"But I haven't begun yet," she said. "Well, I suppose you know the rules, but it seems funny. What would you like me to do?"
"Well, there isn't much on. You'd better just try and hit the red ball."
"Right." She leant over the table and took long and careful aim. I held my breath.... Still she aimed.... Then keeping her chin on the cue, she slowly turned her head and looked up at me with a thoughtful expression.
"Oughtn't there to be three balls on the table?" she said, wrinkling her forehead.
"No," I answered shortly.
"But why not?"
"Because I went down by mistake."
"But you said that when you got going, you wanted---- I can't argue bending down like this." She raised herself slowly. "You said----Oh, all right, I expect you know. Anyhow, I have scored some already, haven't I?"
"Yes. You're eighteen to my nothing."
"Yes. Well, now I shall have to aim all over again." She bent slowly over her cue. "Does it matter where I hit the red?"
"Not much. As long as you hit it on the red part."
She hit it hard on the side, and both balls came into baulk.
"Too good," I said.
"Does either of us get anything for it?"
"No." The red and white were close together, and I went up the table and down again, on the off-chance of a cannon. I misjudged it, however.
"That's three to you," I said stiffly, as I took my ball out of the right-hand bottom pocket. "Twenty-one to nothing."
"Funny how I'm doing all the scoring," said Celia meditatively. "And I've practically never played before. I shall hit the red hard now and see what happens to it."
She hit, and the red coursed madly about the table, coming to rest near the top right-hand pocket and close to the cushion. With a forcing shot I could get in.
"This will want a lot of chalk," I said pleasantly to Celia, and gave it plenty. Then I let fly....
"Why did that want a lot of chalk?" said Celia with interest.
I went to the fireplace and picked my ball out of the fender.
"That's three to you," I said coldly. "Twenty-four to nothing."
"Am I winning?"
"You're leading," I explained. "Only, you see, I may make a twenty at any moment."
"Oh!" She thought this over. "Well, I may make my three at any moment."
She chalked her cue and went over to her ball.
"What shall I do?"
"Just touch the red on the right-hand side," I said, "and you'll go into the pocket."
"The right-hand side? Do you mean my right-hand side or the ball's?"
"The right-hand side of the ball, of course; that is to say, the side opposite your right-hand."
"But its right-hand side is opposite my left hand, if the ball is facing this way."
"Take it," I said wearily, "that the ball has its back to you."
"How rude of it," said Celia, and hit it on the left-hand side, and sank it. "Was that what you meant?"
"Well ... it's another way of doing it."
"I thought it was. What do I give you for that?"
"You get three."
"Oh, I thought the other person always got the marks. I know the last three times----"
"Go on," I said freezingly. "You have another turn."
"Oh, is it like rounders?"
"Something. Go on, there's a dear. It's getting late."
She went, and left the red over the middle pocket.
"A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then. This is the Grey stroke, you know."
I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled slowly up the table.
"Why is that called the Grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest.
"Because once, when Sir Edward Grey was playing the German Ambassador--but it's rather a long story. I'll tell you another time."
"Oh! Well, anyhow, did the German Ambassador get anything for it?"
"No."
"Then I suppose I don't. Bother." "But you've only got to knock the red in for game."
"Oh!... There, what's that?"
"That's a miscue. I get one."
"Oh!... Oh, well," she added magnanimously, "I'm glad you've started scoring. It will make it more interesting for you."
There was just room to creep in off the red, leaving it still over the pocket. With Celia's ball nicely over the other pocket there was a chance of my twenty break. "Let's see," I said, "how many do I want?"
"Twenty-nine," replied Celia.
"Ah," I said ... and I crept in.
"That's three to you," I said icily. "Game."
XXXIX. BACHELOR RELICS
"Do you happen to want," I said to Henry, "an opera hat that doesn't op? At least it only works one side."
"No," said Henry.
"To any one who buys my opera hat for a large sum I am giving away four square yards of linoleum, a revolving bookcase, two curtain rods, a pair of spring-grip dumb-bells and an extremely patent mouse-trap."
"No," said Henry again.
"The mouse-trap," I pleaded, "is unused. That is to say, no mouse has used it yet. My mouse-trap has never been blooded."
"I don't want it myself," said Henry, "but I know a man who does."
"Henry, you know everybody. For Heaven's sake introduce me to your friend. Why does he particularly want a mouse-trap?"
"He doesn't. He wants anything that's old. Old clothes, old carpets, anything that's old he'll buy."
He seemed to be exactly the man I wanted.
"Introduce me to your fellow clubman," I said firmly.
That evening I wrote to Henry's friend, Mr. Bennett. "Dear Sir," I wrote, "if you would call upon me to-morrow I should like to show you some really old things, all genuine antiques. In particular I would call your attention to an old opera hat of exquisite workmanship, and a mouse-trap of chaste and handsome design. I have also a few yards of Queen Anne linoleum of a circular pattern which I think will please you. My James the First spring-grip dumb-bells and Louis Quatorze curtain-rods are well known to connoisseurs. A genuine old