"Bother!" said Minerva, as she missed the pocket again.
"Such an easy one, too! I shall play no more to-night."
And she threw down her cue with anger.
"'The equable frame of mind,'" I quoted, "'that enables a man—(and perhaps a woman, too, although the book is careful not to commit itself on that point)—that enables a man to play his real game under any conditions is called the billiard temperament.'"
"Do not tempt me to say rude things," she pleaded.
"You know I have already exceeded my allowance for the day."
"I have only one comment to make," I said, "and it is this: 'If You Hit the Needle the Red Goes In!"
"Yes, that's why I am missing everything now!" she retorted." I cannot see the ball for needles. I think you had better scrap that mechanical potter, Jack. When one has been plunking at a needle for two solid hours, one can't get the silly thing out of one's eye. My brain is thinking: Needle, Needle, Needle, and my eye will grasp hold of nothing but steel points. I simply have no conception of the shape of a ball at the present moment. Besides, "he added impatiently," what has a needle got to do in a billiard room anyway"? It's proper place is the sewing room."
"In a properly-constructed billiard room a place may be found for everything, from a needle to an anchor cannon— which reminds me: Have you seen the new mechanical contrivance for playing the anchor stroke? Beats Reece hollow. Sort of perpetual pendulum arrangement..."
Minerva rose, and addressed the house solemnly. "Now, look here, Jack. I give you fair warning. If you bring home any more of those weird mechanical aids to billiards I shall drop the game for ever, and—and take to golf."
I dropped on my knees.
"I am quite serious. I really mean it. This billiard room is becoming a regular kindergarten establishment with all those devices of yours lying around."
"They are scientific contraptions, my dear. Don't you want bright-eyed Science to preside at our table?" I argued.
"Bright-eyed fiddlesticks! They're spoiling my game.
I'm losing my self-respect. They're undermining my capacity for wrestling with difficulties. Machines for getting the in-offs, machines for getting the winning hazards, machines for every shot on the board! It takes the whole spirit of adventure out of the game when one knows one can turn a crank or adjust a needle or pull a trigger and get the shot, instead of struggling manfully with the difficulty in the old-fashioned way, and overcoming it unaided."
"Well, for me the mechanical aids and the better game.
I shall always be content with that," I responded cheerfully.
"O, you! You don't look for joy in things. You look for success only, for achievement. I want the joy of doing, the paeans of triumph, the poetry of the game, epinicions of victory—not a mere catalogue of scores made by a piece of machinery. Bah! Call that play. I want to wrestle with the thing and make a song about it. That's what I want.
You have no soul. You want mere points, and would take them anyhow—with a cue or with a steam-engine if you could. You should be a professional. A real amateur would seek for the beauty and the poetry of the game, and not go gathering miserly little breaks to add to his hoard."
"By George, you know, there seems to be something in that poetry racket of yours," I said. "'Pears to me that's just what's wanted to make billiards more popular. Golf and yachting and all the other sports have songs about them. Why not billiards? Let's see: I believe I could hatch an idea in that line myself. All think."
"Don't strain yourself, my dear," said Minerva kindly.
I thought hard for a few minutes. At last I got hold of a good idea. "How's this?" I asked. "It is to be a few lines on Tom Aiken's last big break—
This is the break that Tom made,
This is the cue that built the break that Tom made,
This is the Spinks that chalked the cue that built the
break that Tom made,
This is the firm that sold the Spinks that chalked the cue
that built the break that Tom made..."
"And this is the poker that killed the man that made the lines... I really will," she said, stalking me round the table; "I am in a dangerous mood to-night."
"Well, how about a sonnet, say, 'To a Ball on the Edge of a Pocket,' or 'To a Long Jenny.'"
"I love sonnets. I should like to make a decent sonnet on billiards."
"A decent sonnet (whatever that is) to an indecent fluke would appeal to many people of my acquaintance. Have a go."
Minerva cogitated.
"Do one 'To a Militant Billiardette,'" I suggested.
"You get away."
"I should be awfully glad to help, you know. I have a few useful thoughts on that subject. My billiard balls have suffered fearfully from some of your hard-hitting friends, and if you could introduce a line like 'Madam, these balls cost five pounds five a set' I should be greatly obliged. It rhymes with billiardette, you observe."
Minerva absolutely refused to speak, and gazed soulfully at the little Venus in the corner.
"Well, do one on the lady professional. I can give you an opening line. Listen: ' The sweet temptation of a rounded arm.' How's that?"
"The sweet temptation of a rounded arm," repeated Minerva, looking at me with interest. That's rather good.
"Where did you steal it?"
"I made it with the mechanical potter," I said maliciously. "I can give you any amount of lines like that if they're of any use to you," I hastened to suggest, feeling the opportunity too good to be wasted. You'll require something about 'gentle, flowing curves' and graceful lines.."
"My dear Jack," said Minerva, rising abruptly, "if you want to describe the effect produced by somebody's corsets on the human form I can recommend a draper's advertisement to you. Doubtless with the help of it you will manage. I am not interested in the subject of sonnets to lady professionals."