(_CONTINUED._)
I am really fond of the game, which is fortunate, though my partners
don't think so; but I am free to confess, that nothing short of an
absorbing admiration for it and desire to excel, could tempt me
to brave the sarcasms, even insults, to which I am subjected. Your
thoroughgoing Whist-player as such--admirable in private life as I
personally know him to be--the moment he begins the daily business
of his life, seems to cast his better nature to the winds. At another
time and place he would lend a sympathetic ear to any tale of woe; now
and here nothing seems to interest him but his own immediate welfare,
which he pursues with concentrated energy and earnestness. I verily
believe that if, at one of two adjoining tables, the chandelier fell
on the players' heads to their exceeding detriment, the occupants
of the other table would scarcely lift their eyes or interrupt their
rubber for one moment. _Fiant chartæ ruat coelum_--let the cards be
made whatever chandeliers fall.
[Illustration: "When I come to think the matter over in cold blood."]
The players at my Club are all good, one especially so, a retired
Colonel of a West Indian regiment, of whom I stand in mortal dread.
He has short shrift for any failings, even of players nearly as good
as himself, whilst as for me! though he has never yet resorted to
personal violence with a chair-leg, yet that would not surprise me;
and my pestilent fate in defiance of all mathematical odds in such
case made and provided, is to cut him as my partner three and four
times in succession in an evening. I sometimes have glimmerings of
sense, and in hands presenting no particular difficulty, if they
contain plenty of good cards--can manage to scrape along in a way I
think fairly satisfactory even--to him, though he never encourages
me by saying so. But an awful thing happened the other night. I had
played one rubber with him and won it, though it was only a rubber
of two instead of a bumper, as it would have been if I had played
properly--for being in doubt and remembering the adage, I had led a
trump, but it subsequently turned out that _the adversaries had called
for them_. Now I never see an adversaries' call, and but rarely those
of my partner, unless when made glaringly conspicuous by a ten and a
two, so I led this wretched card with disastrous results.
However, my partner accepted the situation with unexpected suavity,
merely remarking pleasantly, as an item of general interest, "The only
time my partner ever leads a trump is when the adversaries call." I
smiled inanely--what else could I do? for I was dimly conscious that
the stricture might have justification in fact. Yes, this was bad; but
worse remains behind. In the last hand of the next rubber, my partner
had four trumps; so had I; he had, besides a very long suit; hence he
extracted the trumps, and we were left with the last two between us,
mine being the better. I got the lead, of course, exactly at the time
I did not want it; although everyone else knew where the smaller trump
was, I did not, so I drew it from my partner's hand, and then led him
a card of which he had none in the suit; this card, as ill-luck would
have it, belonged to an enormously long suit, of which one of the
adversaries had entire control. So this gentleman got in and made
about six tricks in it, finishing up with the two; he therefore
made with his spades all--indeed, I rather think more tricks than
the Colonel ought to have made in his diamonds, each of which, now
losing cards, he successively banged down with increasing anger and
turbulence of gesture, as the enormity of my crime was borne in upon
him. It was the deciding game of a rubber; the adversaries' score had
stood at one, while we were at two, and besides, we had had two by
honours; as they made four by cards, they went out--and so did I--not
without an _obbligato_ accompaniment on muted strings; unwhispered
whispers of "confounded blockhead!" "blundering idiot!" "well, of all
the born fools!" and similar objurgations.
When I came to think the matter over in cold blood, I could see
that my proper course would have been to lead the losing card before
drawing my partner's trump. I merely made a mistake (a fatal one I
grant) in the order of playing them. That was all.
* * * * *
My friend goes on to make learned remarks about "American leads," "the
fourth best," and the difficulties of playing a knave; lead him at
once, _I_ think, on _Dogberry's_ principle: and "thank heaven you are
rid of a knave."
The depths of my guilt may be guessed from the fact that many of my
Mentor's explanations are Hittite to me. People talking of laying up
a wretched old age by not playing, I should be laying it up for other
people if I did play much. Half-crown points, a partner who knows how
to score (those counters and candlesticks, or the machines with little
bone grave-stones that shut up with a snap, bother me), and amiable
conversation on well-chosen topics while the game goes on, make the
kind of Whist that I enjoy. We used to play it in Common Room in the
happy past; it was easier than Loo, which I never quite understood.
The rigour of the game is the ruin of Whist.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW L.C.C. WAXWORKS.