"Yes," Pete admitted. "And Matt Pendleton Associates—"

"That would be Lucky Jerome Luckman," Schilling said. "Oy vey, he's a hard man in The Game; I ought to know. Now he'll be sitting in with your group and pretty soon he'll own all of California."

"Can't anybody play against Luckman and beat him?"

"Sure." Joe Schilling nodded. "I can."

Pete stared at him. "You're serious? But he wiped you out; you're a classic case!"

"Just bad luck," Schilling said. "If I had had more title deeds to put up, if I had been able to stay in a little longer—" He smiled a bleak, crooked smile. "Bluff's a fascinating game. Like poker, it combines chance and skill equally; you can win by either, or lose by either. I lost by the former, on a single bad run—actually, on a single lucky guess by Luckman."

"Not skill on his part."

"Hell no! Luckman is to luck as I am to skill; we ought to be called Luckman and Skillman. If I ever get a stake and can start again..." Joe Schilling abruptly belched. "Sorry."

"I'll stake you," Pete said, suddenly, on impulse.

"You can't afford to. I'm expensive, because I don't start winning right away. It takes time for my skill-factor to overcome any chance runs... such as the celebrated one by which Luckman wiped me out."

From the front of the store came the sounds of the superb tenor Gigli singing; Schilling paused a moment to listen. Across from the table his huge dingy parrot Eeore shifted about in its cage, annoyed by the sharp, pure voice. Schilling gave the parrot a reproving glance.

"Thy Tiny Hand Is Frozen," Schilling said. "The first of the two recordings Gigli made of that, and by far the better. Ever heard the latter of the two? From the complete opera and so bad as to be unbelievable. Wait." He silenced himself, listening. "A superb record," he said to Pete. "You should have it in your collection."