When the bidding begins, the watcher has considerable opportunity for effective work.  Having seen how the cards lie, he is able to stand back and listen with a knowing expression, laughing at unjustified bids and urging on those who should, in his estimation, plunge.  At the conclusion of the bidding he should say:  “Well, we’re off!”

As the hand progresses and the players become intent on the game, the watcher may be the cause of no little innocent diversion.  He may ask one of the players for a match, or, standing behind the one who is playing the hand, he may say: 

“I’ll give you three guesses as to whom I ran into on the street yesterday.  Someone you all know.  Used to go to school with you, Harry ...  Light hair and blue eyes ...  Medium build ...  Well, sir, it was Lew Milliken.  Yessir, Lew Milliken.  Hadn’t seen him for fifteen years.  Asked after you, Harry ... and George too.  And what do you think he told me about Chick?”

Answers may or may not be returned to these remarks, according to the good nature of the players, but in any event, they serve their purpose of distraction.

Particular care should be taken that no one of the players is allowed to make a mistake.  The watcher, having his mind free, is naturally in a better position to keep track of matters of sequence and revoking.  Thus, he may say: 

“The lead was over here, George,” or

“I think that you refused spades a few hands ago, Lillian.”

Of course, there are some watchers who have an inherited delicacy about offering advice or talking to the players.  Some people are that way.  They are interested in the game, and love to watch but they feel that they ought not to interfere.  I had a cousin who just wouldn’t talk while a hand was being played, and so, as she had to do something, she hummed.  She didn’t hum very well, and her program was limited to the first two lines of “How Firm a Foundation,” but she carried it off very well and often got the players to humming it along with her.  She could also drum rather well with her fingers on the back of the chair of one of the players while looking over his shoulder.  “How Firm a Foundation” didn’t lend itself very well to drumming; so she had a little patrol that she worked up all by herself, beginning soft, like a drum corps in the distance, and getting louder and louder, finally dying away again so that you could barely near it.  It was wonderful how she could do it—­and still go on living.

Those who feel this way about talking while others are playing bridge have a great advantage over my cousin and her class if they can play the piano.  They play ever so softly, in order not to disturb, but somehow or other you just know that they are there, and that the next to last note in the coda is going to be very sour.

But, of course, the piano work does not technically come under the head of watching, although when there are two watchers to a table, one may go over to the piano while she is dummy.