BRIDGE CONVENTIONS.
The game of Auction Bridge may be divided into three species. There is the one we play at home, the second which we play at the Robinsons', and the third that is played at the high table at my club.
The three games are peculiarly distinct, but I have only recently discovered, at some expense, that each one has its particular conventions. At home, if I venture a light no-trump, and Joan, sitting on my right, exclaims well out of turn, "Oh! father," we all know that Joan has the no-trumper, and the play proceeds accordingly.
At the Robinsons' it is different. Suppose I make a call of one spade and the elder hand two hearts, and my partner (let us suppose he is Robinson) passes, and I say "Two spades," and the elder hand says "Three hearts," and Robinson bellows "No," I at once realise that it would be extremely dangerous to call three spades.
These two typical forms of convention are quite clear and seldom lead to any misunderstanding. But the high table at the club is different, and, if I might say so with all diffidence, the conventions there are not so well defined. In fact they may lead to terrible confusion. I speak with confidence on this point because I tried them a few days ago.
Three disconsolate monomaniacs wanted making up, and I, dwelling upon the strong game I had recently been playing at home, threw precaution to the winds and made them up. My partner was a stern man with a hard blue eye and susceptible colouring. After we had cut he informed me that, should he declare one no-trump, he wished to be taken out into a major suit of five; also, should he double one no-trump, he required me to declare without fail my best suit. He was going to tell me some more but somebody interrupted him. Then we started what appeared to be a very ordinary rubber.
My partner perhaps was not quite at his best when it was my turn to lead; at least he never seemed particularly enthusiastic about anything I did lead, but otherwise—well, I might almost have been at the Robinsons'. Then suddenly he doubled one no-trump.
I searched feverishly for my best suit. I had two—four diamonds to the eight; four hearts to the eight. A small drop of perspiration gathered upon my brow. Then I saw that, whereas I held the two, three, five of hearts, I had the two, three, six of diamonds. Breathing a small prayer, I called two diamonds. This was immediately doubled by the original declarer of no-trumps. My partner said "No," my other opponent said "No," and I, thinking it couldn't be worse, switched into my other best suit and made it two hearts. The doubler passed and I felt the glow of pride which comes to the successful strategist. This was frozen instantly by my partner's declaration of two no-trumps.
If Mr. Smillie were suddenly transformed into a Duke I am certain he would not look so genuinely horror-struck as my partner did when I laid my hand upon the table. Yet, as I pointed out, it was his own beastly convention, so I just washed my hands of it and leaned back and watched him hurl forth his cards as Zeus hurled the thunder-bolts about.
Then, of course, the other convention had to have its innings. My partner went one no-trump, and I began to look up my five suit. In the meantime the next player on the declaring list doubled the no-trump. This was very confusing. Was he playing my partner's convention and asking his partner for his best suit? I hesitated; but orders are orders, so, having five spades to the nine, I declared two spades. 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.
"Man's original evolution from the anthropoid apes ... becomes a reasonable hypothesis, especially when we think of the semi-naked savages who inhabited these islands when Julius Cæsar landed on our shores, and our present Prime Minister."—Church Family Newspaper.
"The contemplated aerial expedition to the South Pole will start in October. Aeroplanes and airships will be used, and the object of the trip is to study magnetic wages."—Irish Paper.
Incidentally it is expected a new altitude record may be achieved.
