We did get up early. We did have the billiard room all to ourselves. And Mr. Johns did give me some idea of what he could do upon a billiard table. For one thing, he got "on the spot," and he stopped there. He continued to put the red down, without once missing, until the marker appeared. When the marker did appear, we thought that perhaps the proceedings had better cease. If I can trust my memory, before the proceedings ceased, Mr. Johns had put the red down something like two hundred times in succession. I thought that was good enough, even for Mr. Colson. I agreed to advance the necessary number of rupees. The match came off. It was a beautiful match. The room was crowded to overflowing. Mr. Johns had managed to back himself to a very fair amount. Even I, in my small way, had managed to back him too. But there was not so much readiness shown to support the local champion as I had expected. They were keen, were the men of Ahmednugger. I fancy that already they had begun to smell a rat. And not only so; they were always willing to "make a bet." But on that particular occasion they were almost equally willing to see Mr. Colson come to grief. I think that, in those parts, Mr. Colson was not so popular as he deserved to be. I verily believe that there were some who objected to him almost as much as I did. Poor Mr. Colson! He was painfully nervous. His nervousness prevented his showing even his usual form. He had made fifteen, when Mr. Johns, getting on the spot, stayed there. He ran out without once putting down his cue. Nothing like it had ever been seen before in Ahmednugger. When the marker notified the fact that Mr. Johns had completed his fifth hundred, Mr. Colson was, for a moment, speechless. He seemed unable to realize that the thing was so. "It's a--something swindle!" "I beg your pardon, Mr. Colson--it's a what?" Mr. Colson's tone was loud and threatening. Mr. Johns' tone was quiet, and almost indifferent. Yet Mr. Colson did not seem to altogether like it. He began to bluster. "You did not tell me that you were a professional." "No; I did not tell you that I was a professional." "You didn't play the other night as you have played to-day. It looks to me uncommonly like a put-up thing." "It looks to you like a put-up thing, does it, Mr. Colson. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing _your_ professional side. I believe you can drive?" "Drive!" Mr. Colson looked at the little man as if he would like to eat him. "I'm the finest whip in India." "Indeed! Is that so? Well, I'll drive you either four, or eight, in hand, for a thousand rupees a side, although you are the finest whip in India." Mr. Colson snapped at his offer, before it was fairly out of his mouth, and I felt that Mr. Johns was going a little too far. It was one thing to match him at billiards, another thing to match him at driving. There Mr. Colson was on his native heath. When I was alone with Mr. Johns I told him so.