Evening Star Newspaper, December 8, 1929, Page 115

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C. DE( ‘MBER §&, 1929 19 “Bridge—The Greatest of All Indoor Spats ™ This Is the First of a Series by the Leading American Humorists. Watch The Star’s Sunday Magazine for the Special Articles by Stephen Lea- cock, P. G. Wode- house, Donald Ogden Stewart, Ellis Parker But- ler, Richard Con- nell and Others. ¢ ¢ O YOU play bridge?” asks Min- nie Mellish. & " “Little,” I returns, with na- tive modesty, “is hidden from me and that little not for long. Bridge and practically every other kin.d" of card game sit in my lap and call me ‘papa’. “That’s news to me,” sniffs the missus. “Are you sure you're not confusing bridge with bar- rel-house pinochle or speak-easy stud? I never knew——" “There’'s a great deal about me,” I cuts in stifiy, “that you don't know and probably never will know. I'll not make my life an open page even to my wfle; Would it surprise you to hear that as a mere child I won the auction open at Androscoggin, Me., two up and three to go?” : “Which three?” inquires Joe Davis, who's been dallying with the milk of the wild moose. “Lenz and Whitehead,” says I, “and a fellow named Oscar who married a girl from Syra- cuse.” “Nice town, Syracuse,” observes Joe, “but not to be compared, in my opinion, with an early autumn.” “That’s a matter of taste,” I admits, frankly, “and even public accountants fall down when it comes to cocounting for tastes. Why, I've run into lads who'd rather have a glass of new-mown milk any day than two on the aisle at a Class A Cyclone.” “No!” gasps Davis. “For crying outside,” yelps Ira Mellish. “What's all this merry mucilage got to do with bridge?” “ OT a hot lot,” I confess, manfully, “but vou'll find bridge's that kind of a game. More things are dragged into a rubber of auc- tion that have nix whatever to do with it than go into a pot-pie. An analysis recently made by the United States Coast and Geodetic Sur- vey of a game played in Shamokin, Pa., showed that only .0000002 per cent of the time at the tables was actually given over to bridge.” “What,” asks Joe, “were the clucks doing the rest of the afternoon—kalsomining the hen- house or putting a tin roof on the parsonage?’” = “The rest of the afternoon,” I explains, archly, “was devoted to a discussion of frumps —a frump being any gal out of hearing at the- moment. Would you folks care to have me show you how the game goes?” “Personally,” says Mellish, “I'd rather take a correspondence course in getting sinus trouble, but—-" “All nght,” I shrugs, “but if you find that you're just a wall-flower at the next party you attend, don’t blame it on your halitosis. You've just got to know bridge these anno dominis. If you don't, you've no social stand- ing. Nowadays, it isn't a question of whether she should ask him in or whether she thinks filet mignon is fish—the question is, does she play for half a cent a point and is she good for ft?" “Do you really understand the game?” in- quires the frau. “Like any tot does the tariff,” I assures her phlegmatically. “Fetch a deck of cards and spades and watch the old maestro demon- strate.” Cards are finally procured under protest, a table staked out with reservations, and the Mellishes, the missus and Davis arrange them- selves about it with no enthusiasm whatever. “Now,” says I, when the four have made laps for themselves., “you’ll observe that I have nothing concealed about my person—no, that “Do you play bridge?” asks Minnie Mellish. BY SAM HELLMAN. isn’'t the way this trick goes. might as well ask whose deal it is.” “Why?” demands Joe. “Don't you know?” “Perhaps I do,” I returns cannily, “but you want to get jerry to the technique of the pas- time, don't you?” “Not necessarily,” says Davis. “I'd just as soon learn the fine points of zither tuning, it you—" “One of the outstanding features of auction,” /T cuts in coldly, “is that nobody ever knows whose deal it is. Should you happen to know, you would at once be put down as a sharper who's more familiar with the cards than any gentleman of breeding should be. You may recall the case of Sir Gerald Fortesque, who was dropped from the Whitechapel Club——" “Is this essential?” glowers the wife. “Not in the least,” says I cheerfully. “Sup- pose we start out by assuming that it is Min- nie’s deal and——" “Why me?” interrupts the Mellish miasma, who's been studying for years to be a moron. “BECAUSE." I comes back, “I love you. But of that mcre anon. You will now pro- ceed to deal out thirteen cards——" “Why thirteen?” she asks. “For the thirteen revolutionists who were hanged in Albania in 1856,” I answers. “Did you ever happen to divide fifty-two by four?” “I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” sighs Minnie. “We've been changing help, having new drapes put up and—-" “My!” I exclaims. “How you've already caught the spirit of the game! By the way, is there anything in this gossip I hear about Sally Doakes and Basil McGinley?"” “Much more than most people think,” says the frau. “Sally can talk platonic friendship all she pleases, but when a girl 'phones a man every day and lunches with him five or six times a week, it may be assumed that they're at least acquainted. What he cam see in her——" ¢ “I don’t know Sally,” horns in Davis, “and First of all, you have never seen her, but she's an eyeful under any form of government.” “How the heck do you know,” snorts Mellish, “if you've never seen her?” “It's my experience,” returns Joe, “that the best-lookers are the ones you've never seen.” “This one's no looker,” snaps Minnie. “She reminds me of that servant girl we had last year—the one who always served her thumb with the soup.” “Come on,” growls Ira, “let's get on with the game. I've never been so uninterested in my life.” “You deal thirteen cards,” says I. “That's it. Now the count goes like this—six for clubs, seven for diamonds——" “Why the prejudice?” asks Davis. “Is it be- cause the