Chess Story

by Stefan Zweig

His minimum fee is 250 dollars a game.” I laughed. “I never would have thought that shuffling pieces from black to white would be such a remunerative business. Well, I hope you parted on good terms.” But McConnor remained totally serious. “The game is set for tomorrow afternoon at three. Here in the smoking room. I hope he doesn't wipe the floor with us too easily.” “What, you agreed to his 250 dollars?” I exclaimed, quite shocked. “Why not? C'est son métier. If I had a toothache and there happened to be a dentist on board, I wouldn't expect him to extract my tooth for free. The man is quite right to charge the earth. In every field the real experts are also the best businessmen. I'd rather pay in full than have to ask a fellow like Czentovic for special treatment and end up by having to thank him for it. At the end of the day I've lost more than 250 dollars some evenings in my club with no world champion in sight. It's no disgrace for “third class players” to get beaten by a fellow such as Czentovic.”