Bar took up a pen, but, before he had written a half dozen lines, Val stopped him with: “There, now, that’ll do. You can beat me all hollow with a pen. Pity you don’t know French, or something.” “Oh,” exclaimed Bar, “I can talk French, and German, too, and a little Spanish. It’s easy enough to pick up such things. What I don’t know is what you learn at school.” “Well,” replied Val, “I wish I could pick up as much as that. Anyhow, I s’pose there’s lots of things I can teach you. Did you ever go fishing?” “Never had a chance.” “Nor hunting, nor skating?” “Never,” said Bar, “but I can shoot. I had to learn that.” “I’d like to know where you’ve lived all your life,” remarked Val. “Maybe I’ll tell you some day,” said Bar, seriously, “but I’d rather not just now.” Val Manning was a gentleman, boy as he was; and he colored to his ears as he replied: “There, now, beg your pardon. Mother told me I mustn’t ask you any questions. Come on into the billiard-room and I’ll teach you how to play. Father never wants me to go to a public billiard-hall, you know, so he has a tip-top table here at home. Plays himself sometimes, when the sick people give him a chance. Come on.” Bar followed his young host into the neat and cozy apartment in the third story to which he led the way, and he felt a species of awe come over him as he passed one evidence after another of what plenty of money can do for the home of such a man as Dr. Manning. Val picked up a cue and Bar listened in silence to the very clear and practical sort of lecture that followed on the rudiments of the game. “Suppose we play one now,” said Bar, “and you can tell me more as we go along.” Val assented, with hearty good-will, and he really showed a good deal of dexterity, for a boy of his age, in the noble art of knocking the ivory balls about. He made a very good “run” before he missed, and then drew back with: “There, Barnaby, the balls are in an awful bad position. I couldn’t make that carrom myself. Not many men could, but you’ll never learn if you don’t try. This is the shot. See?” Bar had been leisurely chalking his cue. Some things Val had said had unintentionally nettled him, and he had hardly been as frank as he should have been. Now, however, he stepped quietly forward, made the impossible shot with an ease and quickness which altogether electrified Val, and followed it up with a dozen others of almost equal difficulty, ending by running the two red balls into a corner and scoring a clean fifty before he made a miss-cue and lost control of them. Val had stood watching him in silence to the end, but when Bar turned to him with: “Your turn again now!” he exclaimed. “My turn? I should say so. Well, I’ll play the game out, but billiards isn’t one of the things that I have to teach you. You can give me lessons all the while.”