“And weren’t you at Lord Tumford’s?” Bob recalled reading how jewels had mysteriously vanished in the case of Lord Tumford’s guests, also.
“Yes, got asked over for the shooting. Believe I did very well for an American not accustomed to the British method of slaughter.”
“No doubt,” said Bob. The hammer-thrower was getting bigger in his way every moment. Now he had become an operator of international importance.
“Speaking about winning, you were on the losing team at college, weren’t you?” he observed significantly.
“Quite so!” answered Bob. “We worked awfully hard and ought to have won, but fate, I guess, was against us.”
“We,” said the hammer-man in his ponderous way, “are fate. Arbiters of our destinies! We succeed, or we don’t. And when we fail, it is we that fail. Fate hasn’t anything to do with it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” assented Bob. “I don’t know. Anyhow, it’s a test of true sportsmanship to know how to lose.”
“Not to whine, you mean? True. But it’s better not to lose. Now go ahead and try to beat me.”
Bob tried his best. He let the other name the game and the number of points, and for a time it was nip and tuck. Once Bob ran a string of seventy. Then the hammer-thrower made one hundred and one. His playing was brilliant. Some of the heaviness seemed to have departed from his big frame. His steps nearly matched Bob’s for litheness while his big fingers handled the cue almost daintily. All the inner force of the man seemed focused on the task of winning. He had made up his mind he couldn’t lose. Bob was equally determined, too, not to lose.
The game seemed symbolical of that bigger game they were playing as adversaries, and more and more Bob realized here was an opponent not to be despised. He was resourceful, delicate, subtle, as he permitted Bob now to gaze behind that shield of heaviness. He had never before exhibited his real self at the table, playing heretofore in ponderous fashion, but this time, perhaps, he experienced a secret delight in tantalizing an enemy. Those big fingers seemed capable of administering a pretty hard squeeze when the hour arrived; they might even not hesitate at a death-clutch. The game now was very close.