A Hot Hand

Mabel and Percy (Casey) Jones. 1924
My parents' good friends

Mom and Dad, newlyweds, were out for the evening with their friends, the Jones - their nearest neighbours.

At the Jones’ ranch fifteen miles away.

In a time when the closest thing anyone had to electronic diversion was a radio or phonograph, the two couples and one of the Jones’ eldest sons were engaged in the next best thing.

Parlour games.

Inevitably . . . cards.

They had been playing for most of the evening, amidst much conversation and hilarity.

Casey Jones (yes, that was what he was called) had been fighting a steadily losing battle.

Another hand was dealt.

And Casey loudly voiced his displeasure at yet another 'bad' hand, then sighed heavily and played his bad hand.

Badly.

As it finished, his wife, Mabel suggested refreshments and got to her feet. She bustled (yes, I meant to use that word) into the kitchen.

Mom followed her and the two women happily visited as they sliced cake and set out cups and saucers.

Meanwhile, the men stayed in the parlour, discussing the game and Casey’s apparent inability to win.

“It’s the lousy cards!” he said. “I’ve gotten nothing but bad hands all evening!” He got to his feet. “Something has to be done!”

He gathered up the deck and arranged them neatly. Then he disappeared into the kitchen with them.

Moments later, Mabel appeared in the doorway, tray in hands and announced that their game had officially concluded.

Casey had thrown the cards into the stove.

Yep. Something had to be done.

Good thing he was on hand to do it.