The rest was easy. The vicar played a small spade and scored ninety-six points without any further risk.
“It is magnificent; but it is not bridge,” said the man from Pittsburg. Dunston simply glowered.
“Partner,” demanded Hare timidly, “may I ask why you called ‘no trumps’ on a hand like that?”
“Thought I would give you a chance of distinguishing yourself,” replied Spencer. “Besides, that sort of thing rattles your opponents at the beginning of a game. Keep your nerve now, padre, and you have ’em in a cleft stick.”
As it happened, Holt made a “no trump” declaration on a very strong hand; but Spencer held seven clubs headed by the ace and king.
He doubled. Holt redoubled. Spencer doubled again.
Hare flushed somewhat. “Allow me to say that I am very fond of bridge; but I cannot take part in a game that savors of gambling, even for low stakes,” he broke in.
“Shall we let her go at forty-eight points a trick?” Spencer asked.
“Yep!” snapped Holt. “Got all the clubs?”
“Not all—sufficient, perhaps.”