“The cigars are good ones. I smoke them myself,” said Lionel, quietly.
“Anyhow, they are not fit to offer to a gentleman,”
“I did not offer them to a gentleman. You helped yourself.”
“Of course I did,” he answered, not comprehending the irony of Lionel’s remark. “And deuced bad smokes they are.”
Lionel played and ran his score up to ninety-eight.
“Two more will make you game,” said Kester.
“Two more would not have made him game if he hadn’t played with my ball instead of his own,” said Osmond, his lips livid with rage.
“I have not played with your ball instead of my own, Mr. Osmond.”
“I repeat that you have. After the second cannon in your last break, you played with the wrong ball. You cannoned again, and then resumed play with your own ball.”
“You are mistaken—indeed you are,” said Lionel, earnestly.