THE MALTESE CAT
to be helped up, and Grey Dawn rose with his near hind-leg strained somewhere.
"What 's the damage?" said Powell, his arm around Lutyens.
"Collar-bone, of course," said Lutyens, between his teeth. It was the third time he had broken it in two years, and it hurt him. Powell and the others whistled.
"Game 's up," said Hughes.
"Hold on. We ' ve five good minutes yet, and it is n't my right hand. We 'll stick it out."
"I say," said the Captain of the Archangels, trotting up, "are you hurt, Lutyens? We 'll wait if you care to put in a substitute. I wish—I mean—the fact is, you fellows deserve this game if any team does. 'Wish we could give you a man, or some of our ponies—or something."
"You 're awfully good, but we 'll play it to a finish, I think."
The Captain of the Archangels stared for a little. "That 's not half bad," he said, and went back to his own side, while Lutyens borrowed a scarf from one of his native officers and made a sling of it. Then an Archangel galloped up with a big bath-sponge, and advised Lutyens to put it under his armpit to ease his shoulder, and between them they tied up his left arm scientifically; and one of the native officers leaped forward with four long glasses that fizzed and bubbled.
The team looked at Lutyens piteously, and he nodded. It was the last quarter, and nothing would matter after that. They drank out the dark golden drink, and