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Updated: June 17, 2025
Ambrose was simply a demon with the bones, and he was big enough to get away with it. True, there had been difficulties. One evening at the Social Club Ambrose held the dice for a straight sixteen passes. He and five other courtiers of fortune were bounding the ivories off the cushion of a billiard table, to the end that the contest be one of chance and not of science.
We'll show old Holway that we can't be led around by the nose. "'Tompkins, says I, 'I know your head well enough to be sartin that it didn't work this out by itself. And why are you so sure of the billiard roomers? Who put you up to this? "He rapped the side of his nose. 'The smartest politician in this town, says he, 'and the oldest J. W. Gale, Esq.! S-s-sh-h! Don't say nothin'.
A narrow black scarf, presumably his evening tie, was twisted tightly about his neck by means of a billiard cue inserted in it. There was a quiet smile upon his face. He had apparently died from strangulation. A couple of bullet-holes passed through his body, one on each side, but they went out again. His suspenders were burst at the back. His hands were folded across his chest.
Buntline said, 'You must not recite cues; they are for you to speak from the last words of the persons who speak before you. I said, 'Cues be d d; I never heard of anything but a billiard cue. "Well, night came. The house was packed. Up went the curtain. Buntline appeared as Cale Durg, an old Trapper, and at a certain time Jack and I were to come on.
He brooded on his failure, and to him it seemed that he must have that hat, that waistcoat and those boots at any cost. The others in the room snickered and jeered as they eyed his sagging figure and closed eyes. He finally got up and lurched out of the room. The door opened on a narrow stairway leading down to a sort of pantry behind the main billiard parlor on the ground floor.
I should like to see you model a billiard ball. Train yourself to have a true eye." These are precepts that might be given by any good painter, but few of the moderns could more justly claim to have practiced all that they preached. As a creative artist Stevens had his limitations.
Just as I was getting into bed again, I heard, in the next room, the sound that no man in his senses can possibly mistake the whir of a billiard ball down the length of the slates when the striker is stringing for break. No other sound is like it. A minute afterwards there was another whir, and I got into bed. I was not frightened indeed I was not.
If my mind wants changing, I must be very cautious as to the way in which I do it. And, of course, a man must sometimes change both his clothes and his mind his mind at any rate. How can you go to a conjuring entertainment, for example, without changing your mind a hundred times in the course of the performance? For a second you think that the vanished billiard ball is here.
The field was an oval, green as an emerald, level as a billiard table and had no fences or stands to obstruct the open view of the surrounding wooded country. On each side of the diamond were rows of wooden benches, and at one end of the field stood a little clubhouse.
Hamilton and other writers have compared the mind's action to that of a row of billiard balls, of which one is struck and the impetus transmitted throughout the entire row, the result being that only the last ball actually moves, the others remaining in their places. The last ball represents the conscious thought the other stages in the unconscious mentation.
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