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Show condemn pool as a path to Hell. He saw in it a good use for the unoccupied part of our second story. Those bedrooms for El Vera and me and occasional guests left two-thirds of the space vacant. The pool table grew into a family enterprise. Father did the basic part, working with much skill from photos and diagrams. He left to Mother the task of sewing the six pockets and tacking them in place. She also found, folded away in one of our old trunks, yards of sturdy green upholstery we could use instead of the felt customary for the playing surface. As a teen-ager likely to get most fun out of the table I helped eagerly. One of my jobs was cutting long strips of rubber from blown-out inner tubes from the Model T one-ton truck we'd added to our equipment. These strips I tacked on, several layers of them, for the cushions. El Vera ordered the balls, cues and chalk from Sears. We had lots of fun with the table. Anybody who wished could play on it free. Oddly I remember lonely sheepherders using it more than anybody else. Some of these men were experts and they found my cushions a bit uneven, as the balls bounced differently where I'd driven tacks and where I hadn't. Also El Vera had thriftily ordered balls and cues a little under standard size. The cost was less. But the experts only laughed off these lacks. And early teenagers and children found the game fascinating. Father never played on the table but he beamed with pleasure to see others enjoy it. This was typical of him. Although he never played games except an occasional evening of "500" or whist-no gambling!-he responded generously to others' desire for amusement. |