The Olympians also had misspent their youth a little, and Horace Allwright’s father had been a billiard-marker, so it was quite as well, perhaps, that Mary was so skillful, and that Philip was able to say he was a pupil of Mr. John Roberts, Junior. The master might not have been very proud of him, though, to judge by the way he started; but he improved as the game went on, and as Johnny Dubosque knew Stevenson to talk to, the game was quite worth looking at in the opinion of a somewhat saturnine-looking gentleman who sat in the corner drinking Schweppe’s ginger ale, and picking winners out of the Sportsman.
The game was twenty-nine all, and there was only one ball left on the table, and that was “a sitter” on the brink of the left-hand top pocket, which Mary, who had played amazingly well all through, had left there to her unfeigned sorrow. It was all over, bar the shouting, when Toddles proceeded to deliver his cue, for it really was a shot that one who had used his youth as he had done ought not to have missed with his eyes shut.
In the most unaccountable manner the famous center forward missed the shot with his eyes wide open, promptly apostrophized his Maker, and insisted in paying the stakes.
“You did that a-purpose, Mr. Toddles,” said Mary sternly, “and I scorn to take your money. I am not a suffragist yet, but that’s the kind of thing to make me one. Why, a woman can’t even have fair play at a game like snooker.”
Followed a heated controversy. Mr. Toddles would not confess to his guilt, which was really so flagrant that Mary wondered how he dared deny the charge. Horace Allwright and Weary William lied circumstantially to support the misdemeanant, but Mary refused to accept the stakes, and in this we venture to think she was right.
No, Toddles, young friend, it is not the way to produce a race of sportswomen. Your intentions were of the highest, certainly, but your charming opponent had taken such degrees in the school of experience, although she was hardly twenty-four at present, that she didn’t even think it polite.
There was only one method of composing the quarrel, and that was to play the match over again. And this time, it is sad to relate of three excellent sportsmen, good care was taken that there should be no doubt whatever about the issue.
“And now you have taken us on at this game, Shel,” said the first Olympian, “we shall expect you to turn out for us to-morrow against Brighton and Hove Albion.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years.”
“So much the worse for you. The match is for the benefit of the widow and young children of a good chap, and you were always a great draw for the public.”