"Well," says I, "you give me a half-ruble, and I crawl under the table."
Of course, as he had never seen that sort of thing, it seemed strange to him: he laughs.
"Go ahead," says he.
"Very well," says I, "only you must give me odds."
"What!" says he, "are you a worse player than I am?"
"Most likely," says I. "We have few players who can be compared with you."
We began to play. He certainly had the idea that he was a crack shot. It was a caution to see him shoot; but the Pole sat there, and kept shouting out every time,—
"Ah, what a chance! ah, what a shot!"
But what a man he was! His ideas were good enough, but he didn't know how to carry them out. Well, as usual I lost the first game, crawled under the table, and grunted.
Thereupon Oliver and the Pole jumped down from their seats, and applauded, thumping with their cues.