I could only pass, with what was meant to be a smile.

My international partner, turned opponent, was able to gauge exactly where all the outstanding high cards were (in Herbert's hand, of course) and made his contract with two overtricks. It was worth as much as a small slam.

Herbert said, "You were a bit of a disappointment, partner."

I looked at Bernard, who had returned to his puzzle, and at Perry who was fanning the cards for us to cut again for the next rubber, and at Herbert as he lit one of his short cigars. Suddenly, Bernard was laughing; and then so was Perry; and, believe it or not, Herbert laughed too, as if the joke was on me. I stood up and—I'm afraid it's true—threw more money than I had lost onto the table and said, "I must go. Drinks are on me."

"Going?" Herbert said. "After only one rubber. Not very eshporting of you, sir!"

I heard myself say, "I'm not quite that much of an eshportsman, I'm afraid."

Perry looked at his Cartier watch. Bernard filled in the blank spaces in the problem he seemed just to have cracked. Herbert's eyes were glazed with tears; smoke from his cigar, no doubt. I walked out of the room and out of the club. I never went back; and I have never had a game of bridge since.