The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1910-08-27

y
trained to the angles of a pool ia
Bile, the eye that glows with the
gambling lust; these are all there
about you wherever you look, peer
ing through the volume of cigaret
smoke that rises up miasmic- like
from the green surface of the ia
bles.
SLIM WHITE HANDS.
Neither will you see a hand hon
est with the scars of toll, the rough
hand that is doing the work of a
man in the world, the hand that
gives and takes with fate. There
are soft white hands, sickeningly
white, except between the index
and second finger, where the nox
ious cigaret has blown it's jaun
diced breath. They are for the
most part slim hands, flexible, pre-
hensile, that for some reason in,
stinctively prompt one to safe.
guard his pockets from dexterous
intrusion.
Pool room habitues are for the
most part young, and, of course,
sallow, with vile experience in
the underways of the world, and
cursed with a vocabulary for indie
cency. Sartorially they range from
the SLOUGH hated wouth, who looks
every inch the sure thing thug, to
the Du Barry heeled, silk shifted,
Turkish cigaretted dandy, whose
means of support depend altogether
upon police tolerance.
BEGAN TENDING BAR.
Occasionally among the older
ones you will see a man, who, may
hap, at one time was a useful in
dividual, logger, farm hand, I'M
til he began tending bar" in some
cross roads saloon, and learned
enough saloon and pool room lore
to exist without manual labor. He
has now evolved to the stage
where he changes his shirt once a
week and combs his hair in a
sweeping sticking lick low down on
his forehead, or brushed sharply
upward above his temples.
They are skillful at the game of
pool, these inefficients in black
sateen or white silk. They move
about the tables with that assur-
edness of stride that comes with
complete confidence in self. There
is no hesitatncy about their method
of handling the cue. They know
what they are doing all the time,
only their knowledge, their doings,
are worthless, and their very per-
lection of performance is distaste-
full.
A flat-chested little fob gyrated
around a table the other afternoon
In emulation of one as flat chested
as he, less foppish, but with eyes
like gimlet holes sunk close to
gether, and a thin nose, drawn
tight, until the carriages showed
white. The fop was recently arisen
and fresh from the barber, pomad
ed, neck shaved high, shoes ag
excessively shiny, and flowing tic
| i'm a Bohemian knot.
BROW SLOPED BACK.
His forehead pitched back to the
crown with the slant of Queer
Anne roof, and every time he
strobe about the pool table, he cas-
off the scent of cheap perfumery
He was altogether of the type tina
| makes the honest boot itch for pro
pulsive action. Between his Gig
aret and his cue, this pigeon-chest
ed little biped worked as II life de
pended on it.
1t was a matter of 10 cents
game between him and the house
and possibly a larger sum between
him and his opponent. The amour
of energy they expended about TIT
pool table would total to a day.
work. All afternoon they busie'
themselves driving the balls int
the pockets. Others of their like
sat around in various loaffng att
tudes and watched them as the.
played
There was no comment, no con
yersation. save an occasional oatl
of appreciation or disappointment
tehre did not appear to be any en-
ioyment, either on the part OF III
PLAYERS or the spectators.
Nai