Bridge is a serious game. Those who play it take it seriously. Very seriously. Just how seriously may be gauged by the tableau involving East, West, South, and North which greeted us.
East was stammering that the hand had been made by default because the opposition had aborted it by pulling a gun. West kept moaning that he was dummy and that the cards he’d laid down had insured an over-trick. South, wielding the bridge table, was shouting and pleading at the same time, babbling something about the need to get the lead in his hand. And North, still holding his cards fanned out in his left hand, still aiming the revolver at South with his right, was screaming “YOU TRUMPED MY ACE!” over and over again.
A serious game, bridge. . . .
Mister Jewish tiptoed up behind North just as he squeezed the trigger again. He grabbed North’s arm and the shot went wild, putting a hole in the muraled ceiling. The Captain panicked—-Click-click--and fell to his knees behind Yenta. Mister Jewish managed to wrestle the gun away from North.
With North disarmed, the Captain managed a remarkably speedy recovery. “Gentlemen! What is the meaning of this?” Click-click.
East, West, South, and North all began speaking at once.
“Silence!” the Captain roared. “One at a time,” he added. “Clockwise!” Click-click. “Starting with the dealer.”
“I dealt and opened with one heart,” East said. “South passed. West jumped to two no-trump. North passed. I bid four hearts. North, doubled. I redoubled. South led a diamond and West laid down the dummy.”
“Declarer led a low spade from dummy at the fourth trick,” South picked up the narration. “North put up the ace.”
“Declarer followed suit,” West interjected.
“And this nincompoop—!” North pointed a trembling finger at South. —“ TRUMPED MY ACE!”
“The only way to set them was to get the lead in my hand!” South insisted.
“By trumping your partner’s ace? Brilliant!” North snorted sarcastically. “Any novice knows better than that!” He turned to Maldemerde. “Captain, do you play bridge?” he asked.
“I was a member of the championship team of the Trans-Atlantic Bridge Conference three years running!” the Captain boasted. He thought a moment. “There’s only one way to settle this matter,” he decided. “Put down that table,” he ordered South. “We’re going to replay the hand.” Click-click.
North, South, East, and West arranged themselves around the table. Following the Captain’s instructions, they laid their hands out in front of them with the pasteboards face up. “Now play out the rubber just the way you did before,” the Captain ordered. “As far as it went,” he added, studying the cards.
At the fourth trick, Maldemerde evaluated the cards in the center of the table carefully. Then he restudied the hands, pulling at his jowls thoughtfully. Finally he nodded to himself. Click-click. “And you trumped?” he asked South in a flat voice. Click-click.
“To get the lead in my hand. Yes.”
“Mister Jewish, hand me the revolver.” Click-click. Mister Jewish gave it to him. Captain Maldemerde checked to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber. Then he handed the weapon to North. “Finish the job,” he told him.
Mister Jewish grabbed the gun back from North before he could comply. “Captain Maldemerde—-!” he protested.
“Justifiable homicide!” Click-click.
“But, sir--!”
“No jury in the world would convict him.” Click-click.
“Captain, I don’t think-—-”
“Do you play bridge, Mister?” Click-click.
“No, sir, but—”
“Then don’t interfere, Number One.” Click-click. “A man who trumps his partners ace in such a situation deserves to die!” Click-click. “Return the gun. That’s an order!” Click-click.
South, however, bolted the room before Mister Jewish could comply. He darted through the swinging doors. Almost immediately, they swung back the other way and Chief Engineer Gorilla came running up to Captain Maldemerde.
“Captain!” The Chief Engineer’s voice was filled with urgency, but he spoke in a low tone, not wanting to be overheard and cause alarm among the passengers present. “Someone has wrecked the fresh water converter.”
“WRECKED THE FRESH WATER CONVERTER!” the Captain screamed at the top of his lungs. “What will we do for water?” he wailed. Click-click.
“Get‘ hold of yourself, sir.” Mister Jewish tried to hide his disgust. “We’re only two days out of Rio. We can have it repaired there.”
“Afraid not,” Gorilla told him. “There’s a hole in the tank two feet wide. Also the valves are cracked and the gears have been smashed.”
“What about the fresh water reserve tanks?” Mister Jewish asked practically. “They should see us through to Rio.”
“Negative,” Gorilla answered. “The Captain said they were slowing us down and ordered them jettisoned. I tried to tell him their weight was a negligible speed factor, but he insisted they be cut loose.”
"We’ll all die of thirst!” the Captain moaned. Click-click.
“Not in two days, we won’t,” Mister Jewish reassured him. “We’ll just wire ahead to Rio for a new unit and arrange for immediate installation. It will cost extra, but there’s no other way. With luck we can have it working before the passengers get back on board from their sightseeing. And meanwhile, we’ll ration whatever water we can melt down from the ice in the refrigeration units. Salt water will have to do for the swimming pools and washing.”
“Ration?” The Captain thought a moment and calmed down. “No rations for the crew,” he decided. Click-click. “Of course there will be full rations for myself and the senior officers,” he added. Click-click.
“If the men can’t have water, then I won’t drink any!” Mister Jewish declared staunchly.
“Suit yourself, Number One. If you don’t wish to avail yourself of the privileges of rank, I won’t force you. But the welfare of this vessel is dependent on the welfare of its master, and to function at peak efficiency, I consider it necessary to shave and bathe in the morning with fresh water. Also, I will not suffer a toilet flushed with sea-water!” Click-click.
“The toilets!” Gorilla’s face fell. “I’d forgotten about them. We can’t pump sea-water to them. It would clog the pipes. The plumbing of the entire ship would be stuffed up in no time!”
“I want fresh water to flush my toilet!” the Captain insisted. “That’s an order, Mister!” Click-click.
“I guess I can rig something up for you, sir. But what about the other toilets aboard? Nobody will be able to flush them.”
“Can you fix something for the crew’s head, too, Gorilla?” Mister Jewish wanted to know.
“Mister Jewish!” the Captain roared. Click-click. “You will not pamper the men in your usual bleeding-heart manner! The first concern is the passengers! Let the crew relieve themselves over the side!” Click- click.
“What about the men below decks, Captain?” Gorilla asked. “If the crew goes over the side, the propellors may suck it in and spew it all over the engine gang.”
“Now hear this, Mister Gorilla! And pass it on to the engine gang! If that should happen, here are my orders: If the crew shits, wear it!” Click-click.