I would like to see a call bureau established, so anybody who wants a fourth at bridge can get immediate satisfaction. I don’t know why it is, but bridge players have a habit of convening in threes; and there is nothing in the world so futile and bitter as three bridge players.
They’ll call you up and, although you insist you can’t play, that you loathe the game and that you’re in bed with a fever which the doctor says has a good chance of developing into pneumonia, they become savage and accuse you of trying to ruin their evening. They keep phoning until, out of desperation (and perhaps your mind), you put on woolen underwear and a mustard plaster and get to their table.
Then, after your first card is put down, your partner immediately winces. You’ve betrayed him. He had wanted you to lead a spade. He takes it for granted that you’re an expert in mental telepathy who is maliciously lying down on the job. He assails your character, and intimates that to call you an idiot would be flattery. Why didn’t you go up with your King, instead of your fever, doubled and redoubled?
So you write out a check for $12.70 and trudge home to bed where the doctor smiles, very pleased with himself. His prediction has come true. You’ve got pneumonia, which means you won’t have to be a fourth again for at least three weeks—or ever, if that call bureau is established.