"Gut," says he, "gut; I lif, you know, at Abednego's, in de Quadrant; his dabels is goot; ve vill blay dere, if you vill;" and I said, I would: and it was agreed that, one Saturday night, when Jemmy was at the Opera, we should go to the Baron's rooms, and give him a chance. We went, and the little Baron had as fine a supper as ever I saw; lots of champagne (and I didn't mind drinking it), and plenty of laughing and fun. Afterwards, down we went to billiards. "Is dish Mishter Coxsh, de shelebrated player?" says Mr. Abednego, who was in the room, with one or two gentlemen of his own persuasion, and several foreign noblemen, dirty, snuffy, and hairy, as them foreigners are. "Is dish Mishter Coxsh? blesh ma hart, it is a honer to see you, I have heard so much of your play." "Come, come," says I, "sir;" for I'm pretty wide awake; "none of your gammon; you're not going to hook _me_." "No, begar, dis fish you not catch," says Count Mace. "Dat is gut! haw! haw!" snorted the Baron: "hook him! lieber himmel, you might dry and hook me as well. Haw! haw!" Well, we went to play. "Fife to four on Coxe," screams out the Count.— "Done and done," says another nobleman. "Ponays," says the Count.— "Done," says the nobleman. "I vill take your six crowns to four," says the Baron.—"Done," says I; and, in the twinkling of an eye, I beat him;— once making thirteen off the balls without stopping. We had some more wine after this; and if you could have seen the long faces of the other noblemen, as they pulled out their pencils and wrote I O U's for the Count. "Va toujours, mon cher," says he to me, "you have von for me tree hundred pounds." "I'll blay you guineas dis time," says the Baron. "Zeven to four you must give me, though;" and so I did: and in ten minutes _that_ game was won, and the Baron handed over his pounds. "Two hundred and sixty more, my dear, dear Coxe," says the Count; "you are mon ange gardien!" "Wot a flat Mishter Coxsh ish, not to back his luck," I heard Abednego whisper to one of the foreign noblemen. "I'll take your seven to four, in tens," said I to the Baron. "Give me three," says he, "and done." I gave him three, and lost the game by one. "Dobbel, or quits," says he. "Go it," says I, up to my mettle; "Sam Coxe never says no;"—and to it we went. I went in, and scored eighteen to his five. "Holy Moshesh!" says Abednego, "dat little Coxsh is a vonder! who'll take odds?" "I'll give twenty to one," says I, "in guineas." "Ponays, yase, done," screams out the Count. "_Bonies_, done," roars out the Baron: and before I could speak, went in, and, would you believe it?—in two minutes he somehow made the game! * * * * *