He now blinked mildly.
"But I'm not sleepy a-tall," he objected.
He tried and missed an easy shot; he chalked his cue with assiduous care.
"Here, you! Quit knockin' those balls round!" bawled Max, the bartender.

"What you think this is--a kindergarten ?" "Why, I paid for all the games I lost, didn't I ?" asked Pringle, much abashed.
He mopped his face.

It was warm, though the windows and doors were open.
"Well, nobody's going to play any more with you," snapped Max.

"You bore 'em." He pyramided the balls and covered the table.

With a sad and lingering backward look Pringle slouched abjectly through the wide-arched doorway to the bar.
"Come on, fellers--have something." "Naw!" snarled Jose Espalin.