Yet I was aware that something unusual had happened. Whether we
somehow followed the Master to lunch or whether he somehow invited us
to come with him I do not know, but we were in his room; and as we sat
down he said in a low but intense voice: “The match is over. Mr. Otaké
ruined it with that sealed play. It was like smearing ink over the picture we
had painted. The minute I saw it I felt like forfeiting the match. Like telling
them it was the last straw. I really thought I should forfeit. But I hesitated,
and that was that.”
I do not remember whether Yawata was with us, or Goi, or both. In any
case, we were silent.
“He makes a play like that, and why?” growled the Master. “Because he
means to use two days to think things over. It’s dishonest.”
We said nothing. We could neither nod assent nor seek to defend Otaké.
But our sympathies were with the Master.
I had not been aware, at the moment of play, that the Master was so
angry and so disappointed as to consider forfeiting the match. There was no
sign of emotion on his face or in his manner as he sat at the board. No one
among us sensed his distress.
We had been watching Yawata, of course, as he was having his troubles
with the chart and the sealed play, and we had not looked at the Master. Yet
the Master had played White 122 in literally no time, less than a minute. It
was understandable that we should not have noticed. The minute had not
started precisely when Yawata found the sealed play, to be sure; and yet the
Master had brought himself under control in a very short time, and
maintained his composure throughout the session.
