er.

"_Try it again._"

Sartan disposed of another quarter. They waited. Lemon. Plum. Plum.

Nothing.

Toryl inspected the machine from every angle, like a man on the outside
trying to figure a way in. "_Let me try it._"

He put a quarter in the slot.

Three lemons.

"_It isn't very interesting, is it?_" thought Sartan.

"_Why don't we try the larger pieces?_"

"_A splendid idea, Brother._"

The larger coins did not fit. Toryl proceeded to report this sad state
of affairs to Okie and was amazed when, for the eight large coins, Okie
rewarded him with twenty-four smaller ones. He went back to his
companion at the one-armed bandit.

They then dropped twenty consecutive quarters into the appropriately
named machine without getting so much as a single quarter in return.

"_It is puzzling, is it not, Brother?_"

"_Yes, Sartan. From all indications it would seem to be a machine
totally without purpose._"

"_It does consume money._"

"_But why would one build a machine whose sole purpose is to consume
money?_"

Sartan gave it some hard thought. "_I don't know!_"

"_Remarkable!_" Toryl concluded. "_But nothing is done without a
purpose._"

"_Obviously we've found something that is._"

"_No, I do not believe that. Let me have the electro-analyzer._"

* * * * *

The aliens were so engrossed in their problem as to be unaware that Okie
and two men at the bar were casting suspicious eyes on them.

Sartan fished around in his pocket and produced a small object in the
shape of an irregular triangle. Toryl took the electro-analyzer from
him, removed the cover and moved his finger around inside. He replaced
the cover and slapped the electro-analyzer against the side of the
one-armed bandit. When he took his hand away the small object stuck to
the machine like a leech.

Okie scratched his head and addressed one of the two men at the bar.
"What the hell you suppose they're doin', Sam? What's that gadget for?"

"Search me," replied Sam, a well dressed, stoop-shouldered gent, "but if
you want my opinion it doesn't look legal."

"Hey, Nugget!" yelled the barkeep.

Again the little old prospector hustled himself over to the bar.

"Nugget McDermott at your service! What'll it be, Okie?"

"Go on over and get the sheriff. Tell him there's two queer characters
here trying to jimmy one of my machines in broad daylight."

The old man's feet kicked up sawdust as he scampered out the