"But you said that when you got going, you wanted--I can't argue bending down like this." She raised herself slowly. "You said--Oh, all right, I expect you know. Anyhow, I _have_ scored some already, haven't I?" "Yes. You're eighteen to my nothing." "Yes. Well, now I shall have to aim all over again." She bent slowly over her cue. "Does it matter where I hit the red?" "Not much. As long as you hit it on the red part." She hit it hard on the side, and both balls came into baulk. "Too good," I said. "Does either of us get anything for it?" "No." The red and the white were close together, and I went up the table and down again on the off-chance of a cannon. I misjudged it, however. "That's three to you," I said stiffly, as I took my ball out of the right-hand bottom pocket. "Twenty-one to nothing." "Funny how I'm doing all the scoring," said Celia meditatively. "And I've practically never played before. I shall hit the red hard now and see what happens to it." She hit, and the red coursed madly about the table, coming to rest near the top right-hand pocket and close to the cushion. With a forcing shot I could get in. "This will want a lot of chalk," I said pleasantly to Celia, and gave it plenty. Then I let fly.... "Why did that want a lot of chalk?" said Celia with interest. I went to the fireplace and picked my ball out of the fender. "That's three to you," I said coldly. "Twenty-four to nothing." "Am I winning?" "You're leading," I explained. "Only, you see, I may make a twenty at any moment." "Oh!" She thought this over. "Well, I may make my three at any moment." She chalked her cue and went over to her ball. "What shall I do?" "Just touch the red on the right-hand side," I said, "and you'll go into the pocket." "The _right_-hand side? Do you mean _my_ right-hand side, or the ball's?" "The right-hand side of the ball, of course; that is to say, the side opposite your right hand." "But its right-hand side is opposite my _left_ hand, if the ball is facing this way." "Take it," I said wearily, "that the ball has its back to you." "How rude of it," said Celia, and hit it on the left-hand side, and sank it. "Was that what you meant?" "Well ... it's another way of doing it." "I thought it was. What do I give you for that?" "_You_ get three." "Oh, I thought the other person always got the marks. I know the last three times----" "Go on," I said freezingly. "You have another turn." "Oh, is it like rounders?" "Something. Go on, there's a dear. It's getting late." She went, and left the red over the middle pocket. "A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then. This is the GRAY stroke, you know." I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled slowly up the table. "Why is that called the grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest.