* * * * * *
Then here's to Chess: and a cheer again
For the man who fought on an April day
With never a thought of sordid gain!
England's proud of you, Edward Bray!
PROGRESSIVE BRIDGE
There were twelve tables numbered A, B, C, up to—well, twelve of them, and I started at E, because my name is Ernest. Our host arranged us and, of course, he may have had quite another scheme in his mind. If so, it was an extraordinary coincidence that my partner's name was Ethel. She herself swore it was Millicent, but I doubt if one can trust a woman in these matters. She looked just like an Ethel. I had never seen her before, I shall never see her again, but she will always be Ethel to me.
There is only one rule at progressive bridge, and that is, if you lose you go to the next table, and if you win you stay where you are. In any case you get a fresh partner each time. That being so, it seemed hardly worth while to ask Ethel what she discarded from. As it happened, though, she began it.
"I discard from strength," she said.
"So do I," I agreed gladly. We already had a lot in common. "Great strength returns the penny," I added.
"What's that?"
"Moderate strength rings the bell. It's a sort of formula I say to myself, and brings luck. May I play to hearts?"