Big Fred took up the running, scoring eighteen, an unusually big break for him, and leaving the balls in a well-nigh impossible position. Lindrum did his best, but failed. Then Big Fred ran out.
We looked at one another in blank amazement. The impossible had happened. The Australian champion had been beaten, and by a third-rate amateur.
“Have another game?” said Big Fred.
“I don’t mind,” answered Lindrum.
Big Fred was beaming all over, immensely pleased with himself. “I’ll give you ten start this time,” he said.
There was a perfect roar of laughter at this. We simply couldn’t help it. Big Fred was a good deal puzzled. Also he was somewhat nettled. He couldn’t understand what we were laughing at.
“I’ll bet any of you chaps a quid I win this game also,” he cried.
“Done!” exclaimed half a dozen voices simultaneously, mine amongst them.
Of course the bets were “cod” bets in a sense. That is to say, we should not in any event have taken Big Fred’s money. But he, on the other hand, had a perfect right to demand ours—if he won. But we did not stop to consider that side of the question. We were so perfectly cocksure that he would lose—this time.
But he didn’t. By one of those million-to-one chances that do occasionally come off, he beat Lindrum a second time. Whereupon the champion broke his cue across his knee in a sudden gust of temper.