My left-hand enemy said "No"; my
partner said "No"; and the doubler--well, he doubled again. This time my
partner, being Dummy, hurled down all his thunder-bolts--thirteen small
ones--at once. When it was all over he explained at some length that he did
not wish ever to be taken out of an opponent's double. I expect this was
another convention he was going to tell me about when he was interrupted in
the overture to the rubber. Anyway he hadn't told me, and I at some slight
cost--five hundred--had nobly carried out his programme.
When eventually the final blow fell and we, with the aid of the club
secretary, were trying to add up the various columns of figures, the waiter
brought up the evening papers. I seized one and, looking at the chief
events of the day, remarked, "STEVENSON is playing a great game." My late
partner said, "Ah, you're interested in billiards." I admitted the soft
impeachment. "Yes," he said dreamily, "a fine game, billiards; you never
have to play against three opponents."
I have now definitely decided that playing my 2 handicap game at the
Robinsons' and my plus 1 in the home circle is all the bridge I really care
about.
* * * * *
ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.
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