The Colonel
immediately strides round the table to where his command is clinging
to the cushion, lifts the ball to convince himself that there is a
spot on its surface, plants it back in a slightly more favourable
position, and with one thrust of his cue projects it into open
country. He then leaves the table without awaiting the result and
resumes his pipe.
The Adjutant now compiles a fifteen break, pauses, notices the
Colonel's inattention, and with typical lack of true discipline
pots his opponent's ball and leaves the others in baulk. A horrified
silence ensues. The Colonel, without noticing the delicacy of the
situation, playfully slopes his "hipe" and marches back to the table.
The awful truth is instantly laid bare. The colour of his face becomes
of an imperial shade. He dumbly fumbles for his ball, which, with a
last bid for exemption, eludes his fingers and rolls under the table.
Taking advantage of this the Colonel, with one glance of concentrated
hate in the direction of his opponent, grapples with his choler, and
by the time that his ball is returned under escort, has partially
recovered himself.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56