreover, whom he had been wont to consider a fool, so true it is that mere skill and experience must ever bow to strength of personality.

"Do?" said Graeme, seizing the reins of government thus abandoned. "Why, go for them, attack all we know, not merely try to prevent them scoring, as we've been doing up till now. Look here, Ferrers, I'll take charge: you go up 'Two,' I'll take your place at 'Three.' Now, come on, and remember what I say. Force the game for all you're worth. Knock 'em over, doesn't matter, but win we will."

Thus saying, and without a word of protest from his erstwhile captain, Hector led the way into the field, and once more the game started; but this time a very different state of affairs was manifest. The Dragon Flies, so far from attacking now, were soon solely occupied in the endeavour to save their goal from the furious and repeated attacks of the Lancers. For some time they were successful, but the latter would not be denied, and quite outclassing their opponents at length triumphed over the defence, the goal being followed by a second, scored just as the bell rang. Two goals to three, one more chukker to go, and the excitement in the gallery rising, which excitement increased to frenzy when Carruthers in the next few minutes scored one more goal for the Lancers.

Then an unlooked-for misfortune befell them, for Gubbins, by some happy accident, managed to fluke a subsidiary, and for a moment demoralisation again hovered over the cavalry team. Graeme, however, rallied his men in time, and for a while the game surged equally backwards and forwards up the ground; but a few minutes only remained, and hope was rapidly dying in the hearts of the Lancers' supporters when the last chance arrived. Graeme slipped the opposing Number Three, and securing the ball drove it clean and hard up the ground; galloping on, he followed this up by another not quite so straight, the ball rising in the air and settling within thirty yards of the Dragon Flies' goal. There it lay, a fair white sphere, right in front of Ferrers; a possible near-side shot, but most unlikely.

With passionate, strained attention Hector watched Ferrers' approach, his whole will-power concentrated on the striker, till the surrounding world, the roar of the crowd, the thud of galloping hoofs had passed from sight and hearing, and nothing remained save that flying figure before him. "You shall not miss it," he breathed, "you shall not." He saw the uplifted arm descend, he heard a great shouting, mingled with the clang of the time-bell, and then for a moment all was darkness, till, the mists slowly lifting from his brain, he found himself alone, some fifty yards away from the ground, his pony heaving and gasping beneath him. For a moment he sat, gazing vacantly around, and then, dismounting, slipped his arm through the reins, and led the sweating beast back to the waiting sais.

No one noticed his movements, every one being too excited by the recent sensational finish, and engaged in the laudation of Ferrers, who was the hero of the hour. Justly too, for such a shot at such a crisis had never before been witnessed on the Shiraz ground. Even Crawler was mollified and expressed satisfaction with the play on the whole, though he was of opinion that the Lancers, being better mounted, ought to have won by more, and would probably have done so but for Graeme, who, he noticed, had hardly once struck the ball. He was inclined to think that Ferrers' shot was a fluke, and this remark having given rise to some difference of opinion, the hero himself was approached and asked to give an account of the circumstance. This proved somewhat vague and unsatisfactory.

"Truth is, you fellows," he said, "I really don't remember much about it. I recollect seeing the ball sittin' there, and thinking how bally awful it'd be to miss the beastly thing, and then, well, then I found I'd scored a goal. Rather extraordinary feelin' it was, couldn't do it again, I know."

"Rot, old boy," said Kinley, known in his regiment as "Porky," on account of his appearance and appetite, "of course you could do it again. Tell you what, give you a dozen tries now, and back you for a quid a time. Who'll take?"

A chorus of assent arose, for the wise always took up Porky's bets. A move was made back to the polo ground, and the ball placed in its former position, the succeeding events resulting in the speculator's return to his quarters an hour later a poorer man by twelve golden sovereigns. "Silly fool I was," he mused as he went, "but then I always am a silly fool over the bets I make."

Graeme also came in for a share of the general applause, it being agreed that he had played well; quite wonderfully for a beginner, though of course he wanted experience and knowledge of the game. Still, he had not been the weakness they expected. Ferrers went even further, declaring that Graeme had been the stay of their side, and though, when the first feelings of gratitude had worn off, he recanted somewhat, he now proclaimed the fact aloud and announced his intention of proceeding forthwith to Mrs. Graeme to inform her of his opinion. Lucy, however, was not to be found, for she had seen that to which the others were blind, and had flown forthwith across the ground to where Hector was standing slowly donning his coat and sweater.