DRAUGHTS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3380, 25 December 1918, Page 47

DRAUGHTS.

CONDUCTED BY JOS. ABEBNETHY.

Solutions of problems, games, and analyses in* Vited for this column. Qamos should be written in six columns as below, and all correspondence addressed to the Draughts Editor.

PROBLEM 4436. By W. O'Malley, Queenstown.

White* to play and win.

PROBLEM 4437. (Author Trnknown )

Black to move and win

THE CHECKER CHAMPION CHECKED.

An amusing story comes to hand with reference to a practical joxe of large dimensions which was got off some time ago on Mike Patchett, whom everybody knows as a draughts player, and a very decent fellow in his way, though occasionally given to boasting of his prowess at the board. A few choice spirits wero determined to take a rise out of Mike, and when they told) him that they had found a player who would double him up in "next to no time," they ha<Z no d-fficulty in arranging a meeting, ror Mike is one that never wants to shirk an adversary. The Northern iC.P.R. checker "retreat" was the spot chosen, and half-past seven in the evening was to be the time. Promptly to time Mike appeared on the scene, and, taking a seat at a table, he reached a checker-board and placed it ready for action. A dead silence reigned in the room, for he was the first comer; perhaps his watch, like himself, was just a little fast. He hadl not to wait long, however, for soon, outside the door, ,he heard a heavy approaching tread. Looking up, he saw a tall sunburnt figure at the door that looked as though it had recently come from the Wild West. The man wore a Buffalo Bill hat, a blue shirt tucked into his pants, boots nearly up to his knees, and presently a generally ferocious aspect. In fact, he looked fit for anything, from, robbing a train to murdering his mother-in-law. Mike began to feel far from comfortable, and experienced a sensation like cold water being poured down his back, when the stranger walked into the room with a heavy stride, and said: "Are you the checker champion they talk about?" "Well," said Mike a trifle nervously, "they do call me that sometimes. Ido play some." "Did think to see a bigger man," said the new-comer gruffly; "however, I reckon you and me's got to play, eh? Got to play, eh, mis'er?" "Are you the gent that was to meet me here?" asked Mike. "Am I the gent? Of course I am! Anything to complain of, eh? Perhaps I ain't good enough for you. Pr'aps you expected to see one o' there 'ere darned dudes, did you?" "Oh, no, not in the least I expected to see a gentleman like you," said Mike, with a forced smile. "Very well. Well, now, Mr Patchett, I beg you to jest understand! I'm one as stands no nonsense." He drew a plug of tobacco from hie pocket and laid it on the table. Then from another pocket he drew a revolver and put that down. From some other part of his person he produced a murderous-looking bowie-knife, which he whacked down by the tobacco with a-thud that made Mike's blood run cold. "And now, Mr Patchett, we can go along comfortable," ho said surlily. Mike was anything but comfortable, and began to glance at tho diaor. "If anyone insults me they've got to fight," said the stranger. "I can find another bowieknife or .another pistol. P'raps you'd like to have a set-to before we begin." "Oh, no thank you," said Mike. They besran the game, ond Mike's knees were knocking: together under the table with fen.r. To think of playing well under these circumstarces was'out of the question; it was as much as Mike could do to play at all. Mistake on his part followed mistake—he had never nlayed so badly since he was a ten-year-old boy. He persm'red to such an ex*"it that the sweat stood in great beads uoon his brow, and when the game was through and he was thoroughly beaten, words could) not express his chagrin. He felt mean. Ho i'onged to sink throueh the floor "And they call you the checker ch amnion, do they?" said his companion. "Well, it must be a mighty noor port of the country where they do. Why, where I come from, we've got little kidis six years old as could whack you. Checker chanrmon, eh?" And with a scowl the fearsome stranger strode to ihe door. Then it w«e that the choice spirits who had got up the joke crowded' into the room

"Hello, Mike; did you "be*it Tiim7" thev «vri«d simultaneously. "Toll 113 about it, oldJ fellow. "Was it a good game?"

But Mike had not a word to say for himself. Usually boastful, all the '"stiffening" Beemed to be taken out of him now. Pretty soon he slunk quietly out of the room. It was not until many weeks afterwards that ae found out that it was a "put-up job." The "wild-western" stranger was a carpenter of the neighbourhood, wno had entered into the joke and fixed himself up for the occasion. CHECKERS IN TENNESSEE. TODD BY A MISSISSIPPI BOATMAN. Checkers, pardsl , Well, since you axes me, The queerest match that I ever see Was played in the state of Tennessee, In the town of Muldare. It was fit in Sudlow P'arkis' store, An' mo an' half a dozen more I£in take our oaths about the score; An' everything was squar'. Old Deacon Flee, we all allowed, Could beat the best man of our crowd J All Tipton county, he alius vowed, We boys caved into him; For he shoved his men so mighty slick, An' was up to every trap an' trick A regular old dogmatic brick. Chock full of spunk and vim. 'Twas one of them pesky winter days, Half snow, half rain, an' a frosty haze Had laid the dust: we enjoyed the blaze An,' all sot round the stove. The Deacon, was playing Bronco Jim, Whan in floats a stranger, tall an' slim, Took a soap box, an' sot down by them; A meekish looking cove. He began at first by nudging me; Remarked 'twas good playing, "but" said he, "Old cove should a' had five, kings to three, I guess his eyesight's lame." Now, this riled up the Old Deacon so; He just kinder let his dander grow. "I reckon," sa,:d he, "you think you know Some pints about this game." He was a mild-looking man, he saw, So he jest kep' up his nagging jaw, Till he pricked the stranger in the raw, Then he slung in his say. Said he, as mild as a mushroom stew, "JNio, I don't think I kin quite beat you. But mebbee kin show you suthin' new, If it's for kings you'll play." "You're the worst galoot I ever met," Laughed the Deacon; "I'm here to bet I wttl get more kings than you kin get In fifteen games, or tenl" "Wall! I ain't got nary a banker's pile," Said. the stranger, with. his meekish smilo, "We'll try a dollar a king awhile"; An' so they sot the men. Ten games 'twas agreed should be the score, First, the stranger got six kings to four, The Deacon vowed he'd get no more, An' won that game by jingsl When four were played, with a draw or two, The Deacon remarked, "I'm beating you." • The stranger meekly 'lowed it was true; But kep' on getting kings. -Wall, the way that cove piled up the score Of kings—all chalked on the cellar door, We reckoned he'd played that style before An' lost games didn't mind; For after the hul ten games were done His kings tallied up juat fifty one, While the Deacon's only twenty shown, Jest thirty-one behind!. Snorting, the Deacon paid up the cash, I reckon he thought he'd, been too brash. The stranger offered him 'nother dash, Just for to git his hand in. But he shook his head, vamosed the store, An' he wasn't seen for three months or more— . • He felt so tarnation cheap and sore; He'd lost his front pew standin'. But this yar is what I've alius said: That cove had a Stonewall Jackson head, The Deacon was neither fleeced nor bled, For everything was squar'. —James Hili..