The scoring was by no means slow, however, and the general interest
increased almost to fever pitch as the finish came in sight. Hill's
steady progress in the wake of his opponent seemed at length to
disconcert the latter. He began to play wildly, to attempt impossible
things. His supporters remonstrated without result. He seemed to have
flung away his judgment.
Hill's score mounted till it reached and passed his. They were within
twenty points of the end when Warden suddenly missed an easy stroke. A
noisy groan broke from the onlookers, at which he shrugged his shoulders
and laughed. But Hill turned upon him with a stern reproof.
"You're playing the fool, Warden," he said. "Pull up!"
He spoke with curt command, and the man he addressed looked at him for a
second with raised brows, as if he would take offence. But in a moment he
laughed again.
"You haven't beaten me yet, sir," he said.
"No," said Hill. "And I don't value--an easy victory."
There followed a tense silence while he resumed his play. Steadily his
score mounted, and it seemed to Dot that there was hostility in the very
atmosphere. She wondered what would happen if he scored the hundred
before his opponent had another chance. She hoped he would not do so,
and yet she did not want to see him beaten.
He did not, but he left off with only three points to make. Then Warden
began to score.
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