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He was a very strange man, bigoted, prejudiced, obstinate, inclined to be sulky, as wayward as a man could be. So far his catalogue of qualities does not seem to pick him as a winner. But he had one great and rare gift. He preserved through all his days a sense of the great wonder and mystery of life the child sense which is so quickly dulled.
A. R. F. Kingscote, after three sensational victories over Fisher, Dixon and Lowe, collapsed against Alonzo and was decisively defeated. Shimidzu looked a certain winner against Alonzo when he led at 2 sets to 1 and 4-1, but the Spaniard rose to great heights and by sensational play pulled out the match in five sets. Norton and Hunter, after several close calls, met in the semi final.
As their contest was the least important fact of the occasion for me, and as I had not then, and have not now, a clear notion which came off winner in any of the events, I will try not to trouble the reader with my impressions of them, except as they lent a vivid action and formed a dramatic motive for one of the loveliest spectacles under the sun.
Who has patience for the recapitulation of a string of names, when a group of faces may be placed simultaneously before him? And then, accounts of races! How admirably will they be concentrated into a delineation of the winner passing the post the losers distances; and what disgusting particulars of boxing matches shall we avoid by a spirited etching.
The bear-chief himself came forward, and with a majestic wave of his right hand, said that he did not wish to shed the blood of the young warriors; but that if Grasshopper, who appeared to be the head of the war-party, consented, they two would have a race, and the winner should kill the losing chief, and all his young men should be servants to the other.
Remember that usually the loser of a match plays just as well as the winner allows him. Never lose your temper at a bad decision. It never pays, and has cost many a match. I remember a famous match in Philadelphia, between Wallace F. Johnson, the fifth ranking player in America, and Stanley W. Pearson, a local star, in the Interclub tennis league of that city.
"Three eights and a pair of deuces," boasted the Westerner, exposing the full hand upon the board. "Beats three kings," admitted the other, ruefully laying down his hand. The winner pocketed the money with an exaggerated wink in the direction of the newspaper youth who had been an interested spectator.
He swung about and showed his yellow fangs like a mobbed wolf at the pack baying at his heels. Once inside the Paddock he was just going to dismount, when Jaggers, Joses, and Ikey Aaronsohnn rushed at him and held him on. "Stick to her!" screamed Joses. The little group drifted past Old Mat and Jim Silver, who was holding the winner.
"It is said that thou earnest among the gondoliers in the late regatta, and that, but for this aged fisherman, thou would'st have been winner of the prize?" "In that, rumor hath not lied, Signore." "Thou dost not, then, deny the charge!" said the examiner, in evident surprise. "It is certain that, but for the fisherman, I should have been the winner." "And thou wished it, Jacopo?"
There was no joy in his play. He shot the dice across the table viciously. Every throw was a, sort of insidious insult to his competitor, Cheyenne. Bartley was more interested in the performance than the actual winning or losing, although he realized that Cheyenne was still a heavy winner. Presently Wishful stepped over to Bartley and touched his arm.
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