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<h2> BILLIARDS </h2>
<p>Mr. Clemens attended a billiard tourney on the evening of April<br/>
24, 1906, and was called on to tell a story.<br/></p>
<p>The game of billiards has destroyed my naturally sweet disposition. Once,
when I was an underpaid reporter in Virginia City, whenever I wished to
play billiards I went out to look for an easy mark. One day a stranger
came to town and opened a billiard parlor. I looked him over casually.
When he proposed a game, I answered, “All right.”</p>
<p>“Just knock the balls around a little so that I can get your gait,” he
said; and when I had done so, he remarked: “I will be perfectly fair with
you. I’ll play you left-handed.” I felt hurt, for he was cross-eyed,
freckled, and had red hair, and I determined to teach him a lesson. He won
first shot, ran out, took my half-dollar, and all I got was the
opportunity to chalk my cue.</p>
<p>“If you can play like that with your left hand,” I said, “I’d like to see
you play with your right.”</p>
<p>“I can’t,” he said. “I’m left-handed.”</p>
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