Then the ball stopped rolling and the attendant purred, "Twenty-one
red, _passé!_" and raked to my little bet an equal number of chips.
I pointed at the neat, even rows of chips and bills stacked before the
croupier.
"You see that stuff, my friend? That's money, not hay. You may be a
genius at some things, but this is the old gambola. A risk any way you
look at it. Lay off my bets!"
And this time I moved my entire bet to the black column. Why not? It
was due.