“I might,” observed Bob tentatively. Oh, if he only could!
“However, I hardly think you will,” remarked the other in his heaviest manner. “By the way, you play pretty good billiards.”
“Thanks awfully. Want to play?”
“Don’t mind.” And the hammer-thrower took down a cue.
“I should dearly like to beat you,” said Bob in wistful tones.
“And I should as dearly like not to be beaten by you, or any one else,” returned the other.
“I know,” conceded Bob, not without a touch of admiration, “you’re a great chap for winning prizes and things. You’ve taken no end of cups, haven’t you? I mean, legitimately.”
“Yes; I usually go in to win.” The other professed not to hear Bob’s last words.
“And you’ve been feted some, in consequence, too, haven’t you?” said Bob suddenly. “You were at the Duke of Somberland’s, I remember.” Meaningly. He remembered, too, that articles of great value had disappeared from the duke’s place at the same time.
“I believe I was. Met no end of interesting people!”