"Good old Caterpillar!" said the Duffer.
"Not my own," said the Caterpillar; adding, as usual, "My governor's, you know."
"Warde hasn't a soft job ahead of him," said Desmond.
"Soft or hard, he'll handle it his own way."
Desmond went out, wondering what had become of Scaife. Scaife was in his room, talking to Lovell senior, who spent a fortnight with Scaife's people in Scotland, fishing and grousing. Desmond had been asked also, but his father, rather to Cæsar's disgust (for the Scaife moor was famous), had refused to let him go. Lovell and Scaife were arguing about something which Desmond could not understand.
"I left it to my partner," said Scaife, "and the fool went no trumps holding two missing suits. The enemy doubled, my partner redoubled, and the others redoubled again: that made it ninety-six a trick. The fellow on the left held my partner's missing suits; he made the Little Slam, and scored nearly six hundred below the line. It gave 'em the rubber, too, and I had to fork out a couple of quid."
"What are you jawing about, Demon?" said Desmond.
"Bridge. It's the new game. It's going to be the rage. Do you play bridge, Cæsar?"
"No. I want to learn it."
"All right, I must teach you."