r." Blaze ran the last three balls from a well-nigh
impossible position, then racked up the whole fifteen with trembling
eagerness and eyed the door expectantly. He was wiping his spectacles
when the proprietor returned with a slim, sallow man whom he introduced
as Mr. Strange.

"Welcome to our city!" Blaze cried, with a flourish of his glasses.
"Get a prod, Mr. Strange, and bust 'em, while I clean my wind-shields.
These fellow-townsmen of mine handle a cue like it was an ox-gad."

Mr. Strange selected a cue, studied the pyramid for an instant, then
called the three ball for the upper left-hand corner, and pocketed it,
following which he ran the remaining fourteen. Blaze watched this
procedure near-sightedly, and when the table was bare he thumped his
cue loudly upon the floor. He beamed upon his opponent; he appeared
ready to embrace him.

"Bueno! There's art, science, and natural aptitude! Fly at 'em again,
Mr. Strange, and take your fill." He finished polishing his spectacles,
and readjusted them. "I aim to make you so comfortable in Jonesville
that---" Blaze paused, he started, and a peculiar expression crept over
his face.

It seemed to Law that his friend actually turned pale; at any rate, his
mouth dropped open and his gaze was no longer hypnotically following
the pool-balls, but was fixed upon his opponent.

Now there were chapters in the life of Blaze Jones that had never been
fully written, and it occurred to Dave that such a one had been
suddenly reopened; therefore he prepared himself for some kind of an
outburst. But Blaze appeared to be numbed; he even jumped nervously
when Mr. Strange missed a shot and advised him that his chance had come.

As water escapes from a leaky pail, so had Jones's fondness for pool
oozed away, and with it had gone his accustomed skill. He shot blindly,
and, much to the general surprise, missed an easy attempt.

"Can't expect to get 'em all," comfortingly observed Mr. Strange as he
executed a combination that netted him two balls and broke the bunch.
After that he proved the insincerity of his statement by clearing the
cloth for a second time. The succeeding frames went much the same, and
finally Blaze put up his cue, mumbling:

"I reckon I must have another chill coming on. My feet are plumb dead."

"Cold feet are sure bad." Strange favored the crowd with a wink.

"I'm sort of sick."

"That's tough!" the victor exclaimed, regretfully. "But I'll tell you
what we'll d