Once before in his life The Maltese Cat had heard that very same stroke played off his own back, and had profited by the confusion it wrought. This time he acted on experience, and leaving Bamboo to guard the goal in case of accidents, came through the others like a flash, head and tail low—Lutyens standing up to ease him—swept on and on before the other side knew what was the matter, and nearly pitched on his head between the Archangels’ goal-post as Lutyens kicked the ball in after a straight scurry of a hundred and fifty yards. If there was one thing more than another upon which The Maltese Cat prided himself, it was on this quick, streaking kind of run half across the ground. He did not believe in taking balls round the field unless you were clearly overmatched. After this they gave the Archangels five-minuted football; and an expensive fast pony hates football because it rumples his temper. Who’s Who showed himself even better than Polaris in this game. He did not permit any wriggling away, but bored joyfully into the scrimmage as if he had his nose in a feed-box and was looking for something nice. Little Shikast jumped on the ball the minute it got clear, and every time an Archangel pony followed it, he found Shikast standing over it, asking what was the matter. “If we can live through this quarter,” said The Maltese Cat, “I sha’n’t care. Don’t take it out of yourselves. Let them do the lathering.” So the ponies, as their riders explained afterwards, “shut-up.” The Archangels kept them tied fast in front of their goal, but it cost the Archangels’ ponies all that was left of their tempers; and ponies began to kick, and men began to repeat compliments, and they chopped at the legs of Who’s Who, and he set his teeth and stayed where he was, and the dust stood up like a tree over the scrimmage until that hot quarter ended. They found the ponies very excited and confident when they went to their saises; and The Maltese Cat had to warn them that the worst of the game was coming. “Now _we_ are all going in for the second time,” said he, “and _they_ are trotting out fresh ponies. You think you can gallop, but you’ll find you can’t; and then you’ll be sorry.” “But two goals to nothing is a halter-long lead,” said Kittiwynk, prancing. “How long does it take to get a goal?” The Maltese Cat answered. “For pity’s sake, don’t run away with a notion that the game is half-won just because we happen to be in luck now! They’ll ride you into the grand stand, if they can; you must _not_ give ’em a chance. Follow the ball.” “Football, as usual?” said Polaris. “My hock’s half as big as a nose-bag.” “Don’t let them have a look at the ball, if you can help it. Now leave me alone. I must get all the rest I can before the last quarter.” He hung down his head and let all his muscles go slack, Shikast, Bamboo, and Who’s Who copying his example.