It happened ultimately that Stevenson, receiving 6,300 18,000 up, won that game. But the real victory was to Roberts. Stevenson was @ machine, of exquisite care and precision, but still a machine. Roberts was a living force and the balls themselves became endued with life under his touch. Where others were content only to pile up a big break Roberts must also make his break a thing of beauty.
What "W. G." was ta cricket, what the younger Doherty was to lawn tennis, what Paderewski was to the piano—alas, that he has now to attune his mind to the beastly discords of politics—and (may it be added?) what Cinque-valu was to all other jugglers, that was Roberts to billiards.
Here is a strange mixture, it may be said. But after all on what does greatness really depend? It is not so much in the pursuit itself as in. the manner of - its pursuing. The man stands out in memory, not the thing he does. And recollection of John Roberts calls up a picture of a portly, urbane, iron-grey figure, of a dignity instinctively to' be res: pected, of a kindliness the most sullen' must feel, who set the ivories a-dancing on the green cloth and the hearts of those who watched them dancing in tune. and brought to the atmosphere of common billiard match a. sense of romance and inspiration and joy such as only the true. artist can evoke.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.