Chick consented, although not very cheerfully, and the third game began. Devore won the break and cleaned the table very neatly, winning grudging admiration from Bert. Chick went well for a while, only to miss an easy shot, and Devore pocketed the remaining balls. After the next break, Devore, with the game practically won, scratched, and Chick ran seven before over-anxiety caused his Waterloo. Bert had never seen Chick so concerned about the winning of a game of pool as he was now, and he wondered. The miss had put him in a black temper, and he sat slumped in a chair while Devore expertly and almost apologetically ran out, taking the winning ball on a double bank.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” exclaimed Chick impetuously. “I’ll play you just one more of twenty-five for two dollars! Come on now if you’re a sportsman! What do you say?”
Devore shook his head. “No, sir, I’m through, Buddy. I know when I’m well off, see? I had luck that time, but—”
“Afraid, eh?” asked Chick. “I’ll say you had luck! Come on, don’t be a quitter!”
Devore smiled but shook his head again, returning his cue to its locked box. “Honest, I’ve got to beat it, Chick. So have you. I’ll play you again Monday night. How’s that?”
“What time is it, anyway?” Chick looked at his watch and shrugged disappointedly. “Oh, all right. Monday night then. Better bring your horse-shoe along again, old man, for I’m going to show you some real pool! Let’s settle up.”
“Outside,” said Devore. “Mooney’s sort of strict, and what he don’t know won’t hurt him.”
Bert followed them down the hall, dodging the butts of busy cues, through an atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke. Chick stopped at a desk and paid his score and then they were outside and Bert drew a long breath of the cool air with vast relief. Chick peeled a dollar from a small wad of bills and Devore carelessly thrust it into a pocket. “Well, good night, you guys,” he said. “See you Monday night, Chick?”
“You bet you will, you lucky coot,” replied Chick. “Good night!” Bert set a fast pace toward school, for it was well after the half-hour, and since the sidewalks were still crowded with the usual Saturday night throng, progress was slow and conversation difficult. It wasn’t until they had reached the comparatively empty stretch of State street that Chick voiced his disgust. “If you hadn’t been so keen on getting back,” he declared, “I’d have beaten that game. You don’t get a chance when you’re playing only twenty-five points and the other fellow has the first break. I’d be three dollars to the good instead of a dollar out; nearly two dollars out counting what I had to pay at the desk!”
“Mean to say you were playing for two dollars a game?” asked Bert incredulously.