thirty-two off the balls before my father began to play. He now took his
place, and by the first stroke displayed a perfect mastery of the game.
There was a sort of languid grace, an indolent elegance about all he
did, that when the stroke required vigor or power made me tremble for
the result; but somehow he imparted the exact amount of force needed,
and the balls moved about here and there as though obedient to some
subtle instinct of which the cue gave a mere sign. He scored forty-two
points in a few minutes, and then drawing himself up, said, "There 's an
eight-stroke now on the table. I 'll give any one three hundred Naps to
two that I do it."

None spoke. "Or I 'll tell you what I 'll do. I 'll take fifty from each
of you and draw the game!" Another as complete silence ensued. "Or here
's a third proposition, Give me fifty between you, and I 'll hand over
the cue to the boy; he shall finish the game."

"Oh, no, sir! I beg you--I entreat--" I began; but already, "Done," had
been loudly uttered by both together, and the bet was ratified.

"Don't be nervous, boy," said my father, handing me his cue. "You see
what's on the balls. You cannon and hold the white, and land the red in
the middle pocket. If you can't do the brilliant thing, and finish the
game with an eight stroke, do the safe one,--the cannon or the hazard.
But, above all, don't lose your stroke, sir. Mind that, for I've a pot
of money on the game."

"I don't think you ought to counsel him, Norcott," said Cleremont. "If
he's a player, he's fit to devise his own game."

"Oh, hang it, no," broke in Hotham; "Norcott has a perfect right to tell
him what's on the table."

"If you object seriously, sir," said my father proudly, "the party is at
an end."

"I put it to yourself," began Cleremont.

"You shall not appeal to me against myself, sir. You either withdraw
your objection, or you maintain it."

"Of course he withdraws it," said Hotham, whose eyes never wandered from
my father's face.

Cleremont nodded a half-unwilling assent.

"You will do me the courtesy to speak, perhaps," said my father; and
every word came from him with a tremulous roll.

"Yes, yes, I agree. There was really nothing in my remark," said
Cleremont, whose self-control seemed taxed to its last limit.

"There, go on, boy, and finish this stupid affair," said my father, and
he turned to the chimney to light his cigar.

I leaned over the table, and a mist seemed to rise befor