A Bridge Lesson in High Society

Showing that the Life of a Fashionable Auction Teacher Is Simply One Poisoned Arrow after Another

CHARLES STUART STREET

CHARLES STUART STREET, the author of this little satire, is a picturesque and popular figure in the social life of New York. For nearly twenty years, now, he has been the busiest bridge teacher imaginable, the number of his lessons being limited only by the number of hours on the face of the clock. Aside from his profound knowledge of auction, his chief merits as a teacher—we can speak from a long and delightful experience—are his ready wit and unfailing good nature. His patience, under the whips and arrows of outrageous pupils, can hardly be estimated or believed. A month or so ago he attended an evening party in a house on Fifth Avenue where each of the guests was obliged to contribute a number to an amateur.vaudeville program. The following skit was Mr. Street's contribution to the gaity of the evening. The people who are pilloried in his sketch were present at the vaudeville and the skit is only published here as a result of their good-natured approval.

EDITOR'S NOTE

THE scene is the piazza of Mr. Benkard's house on Long Island, not far from the Piping Rock Club. There is a bridge table on the piazza, two packs of cards, several tables of different sorts and sizes, plants, many chairs, and a five-pound box of candy. The curtain rises and discloses Mr. and Mrs. Efrem Zimbalist, Prince Rospigliosi and Mrs. Phil Benkard seated at a bridge-table. They are about to take a lesson in auction. Mr. Street, the teacher, arrives. Mrs: Benkard comes forward to meet him.

MRS. B.: Oh! How do you do, Mr. Street? I'm so glad you could come again today. I particularly wanted you to put in this hour on Mr. Benkard—he bids his hand so horribly and insists on playing every hand. By the way, I wonder where he is, I suppose he is at the club, but, as this is really his class—he ought to be here. And, oh! Mr. Street, I must explain about our class; the members of it have changed a little since last Saturday. I never seem to be able to get the same people twice. You see, the De GersdorfF's couldn't come, and, as I have the Zimbalists and their children staying with me, and as Prince Rospigliosi wanted a lesson, I let them come over here today. But I had already asked two friends, Jim Whigham, the magazine publisher, and Frank Pollock, who sings and plays too wonderfully—not bridge, but the piano; but let's hope devoutly that they won't come as we have four already and Phil will make the fifth. I wonder where Phil can be? Why doesn't he come? *

The butler appears and announces, Mr. Whigham and Mr. Pollock.

MRS. B. (continuing): Oh! What good luck! Here you are at last. I'm so glad you could come, we were just going to begin. (To the butler.) Grimmet, bring some more chairs, please. Profuse introductions follow, and everybody gets up and offers his, or her seat to some one else.

MRS. B. {going right on): Now we can begin; I do hope Phil will come, he does need a lesson so badly! I will stay out during the first hand, and you four men can cut for the pleasure of playing with Mrs. Zimbalist, or {turning to Mr. Zimbalist), perhaps you had better stay out of this rubber; your wife doesn't like playing against you, does she?

MRS. ZIMBALIST: NO, it is with him that I don't like to play; he bids his hands so badly.

MR. ZIMBALIST: My dear Alma, it is you who always keep bidding up and up, but now Mr. Street will tell us all about the science of bidding. {Aside, to Mr. Street.) Do try to help my wife, she bids so badly.

. The three men cut with Mrs. Zimbalist, and take their seats.

MRS. BENKARD: NOW we can begin, although Phil isn't here yet. I do hope he will come. {To Mr. Zimbalist.) You and I must watch everything, Efrem; and perhaps we can learn something: Oh! I forgot, I must go and telephone about our musicale this evening.

The cards-are now dealt and come out wrong— one card short. A search ensues, but the missing card cannot be found. Some one suggests dealing with the other pack, which is cut and dealt and comes out with two cards too many. Everyone hunts for the joker, or the extra cards, but none can be found. So the cards are turned over, face up, and all the players set to work sorting out and counting the suits. Mrs. Benkard returns radiant.

MRS. BENKARD: Phil will be here in five minutes, he is just leaving the club. What? the cards are wrong? Both packs? How tiresome! It must be the servants—or the Zimbalist children! I'll get some more cards. {Goes out and comes back with two new packs, both blue.) Oh, we need a red pack; there must be one somewhere—or couldn't we use only one pack just for this one lesson? Now, Mr. Street, you must go right on with the lesson: I'll go and look for a red pack.

