"It's still going on, isn't it?"

Ben, who had been striding around, giving Mr. Yates the benefit of his researches and reflections for the last few weeks, sat down now with a cryptic smile. "As to that, suppose you tell me.

"I-what would I know about it?"

"They're still going, of course, but whether they'll be going, or what the situation is going to be after the new administration goes in-that depends pretty much on your partner, Mr. Bleeker, the new D.A."

"I can't tell you what he's going to do."

Mr. Yates spoke quickly, sternly, conscientiously. Ben' shrugged amiably. "Just gagging. None of my business what he's going to do, but-"

"Once more: What do you want with me?"

"Oh, I'm coming to that. Now, Mr. Yates, I'm going to surprise you. So far as Lake City is concerned, / believe pinball is doomed."

"Why?"

"Because it's wrong. To the extent that it's gambling, it's wrong, and that temptation ought to be taken away from our young people, and if I know your partner, Mr. Yates-of course I can only judge from the speeches he made in the campaign, but he made himself pretty clear-he's going to take that temptation away. I'm betting my money that that's the way the cat is going to jump, and that's why I've come in to see you."

"Yes, I'm listening, Mr. Grace."

"To the extent that it's a game of chance, it's wrong, and that part is against the law. But to the extent that it's a game of skill, it's good clean recreation, and that's not against the law."

"Just how do you separate these two aspects of pinball-or is that metaphysical operation supposed to be my useful function?"

Mr. Yates' tone was dry, his expression ironical, his eye cold and steely. Ben jumped up and gave him a little, just a little, of the manner he had turned on Mr. Cantrell.

"Listen, pal, I didn't come in to ask you to turn black into white, or whatever you mean by that crack about metaphysics. I've come in to offer you a perfectly legitimate and honest and decent job, so let me finish before you crack smart…I separate them, by using different machines, a completely different class of amusement equipment. Those companies in Chicago, they haven't been asleep either, brother. They can read the writing on the wall just as well as I can. The law, it's pretty much the same in every city of the country, and it prohibits a game of chance. A game of chance, with a pay-off, is out, and they know it. Understand, this is local legislation all over the country, but one by one, communities are going to put that game of chance on the skids. But those kids, and those drug stores, between them, they've developed a demand for a decent, honest game of skill-baseball, football, Softball, all sorts of table imitations of the big stuff outside, that kids can play with each other at night, have a good time, and not lose every dime they've got. There's no pay-off. Have you got that? There's no pay-off."

"I think you make that clear."

"The most those kids get is a certificate, or engraved diploma, whatever it is, saying they made a home run, or hole-in-one, or dropkick from the fifty-yard line, just a souvenir, because experience shows you've got to give them something, or the game don't pay. But, experience also shows that this class of game is just as profitable, to the drug store owner, as gambling-"

"How can it be?"

"They enjoy it better. They play each other, not the machine, so it's all on the up-and-up. They get a break. That's what cuts the machine's take on gambling pinball: those kids wake up, sooner or later, that they're being cheated. This way they're not."

"Now I've got it. Go on."

"All right, so I've got a hook-up, I've got it arranged to bring in this new class of machine and install them in Lake City -if, as, and when the old ones are thrown out. I don't know what Mr. Bleeker is going to do, and I don't ask you even to ask him what he's going to do. But this much I've got to know: Is my class of machine legal? I can't take a chance on bringing in five thousand machines here-"

"Five thousand?"

"Look-there's five hundred drug stores around Lake City, two or three hundred cafes, I don't know how many ice cream parlors-I'm trying to get it through your head that this is big business. I can't take a chance on that much dough, and then have friend Bleeker decide that the felt on the table don't meet the requirements of Section 492 of the Sanitary Code, something like that. I've got to know where I stand, and I've got to know in black and white. That's the first thing. You know him, and you can certainly put a legal question to him that he's bound, as I see it, to answer. The next thing is, just to protect the interest of all the little guys that want to put machines in, I'm going to organize an association. I don't kid you about it. That association is going to know from the beginning that it's politically powerful. It's got two or three men in key spots of every precinct, and it can make any D.A., whether his name is Bleeker or whatever it is, treat it polite, with no kicking around. I want you to represent that association, as attorney. For that, you'll receive a pretty nice yearly retainer. Just how much I don't know today, but we can work it out. I don't ask you to do anything but represent us legally-but we want real representation, and you look to me like you've got some stuff. I don't mind saying I've had my eye on you since before the election. Well-now you know where you come in, at last."

Mr. Yates got up and took several turns about his office. Presently he sat down. "Well-there's a little question of ethics here."

"I don't quite know what you mean."

"You see, I'm Bleeker's partner."

"That's O.K. by me."

"I'm not sure it is by me. Or-by the bar association. Or-by Mr. Bleeker. I'd say it was one of those things-"

"Well, if the ethics bothers you I can go somewhere else and no hard feelings. I came in here, as I told you, because-"

"Hey, wait a minute."

"O.K. Sorry."

"I haven't turned your offer down. But I would like to think it over a bit. Perhaps talk to Mr. Bleeker about it. See what he thinks of the propriety of my accepting such a-"

"Now I get it."

"Shall we meet again-say next week?"

"Next week is fine."

So it happened, some days after Mr. Jansen's inauguration, that a throng of frightened druggists, cafe owners, and other such people, assembled in one of the convention rooms of the Hotel Fremont. It had been, indeed, a somewhat disturbing week. First of all, there was the alarming circumstance that Mr. Jansen, the afternoon he took office, appointed a police board of three of the leading reformers of the town. Two days later this board had named Joseph P. Cantrell as acting Chief, and for a brief time there was a false dawn, a hope that Mr. Jansen wasn't quite so stern as he had pretended. Then, in quick succession, came two occurrences that had nothing to do with Mr. Jansen, but which didn't harmonize, somehow, with an easy view of life. The Federal grand jury indicted Mr. Caspar for certain violations of the income tax law. Then the county grand jury indicted him for the murder of Richard Delany. Then, after these straws blowing down the wind, the tornado struck. A uniformed patrolman, one afternoon, entered every place in the city where pinball machines were in operation, and stood guard over them until a truck appeared outside, and expert workmen came in, took the machines apart, and stowed them in the truck. After the truck had departed, to the wail of sirens, the uniformed patrolman left a summons with the owner, notifying him to appear in police court next day and defend himself against preposterous charges: the maintenance of a nuisance, the maintenance of devices tending to the corruption of minors, the operation of common gambling machines.