“This is jolly!” cried Kenneth St. Ives, as he introduced Frank to Paul Stone, the leader of the party. “I knew something in the way of sport would turn up to-day. Do you play polo, Mr. Merriwell?” “Yes,” nodded Frank, with unusual eagerness; “I have played the game, but it has been some time since I have touched a mallet.” “Mr. Stone is a member of the American Polo Association, as also is Steve Fenton, my cousin. Harden and I have applied, and we expect to get in. Father has caused a beautiful green to be laid over yonder. He has worked upon it till it is as solid as the finest green in the country, and we are looking to enjoy several meets here before we return to the city. We have been having a few games, and I think it is royal sport.” “It is the greatest sport in the world!” exclaimed Paul Stone, enthusiastically. Frank smiled. “It can’t be that you have played much football or baseball, Mr. Stone,” he said. “Baseball hasn’t the dash and go of polo,” declared Stone; “and too many accidents happen at football. It is a dangerous game.” “There is some danger in polo,” said Merry. “Just enough to make it spicy,” declared Stone. “There is not as much danger of getting broken noses and broken necks as in football.” Frank’s blood was beginning to bound in his veins, for the thought of a hot, exciting polo game, with its sharp races and its fierce charges, was quite enough to arouse the sporting instinct within him. He was like a war horse that sniffs the smoke of battle from afar. “Well,” he cried, “if there is to be a polo match, I’d like to get into it.” “You can,” laughed Kenneth. “You shall have Liner, the finest pony in our bunch. That animal knows as much as a human being. Why, he can almost play polo alone!” A short distance away Stephen Fenton was talking with another of the Meadowfair party. He was trying to be sociable in his sullen way, but his ears were open to all that was passing near at hand, and he plainly heard the conversation concerning polo. Kimball, the man Fenton was talking with, also heard something of it, and he exclaimed: “Polo is the very thing! I had thought of a coaching party, but it is too late for that this morning. You’ll play polo, won’t you, Fenton?” “Yes,” nodded Fenton, “I’ll play with your side.” “I think that will be agreeable to Stone,” said Kimball; “but I don’t believe Springbrook will want to give you up.” “Well, I’ll not play with those stiffs,” muttered the sullen-faced fellow. “I want a good opportunity to play against them.” 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.”