Willie Hoppe saw a friend in the second row, and on his way to the table he stopped and shook handswith his left hand. To use his right would have dislodged the poise of the fine muscles there. The table stood on a carpet in the middle of the ballroom. He began to play with confidence and a measured rhythm. From four sides of the room the faces of the crowd, banked in rows, in the shadow, in the airless heat, watched him without moving. This was an important evening for Willie Hoppe. Boy...
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