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. “There’ll be a jolly crowd here!” cried Kenneth. “There’s a party from Cloverdale. We’ll have no end of sport, fellows!” There was a flush in Diamond’s cheeks, and it was plain he was eager for the fray, although he said very little. Just as they were on the point of entering the stable, Stephen Fenton rode out on a handsome pony with four white feet and a general smart look. St. Ives halted in astonishment. “Hello, there!” he cried. “What are you doing with that horse, Steve?” “I’m going to ride him in the match,” answered Fenton, grimly. “I guess not!” exclaimed Kenneth. “I have promised Liner to Mr. Merriwell.” “Can’t help that,” retorted Fenton, with a sneer. “I rode him in the last match.” “And so you should be willing to let somebody else have him to-day. Don’t be piggish, Steve.” The man scowled. “I didn’t suppose anybody would object to letting me have him to-day, and that is why I took him. I see you are afraid of being beaten. What pony did you propose to let me have?” “Any one but that one. I did think of riding Coffin Head, but you may have him.” “Coffin Head! You must think I’m a fool! Why, that old cob is played out, and I’d be a perfect guy on him. You can’t work that on me, Ken.” St. Ives was angry. He showed it in his face and voice. “I don’t care what you ride! You can have anything but Liner.” “And I’ll have Liner!” flung back Fenton, defiantly. “I’ve got him, and I’m going to keep him. What can you do about it? We’ll show you chaps up in great shape.” Then he started the pony up, and rode away toward the green. St. Ives seemed about to follow him. “I’ll make him give that pony up!” he grated. “He has no right to take Liner! If he doesn’t want to play, let him get out.” “I wouldn’t have any trouble with him about it,” said Frank. “If you do, he’ll make a big fuss about our being scared. Let’s look at the other ponies first, anyway.”