"Robert A. Heinlein - Farnham's Freehold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

breakfast every morning."
"Dad, quit trying to seduce her and cut the cards. I want to win back
what I've lost."
"That'll be a long night." Mr. Farnham~ finished eating, stood up to put
his plate aside; the doorbell rang. "I'll answer it."
He went to the door, returned shortly. Karen said, "Who was it, Daddy? I
cut for you. You and I are partners. Look pleased."
"I'm delighted. But remember that a count of eleven is not an opening
bid. Somebody lost, I guess. Possibly a nut."
"My date. You scared him off."
"Possibly. A baldheaded old coot, very weather-beaten and ragged."
"My date," Karen confirmed. "President of the Dekes. Go get him, Daddy."
"Too late. He took one look at me and fled. Whose bid is it?"
Barbara continued to try to play like a machine. But it seemed to her
that Duke was overbidding; she found herself thereby bidding timidly and had
to force herself to overcome it. They went set several times in a long, dreary
rubber which they "won" but lost on points.
It was a pleasure to lose the next rubber with Karen as her partner.
They shifted and again she was Mr. Farnham's partner. He smiled at her. "This
time we clobber them!"
"I'll try."
"Just play as you did. By the book. Duke will supply the mistakes."
"Put your money where your mouth is, Dad. Want a side bet of a hundred
dollars on this rubber?"
"A hundred it is."
Barbara thought about seventeen lonely dollars in her purse and got
nervous. She was still more nervous when the first hand ended at five clubs,
bid and made-by Duke-and realized that he had overbid and would have been down
one had she covered his finesse.
Duke said, "Care to double that bet, Governor?"
"Okay. Deal."
Her morale was bolstered by the second hand: her contract at four spades
and made possible by voids; she was able to ruff before cleaning out trumps.
Her partner's smile was reward enough. But it left her shaky.
Duke said, "Both teams vulnerable, no part score. How's your blood
pressure, Daddy-o? Double again?"
"Planning on firing your secretary?"
"Speak up, or accept a white feather."
"Four hundred. You can sell your car."
Mr. Farnham dealt. Barbara picked up her hand and frowned. The count was
not bad-two queens, a couple of jacks, an ace, a king-but no biddable suit and
the king was unguarded. It was a strength and distribution which she had long
tagged as "just good enough to go set on." She hoped that it would be one of
those sigh-of-relief hands in which everyone passes.
Her partner picked up his hand and glanced at it. "Three no trump."
Barbara repressed a gasp, Karen did gasp. "Daddy, are you feverish?"
"Bid."
"Pass!"
Barbara said to herself, "'God oh god, what I do now?" Her partner's bid
promised twenty-five points-and invited slam. She held thirteen points.