"It appears to me," said Minerva on Boxing Day," as if only the dumb, the blind, and the deaf, stood any chance of becoming proficient in billiards, according to some people. A healthy, reasonable, rational being is nowhere, so far as I can make out. I call it downright mean!"
"What's the matter now?" I asked.
"I have been reading that book you gave me as a Christmas present—especially the passage you marked about the 'billiard temperament,' thank you. Even if I did lose my temper on Christmas Eve there was no occasion to put it on record. Besides, I had hard luck, and you know it.
That game was mine, not yours, according to all ethical principles. Oh, you may sit there and smile in that superior masculine way, but you know you never won the game.
I lost it. And if you want to know, anyone will tell you the difference between actually winning a game off your own cue and claiming a game your opponent has lost through misfortune Well?"
"I made no remark," I observed.
"No; but you smiled. You always smile that horrid smile when you think you have won."
"One may smile, and smile, and not be a villain, my dear. Let us to billiards. What is this about the dumb and the deaf and the blind?"
"In this book," said she, "it says one can never hope to be a good player unless one can keep cool and unconcerned in the most trying and aggravating circumstances. Now, how is one to manage to do that, possessed of an ordinary human temper?"
"How indeed' But is it an ordinary human one?"
Minerva ignored the suggestion, and proceeded. "I don't think it possible for anyone to control herself if things are deliberately going against her like they do sometimes on a billiard table I mean really deliberately, you know, as they did on Christmas Eve in my case. Just imagine how that red ball behaved!"
"It did seem to go 'pricking on the plaine' in an utterly irresponsible manner. But you forget it is a new ball—a comparative youth, in fact—and at his age the hey-dey in the blood of a red ball is not yet tamed The beggar may have been out for adventures The skittish way he waltzed around my ball rather suggests that idea, my dear."
Minerva sniffed.
"Besides," I continued, "the aged bosom of your old plain ball seemed to be repellent to the young fellow from the moment you rushed her at him. And you did rather force her attentions on to him, now I come to think of it."
"Oh, do be quiet' Put it this way: Here is a person who in the ordinary walks of life is generally regarded as a calm, self-possessed, reliable, complacent, individual You put her" "Excuse me. Did you say calm, self-possessed, complacent?"
"Yes."
"And—her?"
"Yes."
"Better not. The combination is not quite conceivable."
There was a short pause for a few moments of silent prayer and contemplation. Then, with all her cue-strength and driving power," Very well. HIM!"
"Good Pot!"
"You put HIM into a billiard room, give him a cue— which, remember, he is generally credited with being able to handle. I suppose you will admit that I can play?" "If you will explain what your ability has to do with this hypothetical gentleman"
"Oh, bother! He plays a good game, usually beating his husband hands down, so there can be no question of her—his—ability. I mean mine, not her husband's ability— that is, the ability of the gentleman we put in the billiard room a short time ago. Well, this time she is nearly running out as usual—as usual—when the silly balls begin to run all over the place, deliberately ignoring all the rules and science of the game, and forgetting all she has ever taught them, and make her lose—her husband (who cannot really play) winning by the awfullest of flukes, and having the cheek to claim the game as his. What would you do if you were she—he, I mean?"
"The husband? Stick to the victory, of course."
"You know very well I mean me—that is the HIM you would insist in introducing, and mixing everything up with. But you are merely evading the question. Be honest. Put yourself in my place, and never mind about the imaginary person. Now, what would you do in these circumstances, if you were naturally as calm and self-possessed as I, and with as much energy crying out to be let loose upon the world?"
"Knock the marker down, if it happened in the club.
Pull the marking board up by the roots, or try to upset the table, probably, if it happened at home."
"There! Just what I felt like doing. (I don't mind confessing now that when I upset your coffee that night it wasn't quite an accident.) And yet they talk about never allowing yourself to get annoyed when people and balls behave in the most tantalizing manner. And say that if you cannot control your feelings when you see yourself having such rotten luck you cannot become a good billiard player. I don't believe it Do you'"
"Well I don't want to believe it," I admitted "Sort of 'If you laugh, or if you smile, you cannot be a lady' touch about the theory."
"It's positively silly!" protested Minerva. "I've a good mind to get a special new rule printed and hung up in the billiard room Any self-respecting player who does not utter a gentle 'damn' at a spell of hard luck will be penalized ten points."