At the present moment, when the billiard professionals are contesting
the palm and Mr. S.H. FRY has re-captured the title of amateur
champion seven-and-twenty years after he first won it, there is such
interest in the game that a kind of _Guide to Billiard Types_ cannot
but be of value. Hence the following classification of players who
are to be met with in clubs, country-houses or saloons by any ordinary
wielders of the cue. Any reader who has ever endeavoured to master
what may be called (by way of inversion) the Three Balls Art has power
to add to their number.
The player who, as he drops behind in the game, says so often that it
is months since h" touched a cue that your success is robbed of all
savour.
The player who is funny and calls the red the Cherry, the Robin, the
Cardinal or the Lobster.
The player who comes to the game as to a solemn ritual and neither
smiles nor speaks.
The player who keeps on changing his cue and blames each one in turn
for his own ineptitude.
The player who can use his left hand as well as his right: a man to be
avoided.
The player who whistles while he plays. This is a very deadly
companion.
The player who never has a good word for his opponent's efforts.
The player who congratulates you on every stroke: a charming
antagonist.
The player who is always jolly whatever buffets he receives from
fortune.
The player who talks about every one of his strokes.
The player who swears at most of them.
The player who doubts the accuracy of your scoring. Avoid this one.
The player who hits everything too hard. This is a very exasperating
man to meet because fortune usually favours him. Either he flukes
immoderately or he does not leave well. He is usually a hearty fellow
with no sense of shame. Perhaps he says "Sorry;" but he adds, "It must
have been on."
The player who hits everything too gently: the lamb as compared with
the previous type, who is a lion. The lamb is good to play with if you
prefer winning to a real contest.
The player who groans loudly when you make a fluke.
The player who is accustomed to play on a much faster table than this.
The player who calls the game Pills.
The player who calls it Tuskers.
The player who counts your breaks for you, but whether from interest
or suspicion you are not sure.
The player who pots the white when he should and says nothing about
it.
The player who pots the white when he should, with a thousand
apologies.
The player who pots the white when he shouldn't, with a thousand
apologies.
The player who is snappy with the marker.
The player who drops cigar ash on the cloth.
The player who hates to lose.
The player who would much rather that you won. This type is a joy to
play with, unless towards the end he too patently ceases to try.
The player who, after the stroke, tells you what you ought to have
done.
The player who talks to the balls, particularly to the red. "Now then,
red," he says, "don't go into baulk;" or, "Stop just by that pocket;"
or "White, don't go down."
The player who has just come from a spectacular match and keeps on
trying to reproduce that shot of STEVENSON's.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Ministry Official_. "No NEED TO SCREEN THE LIGHTS
_NOW_, MY BOY. D'YOU THINK THE WAR'S STILL ON?"
_Infatuated Office Boy_. "I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE MISS JENKINS A BIT
OF TOAST, SIR."]
* * * * *
"In a licensing prosecution at ---- yesterday it was stated
that one shilling was charged for a 'drop' of whisky of about
one-sixth of a gallon."--_Daily Paper_.
In the interests of temperance we have suppressed the name of the town
at which this bargain was secured.
* * * * *