ONE blue pack is. laid on the corner of the table, and the other is shuffled and dealt. The bidding proceeds. Mr. Street walks around, threading his way among the small side tables, extra chairs, potted plants and various drinks that are everywhere lying about. The bidding is finished and the 8 of clubs is led. A nother 8 of clubs appears in the dummy.

MRS. ZIMBALIST: This pack is wrong, too! Let's count out one good pack. Everyone take one suit; I'll take the diamonds.

PRINCE ROSPIGLIOSI {aside): She would— being a woman. {Aloud, and quite gallantly, while looking at Mrs. Zimbalist) and I'll take the hearts.

All set to work again, busily sorting out the suits: it is easier than playing and takes less thought. Mr. Street takes a long, cool drink. A full pack is finally collected.

MRS. BENKARD {returning): I can't find another red pack, we'll have to get along with these, somehow. Oh! You have found a good blue pack. I'm so glad the cards are all right at last.

The butler enters and says, in a low but perfectly audible tone to Mrs. Benkard, Madam the undertaker 'says that he can only send up forty chairs for tonight, and will that do? If so, he can have them up here in an hour. Mrs. Benkard hurries back into the house to telephone. A roar, like a locomotive is heard, and Mr. Benkard dashes up the avenue in his motor and appears on the piazza. Everybody gets up.

MR. BENKARD: Hello, everybody. Hello, Mr. Street, how's the class doing? Pretty rotten, I'll bet? {Without waiting for 'an answer.) No, I won't come in this rubber, go right on. {Calling to his wife.) Come back and get your lesson. {To the others.) She needs lessons very badly. I encouraged her to arrange this class; it's really on her account that I wanted it, she bids so badly! Now, has everybody had a drink? All right—let's start.

The deal is again completed; Mr. Pollock is the dummy.

MRS. BENKARD {returning): Well, I'm glad you've all started at last. Oh! Mr. Street, come here, will you? You know that Mr. Pollock sings and plays the piano too divinely, he's such an artist! Oh! Mr. Pollock, why can't you come in to the music-room since you're the dummy, and sing that ballade for Mr. Street? Come on, Mr. Street, they can get along all right this one hand without you. What are they playing, anyhow?

MRS. ZIMBALIST: TWO spades.

PRINCE ROSPIGLIOSI: NO, two no-trumps.

MRS. ZIMBALIST: NO trumps? I thought we were playing spades! I never would have led a singleton against a no-trumper! May I take it back?

PRINCE ROSPIGLIOSI: Certainly, if Mr. Street has no objection? It is only a lesson, anyway.

MRS. ZIMBALIST: Let's not count this hand: {to the Prince) You deal again.

WHILE the Prince is dealing, Mrs. Benkard carries of Mr. Street, Mr. Pollock and Mr. Zimbalist to the music room. Mrs. Zimbalist begins to sort her cards but suddenly decides to go to the music room also, so lays her hand on the table and follows. Mr. Whigham follows too. Mr. Benkard a-and Prince Rospigliosi are left alone at the table. Each takes a long drink. The Prince absent-mindedly gathers together the blue cards just dealt, shuffles the pack, and places it on top of the other blue pack. Mr. Benkard begins to tell about a hole in the National which he had once done in two and, while he is talking, picks up the two blue packs and shuffles them together. In the music-room Mr. Pollock sings the much discussed ballade, and responds generously to one encore from the audience, and one from himself. Mr. Zimbalist picks out an obligato on a wicker chair-back and Mrs. Zimbalist hums the aria in low and thrilling tones. All now return to the piazza, only to find the two auction survivors madly sorting the mixed blue packs.

MR. BENKARD {beating Mrs. Benkard to it): Of course we got them, mixed. {To his wife.) For Heaven's sake, my dear, why don't you get some decent cards. Here, Grimmet, {calling to the butler), send a man over to the Piping Rock Club and have him get two dozen packs at once, a dozen reds and a dozen blues.

MRS. BENKARD {despairingly): Why get so many? There will only be more to get mixed!

MR. BENKARD: Come on, now, why don't you begin? By the way, Mr. Street, do you play Mah Jong? It's coming into vogue, you know. We've got a wonderful set, all ivory, you know. I bought it myself in China. I'll take you on as soon as the auction lesson is over. Come into the library and I'll show it to you.

