"I'm with you," Scotty agreed. It was lunchtime when they returned to the hotel. They settled for ham and eggs in the Cortez Coffee Shop, then stopped on the way through the casino to watch the gambling. Even at noontime the dice table was jammed with customers, and the blackjack tables were nearly full. The roulette table was not getting much play, however, and they watched for a few spins of the wheel. "At least you get an even break on this one," Scotty said. "The odds are thirty-five to one, and there are only thirty-six numbers." Rick grinned. "How'd you like to have your life hanging on odds of thirty-five to one?" Scotty chuckled. "Anyway, you don't have to play numbers. You can play black or red, or odd or even. That gives you fifty-fifty odds." Rick shook his head. "You forgot something. The wheel has zero and double zero, and they're green, and neither odd nor even. That makes the odds less than fifty-fifty. You can't win, Scotty." "Kill-joy. How about the one-arm bandits?" He pointed to several rows of slot machines. "No help there, either. It depends on how they're set, but usually out of every four coins you put in, one drops out of play completely. The only one who ever sees it again is the man who owns the machine. So, if you keep feeding money in, eventually the machine will take it all. Sometimes the machines are set to take one coin out of every three, or even one out of every two." "But people do win, gambling," Scotty objected. "Sure they do. That's why people gamble--and hope. But the great majority lose." Rick waved at the luxurious casino. "If most people didn't lose, these casinos couldn't operate." "Maybe I'd be the lucky one," Scotty said. A deputy sheriff had been listening to the conversation with amusement. He tapped Scotty on the shoulder. "I said that once, son. I was going to be the luckiest ringdangdoo that ever hit Vegas. And what happened? I've been working in this hotel as a guard for two years, trying to make a stake big enough to go back home and start where I left off when the bug bit me." "Tough," Rick murmured. "The town is full of people like me. Besides, you lads can't gamble, anyway. The legal age is twenty-one. Come back in a few years if you feel rich and foolish, and try bucking the tiger. You'll see what I mean." "We'll take your word for it," Scotty assured him. "Come on, Rick. Let's hit the hay. I can use a nap." If Las Vegas was spectacular by day, it was a neon nightmare after dark. The boys dined well, and more than sufficiently, at El Rancho Vegas, then got in the jeep for a ride around town. Scotty loosened his belt with a groan. "For once," he admitted, "I overdid it. Did you ever see so much chow?" "Not outside of a supermarket," Rick agreed. He let his own belt out a notch or two. The boys drove to Fremont Street, past the incredible gambling halls with their elaborate signs and miles of neon tubing.