"Maybe he's got a drinking problem."

"No." My father shook his head, emphatically. "Ned never touches the stuff. Maybe a glass of wine once in a while-or a pint of beer. I know he comes from the home of Scotch whiskey, but I swear it's true. I've known him for 20 years."

"How about drugs?"

"Not everyone who was young in the sixties was on drugs."

Case in point-my father. At least he had never admitted that he inhaled. "What do you think it is then?"

"There's still more. My executive assistant was returning from a weekend in Palm Springs when she and her girlfriend decided to stop at that Indian casino beside I-10."

"I know the one."

"I'm sure you do. Anyway, they went in and were wandering around when she saw Ned at a blackjack table. She was going to say hello when she noticed what he was doing."

"Standing on a soft 16?"

"No." My father looked annoyed. "He had a table all to himself. He was playing five hands at a time, and betting a pile of chips on each one. He was very intense and didn't see her. She got close enough so that she could hear some of the conversation between him and the dealer. She thinks he was betting $500 on each hand."

"How did he do?"

It looked to her as if he lost several thousand dollars in the ten minutes or so she watched."

"Poor capital preservation. And she never talked to him?"

"No. She hightailed it out of there before he spotted her, but she was so shocked by what she saw that she told me about it first thing Monday morning."

"Which was yesterday."

"Yes."

Again, my father showed signs of not being the master of the situation, but this time it was only a shadow passing over his face.