(Continued on page 94)

(Continued from page 70)

The players have again taken their places at the table. After some discussion as to how they were partnered and whose deal it was, they cut again. Mr. Zimbalist is now the dealer and a new hand is started.

MR. ZIMBALIST: Ah! This is a hand I've always wanted to know how to bid. Come over here, Mr. Street, and tell me about this.

MRS. ZIMBALIST: NO, bid it in your own way, Efrem, and let Mr. Street tell you afterwards.

The bidding begins and goes rapidly up to four spades which is promptly doubled. The hand should have been played at one diamond. Mrs. Zimbalist, who plays the four spades, goes down 300. The last cards are thrown hurriedly on the table.

MRS. ZIMBALIST: That was a horrible hand. We don't do as badly as that very often, Mr. Street'. Now come on, don't count that hand; we can do much better. Please, Mr. Street, don't bother to explain that hand at all, we all know what awful things we did.

PRINCE ROSPIGLIOSI {suddenly rising): I'm sorry, but I really must go. Despite all efforts to detain him he leaves the house and Mr. Benkard, who has returned from the library lakes his place.

MR. BENKARD: Here, give me the cards, I'll show you.

MRS. ZLMBALIST: But it's my deal.

MR. ZIMBALIST {aside): It is always Alma's deal. Last night she dealt three times in succession before she was stopped.

MR. BENKARD: Well, I'm going to deal this time anyway. He deals. The butler appears.

THE BUTLER: The chauffeur has just arrived from New York, madam.

MR. BENKARD: Hooray! That's the hootch for this evening. Will you excuse me, a minute! Here, Zimmy, take my hand. He hurries out but comes back before the bidding is finished and takes back his hand from the reluctant Zimbalist. The Indding is carefully rehearsed for his sole benefit.

MR. BENKARD: Four hearts, you say? Well, as you didn't help me at all, partner, and as you don't like my no-trumps I'll make it four no-trumps.

CARD is led and the dummy goes down on the table. At this moment the Zimbalist children come running in. All the players lay doitm their hands, except Mr. Benkard, who keeps on saying "I said four no-trumps." Everyone now begins eating candy {trying to avoid the pieces that are purple inside) while the children are plied with questions as to just what they have been

doing all day—as though anybody really cared.

MR. BENKARD{pushing aside the candy): Four no-trumps.

MRS. BENKARD: But Phil, can't you see that little Efrem is trying to say goodnight to you?

MR. BENKARD: Yes, yes, all right, good night, Efrem. Then, deciding that his hand is not quite as good as he thought it was, I say, THREE NO-TRUMPS!

MRS. ZIMBALIST: NO, you said four no-trumps.

MR. BENKARD: I said THREE. A heated discussion now follows; all take sides; but Mr. Benkard triumphs and plays the hand at three no-trumps. The children are hustled off, calling back frantically Good night, Mrs. Benkard; good night, mother; good-night, everybody; good-night, goodnight.

MR. BENKARD (to Mr. Street): Now, Mr. Street, don't say a word to me. Let me play this hand in my way.

MRS. BENKARD {aside): As though he ever played a hand in any other way.

MR. BENKARD (continuing): I may be all wrong, but I have my own ideas about bridge. He begins playing the hand in an entirely wrong way. He soon blocks himself hopelessly and is bound to lose the odd trick, but, by leading twice out of the wrong hand, and, because of his enemies' absurd discards, he makes his contract.

MR. BENKARD {triumphantly): Don't talk to me about playing this game, Mr. Street, you miss the whole psychology of the game. You've got to learn that there's a lot of poker in it. This counting your hand is all nonsense. Besides, you always have your adversaries to fall back on to help you.

Four hands have now been played. Mr. Whigham and Mr. Pollock now find that they must go home as it is getting very late. They depart and Mr. Street looks at Ids watch.

MRS. BENKARD: Well, now we're just four. That makes a good game. We really were too many before. Now we can settle down to good hard work. What? Mr. Street, you're not going? Seven o'clock already? I can't believe it. Time passes so fast when you're having a lesson. Oh! you're dining out? Well, then, I suppose you really must go. I'm so glad you heard Mr. Pollock sing that ballade. Good-bye then, until next Saturday. We've enjoyed the lesson so much. I feel that I've learned a lot today. Thank you, again.

Mr. Street now leaves. During his entire stay of one hour and fifteen minutes, he has not uttered a single word.