_A STORY._
Well, it happened about three o'clock. The gentlemen were playing. There
was the big stranger, as our men called him. The prince was there,--the two
are always together. The whiskered bárin was there; also the little hussar,
Oliver, who was an actor, and there was the _pan_.[50] It was a pretty good
crowd.
[Footnote 50: Polish name for lord or gentleman.]
The big stranger and the prince were playing together. Now, here I was
walking up and down around the billiard-table with my stick, keeping
tally,--ten and forty-seven, twelve and forty-seven.
Everybody knows it's our business to score. You don't get a chance to get a
bite of any thing, and you don't get to bed till two o'clock o' nights, but
you're always being screamed at to bring the balls.
I was keeping tally; and I look, and see a new bárin comes in at the door.
He gazed and gazed, and then sat down on the sofa. Very well!
"Now, who can that be?" thinks I to myself. "He must be somebody."
His dress was neat,--neat as a pin,--checkered tricot pants, stylish little
short coat, plush vest, and gold chain and all sorts of trinkets dangling
from it.
He was dressed neat; but there was something about the man neater still;
slim, tall, his hair brushed forward in style, and his face fair and
ruddy,--well, in a word, a fine young fellow.
You must know our business brings us into contact with all sorts of people.
And there's many that ain't of much consequence, and there's a good deal of
poor trash. So, though you're only a scorer, you get used to telling folks;
that is, in a certain way you learn a thing or two.
I looked at the bárin. I see him sit down, modest and quiet, not knowing
anybody; and the clothes on him are so bran-new, that thinks I, "Either
he's a foreigner,--an Englishman maybe,--or some count just come. And
though he's so young, he has an air of some distinction." Oliver sat down
next him, so he moved along a little.
They began a game. The big man lost. He shouts to me. Says he, "You're
always cheating. You don't count straight. Why don't you pay attention?"
He scolded away, then threw down his cue, and went out. Now, just look
here! Evenings, he and the prince plays for fifty silver rubles a game; and
here he only lost a bottle of Makon wine, and got mad. That's the kind of a
character he is.
Another time he and the prince plays till two o'clock. They don't bank down
any cash; and so I know neither of them's got any cash, but they are simply
playing a bluff game.
"I'll go you twenty-five rubles," says he.
"All right."
Just yawning, and not even stopping to place the ball,--you see, he was not
made of stone,--now just notice what he said. "We are playing for money,"
says he, "and not for chips."
But this man puzzled me worse than all the rest. Well, then, when the big
man left, the prince says to the new bárin, "Wouldn't you like," says he,
"to play a game with me?"
"With pleasure," says he.
He sat there, and looked rather foolish, indeed he did. He may have been
courageous in reality; but, at all events, he got up, went over to the
billiard-table, and did not seem flustered as yet. He was not exactly
flustered, but you couldn't help seeing that he was not quite at his ease.
Either his clothes were a little too new, or he was embarrassed because
everybody was looking at him; at any rate, he seemed to have no energy. He
sort of sidled up to the table, caught his pocket on the edge, began to
chalk his cue, dropped his chalk.
Whenever he hit the ball, he always glanced around, and reddened. Not so
the prince. He was used to it; he chalked and chalked his hand, tucked up
his sleeve; he goes and sits down when he pockets the ball, even though he
is such a little man.
They played two or three games; then I notice the prince puts up the cue,
and says, "Would you mind telling me your name?"
"Nekhliudof," says he.