Gannett went over to a cashier window and reached in and got a handful of silver dollars. He took them to the machines over against the far wall and stuck in a couple and pulled the two handles simultaneously. For his investment he got back five dollars, which one of the machines disgorged with a loud clatter. He put more dollars in. He put them in fast and pulled the levers fast. He went down the entire row of machines and pulled the levers as he went. He didn't linger to see what happened at any of them. He began to feel cold. He took out his scotch bottle again and half emptied it. A woman who looked as if she were someone's great-grandmother, except that her hair was bleached and fingernails were sharp talons, and who sat in a chrome and leather chair not six feet away from him, stared a little disapprovingly. Gannett caught the look. "Lady," he said defensively, "I earned me a holiday, see? It's none of your business if I do some celebrating, is it?" The lady didn't change her mind. She looked as though she might prefer gin herself. Gannett belched. He wasn't so cold now. He threw back his head and laughed and listened to the sound of it bounce off walls. He did it again. He was feeling fine. He went back to the roulette wheel, got around behind it and nudged the croupier gently. The croupier went over like a broom sliding down the side of a wall. Gannett picked up the little plastic rake and looked at the two women and one man. "Place your bets, folks," he said, in a low tone that was a pretty good imitation of the drone of a professional man. He separated the chips into four neat piles. He pushed a pile each at the two women, one to the man. The last he kept for himself. "Place your bets, folks," he repeated. Nobody did, but that was okay anyhow. Grinning happily, he made bets for them. One of the women--the one that was redheaded--looked to him as if she might be a plunger. He shoved her pile of chips over onto zero and then he gave her a friendly little wink. The other woman was the careful type, he thought. Her chips--not all of them, of course--he shoved for red. He disposed of the man perfunctorily: ten dollars on plain number nine. His own bet was due a little more deliberation. He carefully spread around five hundred dollars until the strip looked as if eighteen people were playing it all at once. The effort made him sweat. He reached for his bottle, emptied it, then dropped it on the fallen croupier. "Folks," Gannett said in an apologetic tone, "you'll have to pardon me a minute. It seems I'm out of fuel. Don't go away; I'll be right back." Everybody was agreeable. Gannett went back to the bar, went around behind it. He said to the barman: "I got a party out there, Doc. A big party, see? The house might stand to make a mint. How's about drinks?"