“Ninety-nine plays nothing,” said Dick, who was marking. “Better make it a hundred and fifty, hadn’t we, Captain?”
“Well, I’d like to get in a shot,” said the Captain, “before the game is over. Perhaps we had better make it a hundred and fifty, if Mr. Malooney has no objection.”
“Whatever you think right, sir,” said Rory Malooney.
Malooney finished his break for twenty-two, leaving himself hanging over the middle pocket and the red tucked up in baulk.
“Nothing plays a hundred and eight,” said Dick.
“When I want the score,” said the Captain, “I’ll ask for it.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Dick.
“I hate a noisy game,” said the Captain.
The Captain, making up his mind without much waste of time, sent his ball under the cushion, six inches outside baulk.
“What will I do here?” asked Malooney.