s ever put on a billiard match before. Why, Jule Hammond alone
has ten thousand on Saunders."

The old man gave a quivering sigh of relief. He was beginning to
understand. The ten thousand, then, was not the figures of a
defalcation.

"Yes," continued the other, "it's the great match for the cup. There's
been a series of games, and this is the culminating one. Prognor has
won one, and Saunders one; now this game settles it. Prognor is the man
of the High Fliers' Club. He's a good one. Saunders won the cup for
this club last year, so they can't kick much if they lose it now.
They've never had a man to touch Saunders in this club since it began.
I doubt if there's another amateur like him in this country. He's a man
to be proud of, although he seemed to go to pieces to-night. They'll
all be down on him to-morrow if they lose their money, although he
don't make anything one way or another. I believe it's the high betting
that's made him so anxious and spoiled his play."

"Hush, hush!" was whispered around the room. Young Saunders had begun
to play. Prognor stood by with a superior smile on his lips. He was
certain to go out when his turn came again.

Saunders played very carefully, taking no risks, and his father watched
him with absorbed, breathless interest. Though he knew nothing of the
game he soon began to see how points were made. The boy never looked up
from the green cloth and the balls. He stepped around the table to his
different positions without hurry, and yet without undue tardiness. All
eyes were fastened on his play, and there was not a sound in the large
room but the ever-recurring click-click of the balls. The father
marvelled at the almost magical command the player had over the ivory
spheres. They came and went, rebounded and struck, seemingly because he
willed this result or that. There was a dexterity of touch, and
accurate measurement of force, a correct estimate of angles, a truth of
the eye, and a muscular control that left the old man amazed that the
combination of all these delicate niceties were concentrated in one
person, and that person his own son.

At last two of the balls lay close together, and the young man, playing
very deftly, appeared to be able to keep them in that position as if he
might go on scoring indefinitely. He went on in this way for some time,
when suddenly the silence was broken by Prognor crying out--

"I don't call that billiards. It's baby play."

Instantly there