the whole, a capital novel, but
it was by an author who had been, I thought, more successful than was
good for him. He had been elected freely to the best Clubs. During
the season he had gone everywhere. Many editions of his book had been
sold. He had acquired a little cult who said extravagant things about
him in the literary papers. It is sickening to see a man reverenced
during his lifetime. I could imagine him posing before his cult and
being pleased; even before I had read a page of his novel, I had made
up my mind to administer to him a wholesome corrective in the pages of
_The Scalpel_. I was rather sorry to find that it was really a capital
novel; but it had enough faults for my purpose.

I had read for some time before I turned my attention to the game
again. When I did so, I was startled, for it was perfectly obvious
that BILL was giving the game away. His usual service is a little
like invisible lightning with a bend in it; he was now serving in a
modified manner, which he generally uses only when he is playing with
girls who are not his sisters. It was also obvious that TOMMY, who
looked very elated, fully believed that he was winning on his own
merits, and had no idea that BILL was merely allowing him to win.

[Illustration]

"My game--and set!" cried TOMMY, joyously.

"You've improved awfully," said BILL.

I could not imagine why BILL had intentionally lost that set, for
I knew that he hated losing. When TOMMY had gone home again to the
Rectory, BILL came up to me to ask how old I thought a man ought to
be before he began smoking. I said that I thought thirty-six was about
the right age, and asked BILL why he had let TOMMY win.

"Oh, nothing particular," said BILL, in his matter-of-fact way; "only
I'd never seen him wear that kind of tie before, and I asked him what
he was doing it for, and he said it was for his aunt; she died a few
weeks back; so I thought I might as well give him the set to make up
for it."

I was rather amused. "TOMMY looked very pleased with himself," I said.

"Yes, he'll brag about that game all over the place," replied BILL,
rather despondently. For a moment or two he was silent, imagining the
triumph and pride of TOMMY. "I'd punch his head as soon as look at
him," he added.

"What on earth for? He thought he'd won by play."

"He can't play any more than a cow, but that's not it. I hate to see
anyone get so glorious about anything. Well, I don't know--it's kind
of natur