clubs are black? I'm darned if I play in any game where the color line—" “Do you know,” cuts in Mrs. Mellish, “I've about come to the conclusion that colored help is the best? They're good cooks, and——" “Yes,” says the wife, “but you don't get them any more like the Tildy I used to have—" “There really isn’t any color line,” I goes on. “Hearts count eight and you nick 'em with a nine for spades.” “But why the difference in values?” persists Davis. “There is just as many clubs in the deck as there are diamonds, are there not?” “Probably,” I admits, cautiously, “but let us allons, as we say in La Belle France. Now,” I eontinues, looking into Minnie's hand over her shoulder, “you have to have a good suit—"" “How about this serge?” interjects Davis. “It set me back a hundred piastres with an extra pair of pants.” “What this game seems to need,” decides Mellish, “is a few more personal touches.” “I think,” murmurs the wife, absently, “I shall like it.” “Bridge?” I inquires. “No,” says she. “A chintz cover for that chair over there.” Cards were finally produced under protest. (The purpose of this and the articles to fol= low is to acquaint our readers with the rules, regulations and fine points of all sports and recreations common to the American home. JNow that bridge has been mastered, or rather, overpowered, we will proceed in our next platter of tripe to a consideration of the Radio Eve= ning as a public nuisance.) (Copyright, 1929.) Foot Ball Gossip. Continued from Fifleenth Page on th: Zuppke ballyhoo schocl by the way he handled the Glassgow cese, Zuppke higself could have done no better than his former pupil. In secret practice befcre a big game, a big star is ucually hurt, or he isn't. Usually he is, of course, but he just manages to drag himself into the game and score about seven touche downs. This is one of the oldest forms eof bear story known to the game, IT DIDN'T mean a thing last Summi=t Wi § young man named Albert Booth took a jo operating a bacon-slicing machine in & New Haven meat packing plant. The event grew to be pretty important, however, when little Albie Booth, 144-pound Yale haifback, stepped out and beat Brown and the Army almost singlee hLanded. The railroads ran special press trains to New Haven, and every alley in the historic old town was filled with cameramen and scribes, waiting for Albie to come along cn his way to the pack= . ing plant—to pounce upon the young hero and get the pictures and storles to the papers. It was learned that when Albie was nine months old he staged his first great foot ball Izat by crawling out -of his crib and, sidestepe ping a couple of rattles and an electric train, swivel-hipped his way through the parlor, dine ing room and kitchen, straight-arming two doors on the way. Important researches were conducted and it was learned that Albie didn't call for his bottle in the usual way. Most babies cry for it; Albie used to call numbers. Thus “14, 76, Grade A" from the litlte fellow would bring Mother Booth hurrying with the milk. After consume ing the contents, Albie invariably would fore ward pass the bottle to a picture of a foot ball player dragging five tacklers on the nursery wall. Before the Yale-Dartmouth game the rash of ballyhoo broke out in its most virulent form, How would the great Al Marsters compare with the tiny Yale hero, Albie? Investigators were sent to Hanover, N. H., and returned to repoet valuable findings. Marsters was a necktie salesman in his off -time. Besides that bhe was a very superstitious sort of duck, refusing to shave on the day of a game, and having an aversion to wearing any other numeral on his back except “4.” The sleuths of the press learned that Al liked ping pong, that he sang while taking his bath and that he bought but few textbooks, preferring to borrow those of his chums. Came the Dartmouth-Yale game and Albde and Al played great foot ball. But in the last period, & lame and halt young man named “Hoot” Ellis hippety-hopped into the din and the glare by snaring a long Dartmouth forward pass and running many yards for the touche down that gave Yale victory. It was learned that “Hoot” had a housemaid’s knee which he fixed up before every game with a e of strands of hay wire, some tape and a%small bottle of liquid glue. TRAD!T!ON also is one of the major aspectd of the ballyhoo. In the old days there wasd a tackle named “Catfish” Mizzentopf at Siwash, He was graduated arfd went to the coast to turm out winning teams at Incidental College. After the years he passed away, but one of his sons, “Minnow,” took his job at Incidental. Meanwhile, back in the neighborhood of oid Siwash, Philip Smotz raised a large family, “Catfish” Mizzentopf had liked Philip, A month or so after Catfish died, Phillp died, too, Butr one of Phil's sons carried the ball foy. 11 touchdowns in a row for the glory of dear old Siwash. Minnow heard about “Dynamite” Smotz fromi a traveling salesman .and became curious about his dad's alma mater. He wrote to the registrag and now Siwash and Incidental have an annual game. It is one of the fine old traditions of the sport. The moral of the tale is that no matter who wins, affirmative or negative, you can't gep anywhere as a member of the debating team. (Copyright, 1929.) Uses 0f Guinea Pig.\‘. THI guinea pig is like the l’-‘renclghom which is neither French nor a horn, for the Guinea pig is not a pig and does not come from Guinea. It really belongs to the same family as the hare and rabbit. It is found in Bolivia, Brazil and Guiana, and was domes= ticated in Europe in the sixteenth century, later bejng introduced in this country. It serves a great purpose in the medical labe oratory and is used for experimentation in developing new cures for mankind. It lives entirely on vegetables, and whether ils mane ners are bad or whatever may be the r it prefers to feed at dusk and on dark days, It is a prolific breeder and is capable of beare ing young when but a few months old.