Behind them the barker's amplified voice grew hollow with distance, counterpointed by Jerry Lee's pumping piano, music like some mad, dented hot rod that was too tough to die, rumbling out of the dead and silent fifties like an omen. “Come in, men, come on over, don't be shy because these girls sure aren't, not in the least little bit! It's all on the inside… your education isn't complete until you've seen the Club Playboy show…

“Don't you want to go on back and finish your education?” she asked.

He smiled. “I finshed my basic course work on that subject some time ago. I guess I can wait a while to get my Ph. D.”

She glanced at her watch. “Hey, it's getting late, Johnny. And tomorrow's a school day.”

“Yeah. But at least it's Friday.”

She sighed, thinking of her fifth-period study hall and her seventh-period New Fiction class, both of them impossibly rowdy.

They had worked their way back to the main part of the midway. The crowd was thinning. The Tilt-A-Whirl had shut down for the evening. Two workmen with unfiltered cigarettes jutting from the corners of their mouths were covering the Wild Mouse with a tarpaulin. The man in the Pitch-Til-U-Win was turning off his lights.

“You doing anything Saturday?” he asked, suddenly diffident. “I know it's short notice, but…”

“I have plans,” she said.

“Oh.”

And she couldn't bear his crestfallen expression, it was really too mean to tease him about that. “I'm doing something with you.

“You are?… Oh, you are. Say, that's good. “He grinned at her and she grinned back. The voice in her mind, which was sometimes as real to her as the voice of another human being, suddenly spoke up.

You're feeling good again, Sarah. Feeling happy. Isn't it fine?

“Yes, it is,” she said. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him quickly. She made herself go on before she could chicken out. “It gets pretty lonely down there in Veazie sometimes, you know. Maybe I could… sort of spend the night with you.”

He looked at her with warm thoughtfulness, and with a speculation that made her tingle deep inside. “Would that be what you want, Sarah?”

She nodded. “Very much what I want.”

“All right,” he said, and put an arm around her.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asked a little shyly.

“I'm just afraid you'll change your mind.”

“I won't, Johnny.”

He hugged her tighter against him. “Then it's my lucky night.”

They were passing the Wheel of Fortune as he said it, and Sarah would later remember that it was the only booth still open on that side of the midway for thirty yards in either direction. The man behind the counter had just finished sweeping the packed dirt inside for any spare dimes that might have fallen from the playing board during the night's action. Probably his last chore before closing up, she thought. Behind him was his large spoked wheel, outlined by tiny electric bulbs. He must have heard Johnny's remark, because he went into his pitch more or less automatically, his eyes still searching the dirt floor of his booth for the gleam of silver.

“Hey-hey-hey, if you feel lucky, mister, spin the Wheel of Fortune, turn dimes into dollars. It's all in the Wheel, try your luck, one thin dime sets this Wheel of Fortune in motion.”

Johnny swung back toward the sound of his voice.

“Johnny?”

“I feel lucky, just like the man said. “He smiled down at her. “Unless you mind…?”

“No, go ahead. Just don't take too long.”

He looked at her again in that frankly speculative way that made her feel a little weak, wondering how it would be with him. Her stomach did a slow roll-over that made her feel a bit nauseated with sudden sexual longing.

“No, not long. “He looked at the pitchman. The midway behind them was almost completely empty now, and as the overcast had melted off above them it had turned chilly. The three of them were puffing white vapor as they breathed.

“Try” your luck, young man?”

“Yes.”

He had switched all his cash to his front pocket when they arrived at the fair, and now he pulled out the remains of his eight dollars. It came to a dollar eighty-five.

The playing board was a strip of yellow plastic with numbers and odds painted on it in squares. It looked a bit like a roulette board, but Johnny saw immediately that the odds here would have turned a Las Vegas roulette player gray… A trip combination paid off at only two to one. There were two house numbers, zero and double zero. He pointed this out to the pitchman, who only shrugged.

“You want Vegas, go to Vegas. What can I say?”

But Johnny's good humor tonight was unshakable. Things had gotten off to a poor start with that mask, but it had been all upbeat from there. In fact, it was the best night he could remember in years, maybe the best night ever. He looked at Sarah. Her color was high, her eyes sparkling. “What do you say, Sarah?”

She shook her head. “It's Greek to me. What do you do?”

“Play a number. Or red/black. Or odd/even. Or a ten-number series. They all pay differently. “He gazed at the pitchman, who gazed back blandly. “At least, they should.”

“Play black,” she said. “It is sort of exciting, isn't it?”

“Black,” he said, and dropped his odd dime on the black square.

The pitchman stared at the single dime on his expanse of playboard and sighed. “Heavy plunger. “He turned to the Wheel.

Johnny's hand wandered absently to his forehead and touched it. “Wait,” he said abruptly. He pushed one of his quarters onto the square reading 11-20.

“That it?”

“Sure,” Johnny said.

The pitchman gave the Wheel a twist and it spun in-side its circle of lights, red and black merging. Johnny absently rubbed at his forehead. The Wheel began to slow and now they could hear the metronome-like tick-tock of the small wooden clapper sliding past the pins that divided the numbers. It reached 8, 9, seemed about to stop on 10, and slipped into the 11 slot with a final dick and came to rest.

“The lady loses, the gentleman wins,” the pitchman said.

“You won, Johnny?”

“Seems like it,” Johnny said as the pitchman added two quarters to his original one. Sarah gave a little squeal, barely noticing as the pitchman swept the dime away.

“Told you, my lucky night,” Johnny said.

“Twice is luck, once is just a fluke,” the pitchman remarked. “Hey-hey-hey.”

“Go again, Johnny,” she said.

“All right. Just as it is for me.”

“Let it ride?”

“Yes.”

The pitchman spun the Wheel again, and as it slid around, Sarah murmured quietly to him, “Aren't all these carnival wheels suppose to be fixed?”

“They used to be. Now the state inspects them and they just rely on their outrageous odds system.”

The Wheel had slowed to its final unwinding tick-tock. The pointer passed 10 and entered Johnny's trip, still slowing.

“Come on, come on! “Sarah cried. A couple of teenagers on their way out paused to watch.

The wooden clapper, moving very slowly now, passed 16 and 17, then came to a stop on 18.

“Gentleman wins again. “The pitchman added six more quarters to Johnny's pile.

“You're rich!” Sarah gloated, and kissed him on the cheek.

“You're streaking, fella,” the pitchman agreed enthusiastically. “Nobody quits a hot stick. Hey-hey-hey.”

“Should I go again?” Johnny asked her.

“Why not?”

“Yeah, go ahead, man,” one of the teenagers said. A button on his jacket bore the face of Jimi Hendrix. “That guy took me for four bucks tonight. I love to see him take a beatin.”

“You too then,” Johnny told Sarah. He gave her the odd quarter off his stack of nine. After a moment's hesitation she laid it down on 21. Single numbers paid off ten to one on a hit, the board announced.

“You're riding the middle trip, right, fella?”

Johnny looked down at the eight quarters stacked on the board, and then he began to rub his forehead again, as if he felt the beginnings of a headache. Suddenly he swept the quarters off the board and jingled them in his two cupped hands.