"Did you ever see anything grander than that?" he said, under cover of
the momentary applause. "I'm willing to lose my ten thousand now
without a murmur. You see, you are a mascot after all."

The old man was too much excited to speak, but he hoped the boy would
take no more chances. Again came the click-click of the balls. The
father was pleased to see that Dick played now with all the care and
caution he had observed at first. The silence became intense, almost
painful. Every man leaned forward and scarcely breathed.

All at once Prognor strode down to the billiard-table and stretched his
hand across it. A cheer shook the ceiling. The cup would remain on its
black marble pedestal. Saunders had won. He took the outstretched hand
of his defeated opponent, and the building rang again.

Banker Hammond pushed his way through the congratulating crowd and
smote the winner cordially on the shoulder.

"That was a great run, Dick, my boy. The old man was your mascot. Your
luck changed the moment he came in. Your father had his eye on you all
the time."

"What!" cried Dick, with a jump.

A flush came over his pale face as he caught his father's eye, although
the old man's glance was kindly enough.

"I'm very proud of you, my son," said his father, when at last he
reached him. "It takes skill and pluck and nerve to win a contest like
that. I'm off now; I want to tell your mother about it."