Life — July 23, 1908 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“ALAR ES “ Hearts” ID you ever play Bridge? They say it’s a good game, but I don’t see so much to it. 1 was over at my cousins’ the other night, having dropped in on them unexpectedly (so nice, you know, to have a place like that where you can feel free to drop in at any time) and they had a bridge party on. At the last moment some one telephoned regrets and my cousin turned to me and said: “George, you must help us out You play, of course.” Now I don’t play, you know, but I like to be obliging, and so I said: “T shall be delighted to help you out, only my game——" “There, there,"’ said my cousin, “I understand. depreciate yourself. I'll wager you're a fiend at it. Of course, I've played whist and I knew bridge was the next worst thing, for I never could understand anyway the passion for cards which possesses some people. I drew a violently handsome young woman for my part- ner. I knew at a glance that she was a good player. She had a sort of chronic bridge look about her, which did not take from her beauty in the least. But I've knocked about the Don't world a bit and am not apt to get rattled easi “Strength or weakness? '’ she asked in businesslike tones, looking coldly at me as she shuflled the cards. (It was her deal.) “ Beg pardon?" I said “ Do you discard from strength or weakness?" She repeated more fully this time. But she wasn’t going to catch me as early in the game as that. I bowed politely. “T prefer not to say,"’ I replied. “I would rather not give away my game."” I felt that was an inspiration. Our opponents exchanged what was plainly an attempt at a courageous smile. But I knew already that I had them on the run. After all, it’s confidence in one's self that wins. My partner glanced over her hand and said, “I pass.”* My right hand opponent was a large man with a thin red face, small eyes and mustaches on either side of his face that fell away—or rather drooped, but slightly—to a single fierce hair. I waited some time for him to speak. Finally I said as politely as possible : “What do you do, sir? "” I fancied I heard him snort, but this after all 1 been only my imagination. “This is not a game of euchre,’’ he replied. “We are all waiting for you. What do you do, sir?” There are moments when one should make concessions to an enemy. Besides, I was there to learn quickly, and not to appear as if I was ignorant. So I said warmly: “Of course! How stupid of me. I have been playing euchre a great deal lately and momentarily I forgot.’* I scanned my hand critically. “Um. Ab!" [ said. “Sorry. I pass also.” This time there was no mistake about it. My right hand opponent did snort. I saw then that I had rade a mistake. I had been too apologetic. I was about to snort back (this being the only method of retaliation that immediately occurred to me) when my partner, in a wonderfully low even voice looked at me fixedly as she said : “You must make it, you know. Just take your longest suit, that is, the one you have the most of, no matter whether they are high or not, and make it that.”” I listened intently, for if I do say it, I have always been re- markably quick to pick anything up, and when she had fin- ished, I said: “Yes. That was precisely what I was going to do when this gentleman (I purposely lingered on that word) interrupted me. I was about to say that I pass—to hearts.”” ht have comicbooks.com