He opens his eyes and looks around at us. One by one he looks at the guys—even at me—then he fishes in his pockets for all the IOUs he won the last few days at poker. He bends over the table and tries to sort them, but his hands are froze into red claws, and he can’t work the fingers. Finally he throws the whole bundle on the floor—probably forty or fifty dollars’ worth from each man—and turns to walk out of the tub room. He stops at the door and looks back at everybody standing around. “But I tried, though,” he says. “Goddammit, I sure as hell did that much, now, didn’t I?” And walks out and
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