“Oh!” said Mr. Pincott, without much interest.
Mr. Lock squinted along his cue, made a shot, and retrieved the red ball from a pocket.
“Mr. Dobb, of Fore Street,” he said.
“Oh, ’im?” said Mr. Pincott.
“Yessir, Mr. Dobb,” went on Mr. Lock; and was silent till he had brought another stroke to fruition. “Looking very pleased with himself, he was, too.”
“Why, was Mr. Lister along with him?” quickly asked Mr. Pincott.
“No, sir, he was alone. He must be finding business very good just at present. He couldn’t help smiling as he walked along, and he stopped and chatted to me as affable as affable. He told me I ought to give up billiard-marking for picture-dealing. He said there was big money to be made at it by a chap who keeps his eyes open. It struck me at the time that it was rather a pity in some ways that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Mind you, sir, I think he’d been—”
Mr. Lock made a pantomimic gesture indicating the assuagement of thirst.
“Ah!” cried Mr. Pincott, with a rising inflexion. “And what else did ’e say?”
“Well, sir, I don’t know as I ought to repeat it, you being a trade rival of his, so to speak,” said Mr. Lock, chalking his cue afresh. “But, after all, he didn’t tell me nothing very definite. It seems—”