While staying at Wellington, New Zealand, I was invited to play at the Tararua Club, Pahiatua, some hundred and twenty miles away. I accepted the offer and, assuming that my stay there would be very short, left my wife at Wellington and travelled up to Pahiatua alone. I was met at the station by a number of gentlemen, and, after the usual liquid refreshment, went along to see the table on which I had to play. When I entered the room I saw a long, thin man squatting cross-legged in the centre of the table, stitching away at the cloth for all he was worth. Somewhat surprised, I introduced myself, whereupon the man explained that he was the local tailor, "jest puttin' things to rights a bit" for me. [Illustration: "A WILDLY-SPITTING, FURRY OBJECT SWUNG ACROSS THE ROOM."] [Illustration: THE TARARUA CLUB, PAHIATUA, N.Z., WHERE MR. INMAN MET WITH SEVERAL AMUSING EXPERIENCES. _From a Photograph._ ] The table itself wasn't at all bad, but when I looked at it closely I noticed that the billiard spot (the black spot on the table which indicates where the red ball is usually placed) was at least three inches too far to one side. I had become fairly hardened to trying conditions by this time, but to attempt to play with the red ball inches out of its recognised position was more than I dared do. "What's the matter with that spot?" I asked. "It isn't right, is it?" The man of the needle slued around on the cloth and squinted at the spot. "Seems sorter crooked," he agreed, slowly; "but the fac' of the matter is that we change the position of that yere spot once a week. Otherwise it'd work a hole in the cloth!" That beat me. I fled for the hotel and sought out the gentleman who had invited me to come there. He listened to my tale of woe and then, asking me to wait for a moment, disappeared. I don't know whether they balloted or not, but the spot was moved into its right place, and the situation--so far as I was concerned--saved. I had been told when I arrived there that, although there were no passenger trains from Pahiatua to Wellington at that hour of the night, I should still be able to get to Wellington when the game was over, as a goods train, known locally as the "Wild Cat," stopped at Pahiatua some time about midnight on its way down-country. When the game was over, however, and I got back to the hotel, I found that the "Wild Cat" was a very doubtful kind of train and only stopped at Pahiatua when it thought it would! This particular night, it soon appeared, was one of its "off" nights--it never showed up at the station at all! [Illustration: "THE 'UMAN RACE STARTED FROM MONKEYS--AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!"]