"All right."
Just yawning, and not even stopping to place the ball,—you see, he was not made of stone,—now just notice what he said. "We are playing for money," says he, "and not for chips."
But this man puzzled me worse than all the rest. Well, then, when the big man left, the prince says to the new bárin, "Wouldn't you like," says he, "to play a game with me?"
"With pleasure," says he.
He sat there, and looked rather foolish, indeed he did. He may have been courageous in reality; but, at all events, he got up, went over to the billiard-table, and did not seem flustered as yet. He was not exactly flustered, but you couldn't help seeing that he was not quite at his ease.
Either his clothes were a little too new, or he was embarrassed because everybody was looking at him; at any rate, he seemed to have no energy. He sort of sidled up to the table, caught his pocket on the edge, began to chalk his cue, dropped his chalk.
Whenever he hit the ball, he always glanced around, and reddened. Not so the prince. He was used to it; he chalked and chalked his hand, tucked up his sleeve; he goes and sits down when he pockets the ball, even though he is such a little man.
They played two or three games; then I notice the prince puts up the cue, and says, "Would you mind telling me your name?"
"Nekhliudof," says he.
Says the prince, "Was your father commander in the corps of cadets?"