"Does Jansen really buy it, what we did on pinball?"

"He's fooled, right down the line."

"He thinks pinball is cleaned up?"

"Listen, on stuff like that, Jansen's not any too bright. You remember, even in the campaign he wasn't getting anywhere till that girl got in it-this Lyons that he's put in charge of the Social Service department. Maybe she could tell him about pinball, but she don't seem to be doing it, for some reason. Maybe the police department could tell him, but I don't regard that as advisable just now. Maybe the District Attorney could tell him, but his law firm is working for you, the last I heard of it. So nobody's telling him. So he thinks he's done a big job. Well, is he so dumb? Didn't every paper in town eat it up, us grabbing those machines, and destroying them? Has any one of them taken the trouble to investigate these new machines, and find out who owns them, or how they work?"

"And Jansen's hot after the bookies now?"

"I don't talk about the neighborhood places. He don't know so much about them. But these big dumps downtown, if he keeps on, I'll have to close them down. Well, what about it? You're supposed to know, and you're not telling me."

"You seen Delany?"

"…Haven't you seen him?"

"I've been letting those bookies alone."

"Ben, you don't mean you haven't collected off them?"

"What else you got?"

"The houses."

"What houses?"

"The ones with red lights in front."

"And what about them?"

"The same, only worse. In addition to Jansen, I got the men on the beat to worry about. I mean, they've begun taking it off those places direct, and that's bad. It leaves everything wide open for a stink any time the grand jury happens to stumble on it. The way Caspar did, he collected that dough and made the kick-back himself, so there was nobody that had anything on the cops direct. This way it's just a mess with anything likely to pop. I don't even dare bust a sergeant for fear he'll crack it open."

"What else?"

"Paroles."

"And what about them?"

"You know what about them. They bought their paroles, a whole slew of these mugs. They bought them off Caspar, and he made the kick-back, so the police would let them alone. Only a lot of them couldn't pay it all at once and they still owe the dough on the deals that were made before they got sprung. Well, now Caspar has skipped. Have you collected any of that money?"

"No."

"You going to?"

"I'll let you know."

"I want to know now."

They had been sitting, or at least Lefty and Mr. Cantrell had been sitting, near the low cocktail table that stood in front of Ben's fireplace, Lefty in a big armchair, Mr. Cantrell on the sofa. Ben, a little restless, had walked aimlessly about, smoking into two or three ashtrays, listening to Mr. Cantrell intently, if without any evidence of enjoyment. At the rasp in Mr. Cantrell's voice his head came slowly around and his big, lithe body stiffened. Mr. Cantrell met his gaze for a long second, then looked away. "…Or pretty soon, anyway."

"I thought that's what you meant."

"Well, look, Ben, there's no argument about it, we got a nice set-up if we can just hold our lead. But we can't sit around and let things slide. I got to know where I'm at, the bookies have got to know, my men have got to know. I got to know who's running this. If it's you-O.K., you know how to run it, or ought to, by now. But if you're not going to run it, why-"

"I'll let you know."

After Mr. Cantrell had gone, Ben resumed his restless walk, then went into the pantribar, poured two glasses of beer, came out, set one in front of Lefty. His own he sipped standing up, blotting the foam from his lips with his handkerchief. "You heard what he said, Lefty?"

"Well, somebody's got to collect that money."

"That's what he thinks."

"Well?"

"You think I can treat him decent?"

"You can be reasonable."

"Not with him I can't, or with you, or with any of you. He wants his dough, and that's all he wants. If he don't get it-say, is Goose Groner around?"

"I haven't seen him. Why?"

"I think I need a guard."

"Bugs Lenhardt's in town."

"I don't want Bugs. I could use Goose, though Do I look like a guy that would take it off women? Dumb girls that haven't any more sense, or that maybe ran into some tough luck and got started on something they couldn't stop? Or off parolees? Poor cons that are trying to get a fresh start, and only ask that the cops let them alone."

"I told you already. Someone's going to take it."

"Would you take it?"

"Nobody's asking me to."

"Being a big operator, it's not all gravy."

"Pretty near all."

"No, pal, no."

Ben looked a little surprised when the clerk asked him to have a seat, and said Mr. Delany would be right down. The main lobby of the Lakeside Country Club, with men, women, and children scampering about, did seem like an odd sort of place to discuss a confidential matter of bookmaking. However, if that was the way Mr. Delany chose to do business, there wasn't much help for it, so Ben sat down, lit a cigarette, and watched the animated scene at rear, where four pretty girls prepared to tee off the terrace that inaugurated the pleasant rolling golf course.

Before he could get up, a tall thin man dropped into the chair across the table from him, nodded briefly, and contemplated him with a hostile, lowering stare. It was not the first time Ben had seen Mr. Delany, but it was the first time he had met him, and he looked at him with considerable interest. He was, indeed, a curious type, as American in appearance as a streamlined hearse, as world-wide in distribution as the gambling on which he lived. He was an adventurer, and illustrated a frequently-forgotten principle: If a man but worship the great god horse, he may associate with whom he pleases, and few will inquire as to his morals, his honor, or his means of support. Mr. Delany chose to associate with the outdoor set of Lake City, where he was born, and since he was unmarried, to live at the Lakeside Club. He came of passable family, but gossip had it that his early life had been hard, and that he had improved his circumstances by paying attention to influential ladies, who had gained him entree into certain clubs. Then he had played polo. As he was even taller than Ben, who was over six feet, and thin, and a fine rider, he cut a figure at this, and acquired a rating. Then he bought horses and became a gentleman jockey. Then he began an association with bookmakers, though he promulgated the fiction that this was an amusing outgrowth of his equine activities, a matter of no importance. His associations developed into what are known as connections, particularly in Chicago, and eventually with Mr. Caspar. Now, at the age of forty, he was a lean, leathery man, who faced Ben in breeches, boots, and rough tweed coat, and spoke with a cavalryman's voice: curt, clipped, and harsh, but with a touch of the grand manner.

After the moment in which he eyed Ben as sharply as Ben eyed him, he began with no word of greeting: "All right, Grace, what did you come here about?"

"I thought I told you over the phone: Business."

"Then state it."

"Some bookies are operating downtown. You and Caspar ran those boys, I believe-you because you had a hook-up with Chicago, and he because he was Mr. Big around town here, and between the two of you it was a pretty good set-up. Well, Caspar's not here any more now, and to some extent I've taken things over. The matter I wanted to take up with you is whether you'd like to come in with me, running those bookies, and we'd do it on pretty much the same arrangement as you had with Caspar."

"No."

"It would be unfortunate if those bookies got closed."

"The answer is still no."