"My game--and set!" cried TOMMY, joyously.

"You've improved awfully," said BILL.

I could not imagine why BILL had intentionally lost that set, for
I knew that he hated losing. When TOMMY had gone home again to the
Rectory, BILL came up to me to ask how old I thought a man ought to
be before he began smoking. I said that I thought thirty-six was about
the right age, and asked BILL why he had let TOMMY win.

"Oh, nothing particular," said BILL, in his matter-of-fact way; "only
I'd never seen him wear that kind of tie before, and I asked him what
he was doing it for, and he said it was for his aunt; she died a few
weeks back; so I thought I might as well give him the set to make up
for it."

I was rather amused. "TOMMY looked very pleased with himself," I said.

"Yes, he'll brag about that game all over the place," replied BILL,
rather despondently. For a moment or two he was silent, imagining the
triumph and pride of TOMMY. "I'd punch his head as soon as look at
him," he added.

"What on earth for? He thought he'd won by play."

"He can't play any more than a cow, but that's not it. I hate to see
anyone get so glorious about anything. Well, I don't know--it's kind
of natural. He'd have had a right to brag, if he had really won, and
he thought he did."