The shriek of a losing hazard rang out on the still night air, And the musical ear of the marker was rent as he jumped from his chair and dashed to the furthermost table, whence the horrible scream had come— Where the Spot-boy, with eyes fixed and glazing, stood trembling—demented—and dumb!
(To slow music, i.e., a crawling cannon.)
At the feet of the marker fell fainting a limp and inanimate heap:— "My Gawd, will you ever forgive me!"—in a voice that would make your flesh creep— "With a cue which I bought from a broker, a cheap two bob cue—with a warp— I played for a B-flat Cannon, and got—an In-off in G sharp!
By the Half-ball I swear I am guiltless of wilful discords in my game.
In Billiard-quartettes and Cue-trios I've acquired, as you know, certain fame.
My top-notes in Nursery Cannons have been beaten by none in the pit, And in Snooker my chest-notes are reckoned to make all professionals quit.
The dulcet and musical cadence of my strokes in the natural C Are surpassed by no amateur cueist, no matter whoe'er he may be.
I can scoop every Pool in G-major—one pot to one beat in the bar— Every ball ringing true as I net it, no flat notes the measure to mar.
In a break of 100 my phrasing is perfect, melodious, sweet; And my" Champagne "is said to be faultless... O, my heart! As I kneel at your feet I grow sick with a hideous loathing of the terrible deed I have done, For how shall I answer my comrades when this horrible crime becomes known?
With a cue which I bought from a broker, a cue at two bob— with a warp— I played for a B-flat Cannon, and got—an In-off in G Sharp.
My Gawd, they will never believe me, and I can't face satirical talk...
My heart... it will break... I believe it's my last...
safety miss... into... baulk..."
He died at the feet of the marker—of shame and a bursting heart.
He'd bartered for two-bob his honour in the Musico- Billiard Art.
We scratched on his tombstone the legend, With a French butted cue (with a warp) "He played for a B-flat Cannon, and got an In-off in G Sharp."