THE SUPREME EVENT. 
459 
is the best of the lot. lie's keen about other 
things. Golf; for instance.” 
“ Golf 1 Heaven help him [ ” 
“ And dry fly-fishing.” 
“ That’s much better. I fish myself. A 
successful fisherman must be an intelligent 
man. Great opportunities, too, for intro- 
spection and observation. How are you 
getting on, John, with your microscopical 
work ? ” 
“ Down and out,” replied John, uncon- 
sciously quoting Bott. “ It was only pat- 
ball. I’m shaping nicely at the wall-game.” 
“ Wall-game ? You play football in 
June ? ” " 
John explained. Toomer opened a capa- 
cious mouth to reply, glanced at John’s 
amiable face, and remained for the first time 
in his life absolutely silent. 
At dinner that night Toomer sat next to 
Mrs. Pragson, who was in wonderful form. 
She could do just two things better than any 
woman of her advanced years — play tennis 
and talk about it afterwards. Said she to 
Toomer : — 
“ Extraordinary, isn’t it, what adulation a 
champion receives nowadays ? ” 
“ You are speaking of Jack Johnson ? ” 
“ Jack — Johnson ? ” 
“ The coloured prize-fighter.” 
“ I never heard of him. I was speaking 
of the lawn-tennis champion.” 
Toomer was quite honest with her. 
“ Who is he ? ” he asked. 
Mrs. Pragson turned purple. That was 
her only available tint in moments of excite- 
ment. Then she addressed the assembled 
company in tones of scathing scorn. 
“ Mr. Toomer,” she announced, “ does not 
know the name of the present champion. 1 
positively refuse to enlighten him.” 
“ It doesn’t matter,” said Toomer, grimly. 
“ I asked the question out of mere politeness. 
Let us call him X ? Does X receive much 
adulation ? ” 
“ Tons and tons ! More than anybody 
else.” 
“ Oh, come 1 More than, let us say, 
Madame Melba ? ” 
“ I hope so. Our enthusiasm about music 
and all that sort of thing is rather a pose. 
If you had said — Jessop ? ” 
“ And who is Jessop ? ” asked Toomer. 
llott’s prominent eyes nearly popped out 
of his head. He asked, solemnly : — 
“ Is it possible that you have never seen 
Jessop bat ? ” 
“ Oh ! a cricketer. Yes, yes, I have 
heard of Jessop.” 
“ It is quite obvious,” remarked Mrs. 
Pragson. “ that you don’t care about games. 
Mr. Toomer.” 
“ I don’t,” said Toomer. “ I have never 
shattered my self-respect by hitting at, or 
kicking, a ball. Well, well, I had no intention 
of astonishing you ” (Oh, Toomer— — !), 
“ but short sight and varicose veins have 
constrained me to give my attention and 
interest to literature and art.” lie con- 
tinued pleasantly : “ All of you play games, 
but you must admit that one can’t talk about 
them, not, 1 mean, intelligenily for more than 
five minutes at a time.” 
“ I beg your pardon.” 
“ Pray don’t misunderstand me. It is 
possible, of course, to prattle on for ever and 
ever about golf. For my sins I have over- 
heard such futile twaddle, but I was immensely 
struck by one thing.” 
“ May I ask you to explain ? ” 
“ I was about to do so. What applies to 
golf applies equally to all chatter about 
games. Tom allows Dick to buck about his 
confounded round, because it is mutually 
agreed between them that Dick is to have 
his innings later on. But Tom doesn’t 
listen to Dick, and Dick doesn’t listen to Tom. 
That, I submit, is not intelligent conversation. 
It’s a singularly British and foolish sort of 
compromise between two bores.” 
John, at the head of his hospitable board, 
smiled nervously. Everybody else stared, 
open-mouthed, at Toomer. He went on : — 
u Conversation, to-day, has become 
atrophied by disuse.” 
Mrs. Pragson perceived an opportunity to 
score, and seized it. 
“ We all believe in practice,” she said. 
“ Please go on, Mr. Toomer. Will you 
deign to converse with us ? ” 
Toomer accepted the challenge. During 
the rest of dinner he held forth amazingly. 
Never had he talked better. John kept him 
going. But he left early upon Monday 
morning, and he said to John, when he took 
leave : — 
“ My dear old man, you are going to seed. 
You’ve got the wrong crowd about you. 
Why, dash it ! that ass, Bott, patronizes you. 
Henry and I were speaking about you the 
other day at the club. You’ve married a 
dear little girl, but, good Lord ! you haven’t 
married her gang, have you ? ” 
“ The fact is,” said John, “ I’m marking 
time. I’m looking on for the moment, sort 
of umpire. Don’t you worry ! ” 
“ I do worry,” said the honest Toomer. 
With that parting shot he went his way. 
