“Have you any money?” he demanded with some eagerness.
“A little,” I answered. Then the thought came to me that he made his living by tricks and even more questionable means. For all I knew he might have at the back of his head some scheme or other to rob me of what money I had. So I asked him cautiously, “Why?”
“I’m going to double it,” he replied in an off-hand way.
We made directly for the bowling-place. The scrivener strutted over to the men with all the airs of a great baron with an army at his back. He clapped his hands when a good stroke was made. He let out a loud “ah” when the stone rolled out of its track and missed the pins. He capered from one end of the alley to the other, following the stone and talking to it encouragingly as though it had life. He clapped the players on the back. In short he did all in his power to make a show of himself.
From where I stood it struck me that he was acting like a fool. But at that time I did not know the man. I realized that he could masquerade in a dozen different rôles, but I little imagined that he was able to alter the character of his disposition.
Finally the play came to an end. The winner—a tall gaunt man whose name was Nicole—straightened himself and puffed out his chest. The scrivener was on him in an instant. He shook him by the hand. He beamed in his face.
“A master!” he cried. “You can play almost as well as I can play myself.”
Nicole’s smile faded. He looked down at the scrivener and frowned.
“For ten years,” he said, “I’ve beaten every man who has set his foot upon this green.”
The scrivener struck him a hard blow upon the chest. Then he laughed a high mocking laugh.