At Meadow Brook

A soft, green, magic carpet was unrolled at the Meadow Brook Club, L. I., between squat wooden structures, blue as robin's eggs. Into the squat structures poured more men with monocles than ever before gathered in one place in the U. S. Many of them wore suede shoes; blue jackets with brass buttons, and nearly all of them soft grey felt hats. With them their ladies, gay in scarlet and gold, green and white. The squat structures were nearly saturated with rich men, sportsmen, society men and their ladies, when out on the magic carpet the witch- ery which had drawn them from across the world began. Polo ponies, 115, led by bright-turbaned Indians and blue bloused U. S. grooms, wound slowly around the field.

Then came the men; four U. S. men in white, four Englishmen in red and blue. They scampered across the turf on their ponies, hitting the ball for practice. Soon they lined up. J. Watson Webb, No. 1 and spearhead of the U. S. attack nearest the ball; a little behind him Thomas Hitchcock Jr., and Malcolm Stevenson; behind them and nearer the white goal posts where the magic carpet ends Devereux Milburn, grey veteran of every International match since 1909, U. S. captain. Opposite were Major Austin H. Williams, Capt. C. T. I. Roark and Capt. Claude E. Pert, British No. 1, unconventionally drawn back a little to get a swifter rush when the white willow ball, tossed between the teams, began the play. Behind, Major Eric G. Atkinson guarding the far goal posts.

Major Atkinson was guardian of those goal posts for all the millions of the British Empire. With men, horses and money he and his comrades had come 11,000 miles from India to try their fortune at Meadow Brook for the International Polo Cup.

The stern magic of sport thundered across the carpet and the little men on horses waved their bamboo wands. The wand of Thomas Hitchcock waved, and for the first time the goal of Major Atkinson was crossed for a score. The U. S. was leading. Stevenson waved his wand, and the U. S. was ahead by two. Britain rallied, fighting across the carpet toward the U. S. goal. They attacked, missed, attacked and missed again. Then Hitchcock waved his wand again and the score was 3-0. From that moment the event was no longer a contest; the magic of an irresistible team, playing some of the greatest polo ever seen, cheated the charm of the British team, fighting fiercely through a hopeless defeat.

Major Atkinson's wand worked one through for Britain; and again Hitchcock swept in to score. As the fourth period opened, this same Hitchcock drew back his wand with headstrong determination and struck the willow ball. It rose like a golf ball for a midiron over the heads of the players, bounced, bounded through the posts over 100 yards away. Webb scored, Hitchcock scored, Milburn (against whose play at back the British at tack had foamed and fallen like a wave) scored twice; Hitchcock scored, Webb scored twice; Roark scored a second goal for Britain. Webb scored; Pert scored the last stategoal for Britain. Total: U.S. 13, Great Britain 3.

The crowds, voices rough with cheering, rose from the robin's egg blue stands, and settled them selves in $40,000,000 worth of au- tomobiles. F. Ambrose Clark's tal ly-ho wound its horn and dashed away. Out over the magic carpet swarmed 51 brown men, armed with stomps. They mended the magic carpet, smoothing the hoof cuts of the ponies. Next week the magic carpet would be smooth and green again and the thousands gather for the series' second game.