What a merry mad wag that hammer-thrower really must be at heart!
thought Bob. How he was chuckling inside, or laughing in his sleeve most
of the time while he went around with that heavy, serious, reliable
visage of his! And that ponderous manner?—What lively little imps of
mischief or fancy it concealed! That simulated slow tread, too?—Bob
surmised he could get around pretty fast on occasions, if he wanted to,
or had to. He was dancing very seriously with Miss Gerald now, seeming
to take dancing as a kind of a moral lesson. Oh, that “duty talk” to
Bob! He would “consider” Bob’s case!—He wanted to ponder over it—he?
And how painfully in earnest he had been when he had sprung what his
father had said about not giving a fellow a shove when he was down!
Bob disentangled himself as soon as he could from the temperamental
little thing and went into the billiard room, where he began to toy with
the ivories. If there was one thing he could do, it was play billiards.
But he retired to the seclusion of the billiard room now principally for
the reason that he expected the hammer-thrower would follow him there.
He felt almost sure the other would seek him. So, though Bob proceeded
to execute one or two fancy shots with much skill, his thoughts were not
on the ivories. He was considering his position in relation to the
hammer-thrower. He (Bob) might entertain a profound conviction regarding
the latter’s profession, but could he prove anything?
True, he now remembered and could point out that the latter had attended
all those functions where losses had occurred. But that wasn’t in itself
particularly significant. Other people, also, had attended all the
functions in question. Bob couldn’t even actually swear he had seen the
other in his room when he had dropped something from Bob’s window to
some one lurking below. Bob hadn’t had the chance to recognize him on
that occasion. As far as evidence went, the “boot was all on the other
leg.” The hammer-thrower was obviously in a position to use Bob to pull
chestnuts out of the fire for him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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