attached our hero's legs held, it is true, but he naturally lost his
balance, and, being knocked to the right, disappeared temporarily from the
Baron's view. But the force of his swing was such that, at the moment when
he was head downwards under the horse, he still had enough way on to bring
him up again on the other side. No sooner had he regained a vertical
position than the Baron repeated the blow on the same spot and with the
same result.

Then the same thing happened again and again; and indeed Sir Bowles might
have revolved indefinitely, to the intense delight of the distinguished
audience, had not the string broken at the thirty-fourth revolution.

Now the involuntary movements of our hero had accelerated at every turn,
and when finally he parted company with his trusty steed he was going very
fast indeed. Falling near the edge of the lists, he found touch, first
bounce, in the Royal Box, whence some officious persons rolled him back
again into the field of play.

It must not be supposed that poor Sir Bowles was comfortable during these
proceedings. The rather ingenious apparatus whereby he had hoped to catch a
glimpse of his adversary had got out of order at the first onslaught, and
he was in total darkness. Moreover, he soon discovered that the haughty
Baron was taking all sorts of liberties with him; was slogging him round
the lists; in short, was playing polo with him.

But apart from the physical and mental discomfort of his situation he was
not actually hurt, and at length he felt himself come to rest. The Baron,
worn out by his unproductive labours, was thinking.

So was Bowles. He was just saying to himself, "Thank heaven I thought of