He carries his own chalk
in his waistcoat pocket--as if our chalk wasn't good enough for him--
and when he has finished chalking, he smooths the tip round with his
finger and thumb and taps the cue against the table. "Oh! go on with
the game," I want to say to him; "don't be so full of tricks."
The Captain led off with a miss in baulk. Malooney gripped his cue,
drew in a deep breath, and let fly. The result was ten: a cannon
and all three balls in the same pocket. As a matter of fact he made
the cannon twice; but the second time, as we explained to him, of
course did not count.
"Good beginning!" said the Captain.
Malooney seemed pleased with himself, and took off his coat.
Malooney's ball missed the red on its first journey up the table by
about a foot, but found it later on and sent it into a pocket.
"Ninety-nine plays nothing," said Dick, who was marking. "Better
make it a hundred and fifty, hadn't we, Captain?"
"Well, I'd like to get in a shot," said the Captain, "before the game
is over. Perhaps we had better make it a hundred and fifty, if Mr.
Malooney has no objection."
"Whatever you think right, sir," said Rory Malooney.
Malooney finished his break for twenty-two, leaving himself hanging
over the middle pocket and the red tucked up in baulk.
"Nothing plays a hundred and eight," said Dick.
"When I want the score," said the Captain, "I'll ask for it."
"Beg pardon, sir," said Dick.
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