Dick took pains. He studied his shots, and got the balls across the line at one corner and worked them there with great skill, beginning to pile up point after point. His playing brought applause, Merry giving it as readily and honestly as the others.
Ten—twenty points he ran without a break. It was a grand exhibition of skill. Inza was watching with intense earnestness, and again Merry fancied she might be anxious for Dick to win. Then, at a critical point, came a miscue, and Dick’s run came to an end with him just three points behind Frank.
“You gave me a shock, then,” confessed Merry, as he made ready to play. “You had ’em going, and I didn’t know that you were ever going to stop.”
“It was my opportunity,” declared Starbright regretfully. “If I had not made that miscue!”
“That’s the way in this world,” philosophized Ready. “Just as we have the balls rolling our way and everything looks bright and radiant, we slip a cog and fall down with a slam. It’s sad and disgusting, but true—alas!”
“Will somebody be good enough to smother him,” mumbled Browning. “Makes me think of Dismal Jones.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Jack, with his old flippant air. “Refuse me! Let’s be merry. Why does a chicken cross the road? Don’t hit me! My fingers are crossed.”
Frank had seen enough to know now that Starbright was a brilliant billiard-player, and more than ever he was determined to do his level best. Nevertheless, Merry was somewhat rusty, and thus it happened that he missed his fifth shot.
“Now’s your chance, Dick!” exclaimed Dashleigh, who was acting as marker. “You can get the lead right here.”
The shot was a very hard one.