"Enough said," replied Tom. "I am always on hand for most any kind of a ball."
As I looked at the pleasing features and intelligent countenance of the young man, a pang of sorrow shot through my heart, to think that over his head the invisible sword of justice was even now suspended. But such reflections are unprofitable, inasmuch as they tend to unfit one for the discharge of painful duty. So I dismissed them as far as I could, and applied myself to my double game—
| "Rolling down at once, by a double stroke. A man, as well as a pin." |
The first roll of my new antagonist shook my faith in the feasibility of my plan, for the ball went clattering among the wooden platoons like the grape-shot at Balaklava, and in an instant ten block heads bit the dust.
"A rather bad beginning," thought I; "but I don't believe he can do that again."
Comforting myself with this reflection, I applied all the practical and theoretical skill I was master of, to vanquish my experienced foe. I called to mind my long dormant and slender knowledge about the angles of incidence and reflection. I considered the nature of resultant forces, and the effect which a ball impinging on pin A would have upon the uprightness of its neighbors, B, C, &c. I thus devised theoretical "ten strikes," which (doubtless from some defect in the reasoning) would fall short of my ideal standard by as much as four or five pins; and on several occasions, the ball strayed almost innocuously through the ranks, prostrating only one or two of the outposts. I had a few transient gleams of light when my adversary grew somewhat careless, perhaps from continued success; but darkness soon returned upon my prospects, and I saw in my mind's eye the money coming from my pocket and not his.
We held but little conversation during the progress of our game, for my thoughts were preoccupied with my ultimate object, and L. made no great effort to overcome my taciturnity; yet some casual remarks were made which showed that he identified me as the person who inquired for letters for "Robert Marshall, railroad contractor."
After playing thus for some time, he invited me to take a glass of ale, which proposition I gladly accepted, as it would give me one more chance to know something about the contents of his pocket book. I began to think that my toils were nearly over, and as we stood imbibing the fluid, I could hardly wait until the glasses were emptied, in my impatience to see the bank-note produced which was to settle at once the bill, and him.
Delusive anticipations! The credit system interposed to crush my hopes, for L. said to the bar-tender, "Put it down to me, Jim."
As "Jim" put it down, I felt put down, and followed my companion back to the alley as humbly as if we had changed places, and I was the suspected one.