"Yes, I picked them as the experienced ones," Eaton said quietly.
"The others—two of them, at least—are out for the first time, I think."
They watched the rapid course of the ball up and down the field, the scurry and scamper of the ponies after it, then the clash of a mêlée again.
Two ponies went down, and their riders were flung. When they arose, one of the least experienced boys limped apologetically from the field. Avery rode to the barrier.
"I say, any of you fellows, don't you want to try it? We're just getting warmed up."
Harriet glanced at the group Avery had addressed; she knew nearly all of them—she knew too that none of them were likely to accept the invitation, and that Avery must be as well aware of that as she was. Avery, indeed, scarcely glanced at them, but looked over to Eaton and gave the challenge direct.
"Care to take a chance?"
Harriet Santoine watched her companion; a sudden flush had come to his face which vanished, as she turned, and left him almost pale; but his eyes glowed. Avery's manner in challenging him, as though he must refuse from fear of such a fall as he just had witnessed, was not enough to explain Eaton's start.
"How can I?" he returned.
"If you want to play, you can," Avery dared him. "Furden"—that was the boy who had just been hurt—"will lend you some things; his'll just about fit you; and you can have his mounts."
Harriet continued to watch Eaton; the challenge
