Billiard Incident and Humour

• The Billiards Magazine of New York—an excellent monthly—says that the American game was evolved out of the English (introduced by English officers in garrison in New York City in the eighteenth century, and that the French game was evolved out of the American.
• A kindly chairman, introducing Aiken in a country match in Scotland, asked the company to give him every encouragement. This they certainly did, for though Aiken failed to score in his first four attempts, he was embarrassed after each visit to the table by a hearty round of applause. Aiken had to appeal to the chairman for a little less "encouragement."
• There are good and bad billiard players, and Aiken tells a story regarding two of the latter class who were using a table in his rooms in Edinburgh one day. After twenty minutes had elapsed, Aiken happened to pass the table, and noticed that one of the scores was standing at 3. Wondering at this, he asked the explanation. One of the players replied: "Oh, I used to give him five, but he's come on a lot, so I only give him three now."
• There is no more enthusiastic billiard player (writes a correspondent) at the National Liberal Club than Mr. John Burns, and Mr. Asquith's presence at championship matches is not unknown. The late Mr. Herbert Spencer was also a lover of the game; and the correct story (often misquoted) about him is as follows:—He was playing a game of a hundred up with an opponent, who, after the usual misses, ran out with a hundred break. This induced the distinguished professor to say to him: "A certain ability in games of skill is to be admired, but such ability as you have displayed is strong presumptive evidence of an ill-spent youth." [Perhaps to this might be added that not to play billiards at all implies an ill-spent maturity.—Ed., B.P.]
• The following extraordinarily faithful pen picture of the late Charles Dawson appeared in The Huddersfield Examiner:—"He has a pair of good shoulders, well set above a bust and waist of comfortable, complacent rotundity. A neat gold chain displays itself in two regular loops across the front of a well-cut dress waistcoat, his shirt front, collar, and cuffs are glistening models of good blanchisserie, and his whole appearance conveys the impression of a man who dresses well—but quietly, always quietly. His head is poised slightly forward on a thick, muscular neck, and as he surveys the balls he holds his head aside. Often he can be noticed to give a peculiar half-wriggling, half-shrugging movement of the shoulders. The movement is slight, barely perceptible. He chalks his cue lightly and airily before setting to work. He settles down to the table with something of an artistic flourish, a mannerism which he entirely obscures in making his strokes. These are plainly made, sound, and true. He allows his art to dominate and cloak his personality. But he chalks his cue with a mincing grace, and the little disc of powdery green matter is whisked around the edges of the cue tip."
• A peculiar feature about billiard experts is that they appear to run in "twins." Dawson and Diggle and, later, Dawson and Stevenson, met in seemingly endless contests, a state of affairs prevailing in later years in the case of Inman and Stevenson, Inman and Reece, and, later, Inman and Smith.—Sporting Life.
• Charles Dawson could never (according to a writer in The Evening News) appreciate another's joke, but would roar lustily at one of his own invention. A favourite of his was to tell us that, after seeing a headline in a newspaper "Dawson Losing Ground," he consulted his solicitor and surveyor, only to find that his acreage had not diminished.
• "The game of billiards," says the unveracious Hughes, "was known in Egypt, though the Pharaohs were more in favour of pyramids. Potiphar was the first player of note, but his fame was eclipsed later by Marker Antony and Cleopottera. Billiards was introduced into England by the Lombardy bankers, who displayed the three balls as a sign over their doors. They settled for the most part at Cue Gardens. A century or two later the game was taken up by William Shakespeare, whose remark, ' Out damned spot,' as his opponent was trying to leave him a double baulk, has passed into current speech as a household word."#151;From a review of "Sport in a Nutshell" in The Sporting Times.
• The following story by Inman is vouched for by Harry Young:—Staying, while on tour with Smith, at one of the big provincial hotels, a page-boy early one morning brought Inman a letter inviting the two players to the local Press Club that evening, with the intimation that the bearer was waiting in the hall for a reply. Inman, who was in bed, could not answer without Smith, so told the boy to go to Mr. Smith's room, show him the letter, and return with the reply. "Who's Mr. Smith?" said the boy. "Mr. Willie Smith, the billiard player," responded Inman. "I don't know where to find him," the boy said. "Haven't you got a tongue, then?" came from the now-exasperated Inman. "Go down to the hall, find out Mr. Smith's number, take him this letter, and hurry up." Just then Goundrill, the one-armed player, who happened to be staying in the same hotel, came towards Inman's room. "What's up?" said he to the boy, who made no response, so, proceeding, Goundrill said, "That's Inman, the billiard champion." "Billiard champion—I don't think," said the boy. "Billiard washout," and with that he fled. Inman had heard all this, so when the boy returned to say that Smith was out (he was then in Inman's room), Inman said, "What do you mean by referring to me as a billiard washout?" He looked very fierce and spoke harshly, thoroughly frightening the youngster. Observing a twinkle in the eye of the strange gentleman (Smith), however, he took heart of grace and said, "I didn't mean you was a washout, sir. I meant Mr. Smith was."