"See, you dope! All because you--" He looked dazed, incredulous. He stammered, "But it _had_ to be the nineteen, Jim! It couldn't be anything else, don't you see? It _couldn't_--" "It couldn't," I wailed, "but it was! You--" Then he was no longer limp, uncertain, at my side. He was making a leaping dive across the table at the croupier. The man yipped once, lunged backward, and a pellet rolled from his hand. It was a duplicate of that which now spun in the roulette wheel, but not _quite_ a dupe! * * * * * Instead of solid ivory, I knew it would turn out to have a steel core, responsive to magnetic influence. The only thing that could break down the analytical perfection of Horse-sense Hank was a gimmick! A gimmick is a polite way of describing a cheap gambling trick. "The durned crook!" Hank was howling. "He gypped me! I knew the nineteen was due! Just as sure as fate it was due!" Those were the last intelligible words for quite a while. For at that instant some resourceful employee jerked a switch, plunging the College Clubbe into darkness. People began to scream and struggle and run. I heard the meaty impact of flesh on flesh, then the clatter of ivory tokens on the polished flooring. I remember thinking sadly, "Good-bye, Mr. Chips!" Then a more brilliant thought struck me. I remembered that those ivories were cashable at any time. Tomorrow! After the excitement had died down. I scrambled for the abandoned table, scooped up two double handfuls, then two more. It was our money, rightly. I hightailed it for the exit. It took me a little time to get away. Everyone else had the same idea. But I finally made it. There was no use looking for Hank in that mob, so I grabbed a taxi to town, hoping he'd be able to come home under his own power. But he was already home when I got there. He was just finishing a financial census at my desk, dreamily counting crisp, crunchy bills into piles before him. "--and seventy-eight, eight hundred and seventy-nine--" He saw me and grinned. "Hi, Jim! Got part of what I deserved, anyhow. See? 'Bout six thousan' bucks!" I sniffed. "Chicken feed! I've got the rest of it. The _real_ stuff! Ten buck chips!" With a calm, superior smile I began to unload my colorful cargo beside his pile of green. But Hank didn't look enthusiastic. I waited for the ooohs and aaahs, and when none came I snapped, "Well, what's the matter? You sore because I made out better than you did?" He shifted uncomfortably and refused to meet my eye. He said, "Well, it ain't exactly that, Jim. Only--" "Only what?" "Only," he gulped, "them chips ain't gonna do much good, way I figger. 'Pears to me like after what happened tonight, that there place ain't never gonna open up no more."