Life — July 23, 1908 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

alee BE Without at all appearing to do so, I had even while I spoke, rapidly calculated that I had seven hearts in my hand, which was more cards than any of the suit contained. “May I play to a heart?’ said Whiskers (for this is the name I immediately gave him). “You may,’ replied his partner, who appeared to me to be a nervous system inhabited by a spinster lady of uncertain age. If she had indeed possessed half as much intellect she might have been a leader of the Salvation Army, with a tal bourine attachment. As it was, she was the best bridge player in a community that so far as I could gather never did any- thing else but eat and sleep. Whiskers led the ace of spades, and, not having any spades, I was about to trump it triumphantly with one of my hearts, when I caught my partner looking at me. Indeed, by this time, I was learning to look for her looks. It was worth more than a knowledge of the game itself, just to be on such a con- fidential basis with a grand creature like that. “ You lay down your hand,’ she said quietly, “on the table.”” “To be sure, to be sure,’ said I, remembering that I had seen some such thing in watching others. With this I put down the ace, king, queen, knave and ten of hearts and two others, with the ace, queen, seven of clubs and king, queen and ten of diamonds. “That was the only thing to do,’” said I, as my partner, fol- lowing my suggestion, trumped the ace of spades. “No talking, sir, if you please,’ said Whiskers, glaring fiercely at me. “This is bridge, sir. I say, this is bridge.” “Indeed,” I replied calmly. And I fancy I rather had the upper hand. “i was under the impression that it was a san- gerfest.”” I knew instantly that Whiskers didn’t know what a sanger- fest was. For that matter, neither did I. But it told heavily upon him for not to know about it only made it appear worse AS GOOD AS NEW. Isenheimer: “sammy, you You'LL VEAR YOUR sors ouT!"* MUST TAKE LONGER SHTEPS; And somehow it seemed to add to the subtle irony of my re- mark to have it as remote and unintelligible as possible. He sighed deeply and looked at his partner hopelessly in a manner almost enough to make her bones crack. Indeed, I almost fancied I could hear them crack. In the meantime, my part- ner had taken another trick. “Score one game for you,’? said Whiskers (who, was keep- ing it), with 64 in honors and 56 in tricks.’’ “ Not so bad,’ said I, cheerfully. 1 was bound to get a rise out of somebody if I could, but all were silent. Only I found my partner and myself exchanging glances. She was growing more handsome every minute. Whiskers dealt. When he looked over his cards he said “ Without.” “Excuse me,’ said I, thinking possibly that he was think- ing like me of something else. (1 knew it couldn't be his part- ner, as I was.) “ Without—what?"* “ Without trumps, you" He gave another snort. Perhaps he was trying to get back at me for that sangerfest, by leaving what I was to the imag- ination. It takes more than a pair of whiskers, however, to rattle me. I realized also that I must keep my temper. Be- sides, I was getting busy with my partner's eyes (an occupation in itself), and I was gathering inspiration right along. I looked at my hand, and although it was” another pack of cards, there were those same hearts, seven of ’em, almost the same as before. This time I had the ace, king, jack, ten, eight and two others. “T'll raise you,” I said, wondering why Whiskers could be such an ass as to make it without any trumps in his hand. comicbooks.com