low, I agreed to play his Excellency at slate-tables, or
any tables he chose.

"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 Champang (and I didn't mind drinking it), and plenty of laughing and
fun. Afterwards, down we went to billiards. "Is dish Misther 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 Misther
Coxsh? blesh my hart, it is a honor 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 book 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. "Five 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 three 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 Misther Coxsh is, not to back his luck," I hoard 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 C