Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

“Certainly,” agreed Joe. “Right now?”

“No, no. I want to play, damn it, not watch some beginner’s bumbles. I’m growing addicted. Takes a man’s worries off his mind.”

Hugh was hit by inspiration. “Ponse, if you don’t mind having another servant in the game . . .”

Joe brightened up. “Why, of course! He-”

“Barbara,” Hugh cut in fast, before Joe could mention Duke.

Joe blinked. Then he smoothly picked it up. “He-Hugh, I mean-was about to mention a servant named Barbara. Good bridge player.”

“Well! You’ve been teaching this game belowstairs, Hugh?” Ponse added, “’Barbara’? A name I don’t recognize. Not one of the upper servants.”

“You remember her,” Joe said. “She was with us when you picked us up. The tall one.”

“Oh, yes. Bigging, it was. Joe, are you telling me that a slut can play this game?”

“She’s a top player,” Joe assured him. “Plays better than I do. Heavens, Ponse, she can play rings around you. Isn’t that right, Hugh?”

“Barbara is an excellent player.”

“This I must see to believe.”

A few minutes later Barbara, freshly bathed and scared, was fetched in. She glanced at Hugh, looked startled silly, opened her mouth, closed it, and stood mute.

Ponse came up to her. “So this is the slut who is supposed to be able to play contract. Stop trembling, little one; nobody’s going to eat you.” In bluff words he convinced her that she was there only to play bridge and that she was expected to relax and be informal-no fancy talk. “Just behave as if you were downstairs, having a good time with other servants. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just one thing.” He tapped her on her chest. “When you’re my partner, I shan’t be angry if you make mistakes-after all, you’re only a slut and it’s surprising that you can play an intellectual game at all. But”-he paused- “when you are playing against me, if you fail to fight for every trick, if I even suspect that you are trying to let me win, I guarantee you’ll tingle when you leave. Understand?”

“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “Their Charity expects it. Just play by the book, and play your best.”

“’By the book,’ “ Ponse repeated. “I’ve never seen this book but that’s the way Joe says he has taught me to play. So do it. All right, let’s cut the cards.”

Hugh hardly listened, he was drinking in the sight of Barbara. She looked well and healthy although it was startling to see her slender again-or almost, he corrected; she was still largish in the fanny and certainly in the bust. She had lost most of her tan and was dressed in the shapeless short robe all female servants wore belowstairs, but ‘he was delighted to see that she had not had her hair removed. It was cropped but could grow back.

He noticed that his own appearance seemed to startle her, realized why. He said, smiling, “I comb my hair with a washrag now, Barbie. No matter, I didn’t have enough to matter. Now that I’m used to being hairless, I like it.”

“You look distinguished, Hugh.”

“He’s ugly as sin,” said Ponse. “But are we chatting? Or playing bridge? Your bid, Barba.”

They played for hours. As it progressed, Barbara seemed to relax and enjoy it. She smiled a great deal, usually at Hugh, but also at Joe and even at Their Charity. She played by the book and Ponse never found fault. Hugh decided that their host was a good player, not yet perfect but he remembered what cards had been played and usually bid accurately. Hugh found him a satisfactory partner and an adequate opponent; it was a good game.

But once, with Barbara as Ponse’s partner and contract in her hand, Hugh saw when Ponse laid down the dummy that Ponse had overbid in his answer. So he contrived to lose one sure trick, thereby letting Barbara make contract, game, and rubber.

It got him a glance with no expression from Barbara and Joe gave him a look that had a twinkle in it, but Joe kept his mouth shut. Ponse did not notice. He gave a bass roar, reached across and patted Barbara’s head. “Wonderful, wonderful! Little one, you really can play contract. Why, I doubt if I could have made that myself.”