The
Captain declined to assist. He said that, although he had been
playing billiards for upwards of forty years, the incident was new to
him. My own feeling was that of thankfulness that we had got through
the game without anybody being really injured. We agreed that the
person to decide the point would be the editor of The Field.
It remains still undecided. The Captain came into my study the next
morning. He said: "If you haven't written that letter to The Field,
don't mention my name. They know me on The Field. I would rather it
did not get about that I have been playing with a man who cannot keep
his ball within the four walls of a billiard-room."
"Well," I answered, "I know most of the fellows on The Field myself.
They don't often get hold of anything novel in the way of a story.
When they do, they are apt to harp upon it. My idea was to keep my
own name out of it altogether."
"It is not a point likely to crop up often," said the Captain. "I'd
let it rest if I were you."
I should like to have had it settled. In the end, I wrote the editor
a careful letter, in a disguised hand, giving a false name and
address. But if any answer ever appeared I must have missed it.
Myself I have a sort of consciousness that somewhere inside me there
is quite a good player, if only I could persuade him to come out. He
is shy, that is all. He does not seem able to play when people are
looking on.
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