CUE TYPES.
At the present moment, when the billiard professionals are contesting the palm and Mr. S.H. FRY has re-captured the title of amateur champion seven-and-twenty years after he first won it, there is such interest in the game that a kind of Guide to Billiard Types cannot but be of value. Hence the following classification of players who are to be met with in clubs, country-houses or saloons by any ordinary wielders of the cue. Any reader who has ever endeavoured to master what may be called (by way of inversion) the Three Balls Art has power to add to their number.
The player who, as he drops behind in the game, says so often that it is months since h" touched a cue that your success is robbed of all savour.
The player who is funny and calls the red the Cherry, the Robin, the Cardinal or the Lobster.
The player who comes to the game as to a solemn ritual and neither smiles nor speaks.
The player who keeps on changing his cue and blames each one in turn for his own ineptitude.
The player who can use his left hand as well as his right: a man to be avoided.
The player who whistles while he plays. This is a very deadly companion.
The player who never has a good word for his opponent's efforts.
The player who congratulates you on every stroke: a charming antagonist.
The player who is always jolly whatever buffets he receives from fortune.
The player who talks about every one of his strokes.
The player who swears at most of them.
The player who doubts the accuracy of your scoring. Avoid this one.
The player who hits everything too hard. This is a very exasperating man to meet because fortune usually favours him. Either he flukes immoderately or he does not leave well. He is usually a hearty fellow with no sense of shame. Perhaps he says "Sorry;" but he adds, "It must have been on."
The player who hits everything too gently: the lamb as compared with the previous type, who is a lion. The lamb is good to play with if you prefer winning to a real contest.
The player who groans loudly when you make a fluke.
The player who is accustomed to play on a much faster table than this.
The player who calls the game Pills.
The player who calls it Tuskers.
The player who counts your breaks for you, but whether from interest or suspicion you are not sure.
The player who pots the white when he should and says nothing about it.
The player who pots the white when he should, with a thousand apologies.
The player who pots the white when he shouldn't, with a thousand apologies.
The player who is snappy with the marker.
The player who drops cigar ash on the cloth.
The player who hates to lose.
The player who would much rather that you won. This type is a joy to play with, unless towards the end he too patently ceases to try.
The player who, after the stroke, tells you what you ought to have done.
The player who talks to the balls, particularly to the red. "Now then, red," he says, "don't go into baulk;" or, "Stop just by that pocket;" or "White, don't go down."
The player who has just come from a spectacular match and keeps on trying to reproduce that shot of STEVENSON's.
Ministry Official. "NO NEED TO SCREEN THE LIGHTS NOW, MY BOY. D'YOU THINK THE WAR'S STILL ON?"
Infatuated Office Boy. "I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE MISS JENKINS A BIT OF TOAST, SIR."
"In a licensing prosecution at —— yesterday it was stated that one shilling was charged for a 'drop' of whisky of about one-sixth of a gallon."—Daily Paper.
In the interests of temperance we have suppressed the name of the town at which this bargain was secured.