But McMurphy can’t keep still for that; he’s got to be up to something. After about two minutes of pushing food scraps around his plate with his spoon, he’s ready for more excitement. He hooks his thumbs in his pockets and tips back and one-eyes that clock up on the wall. Then he rubs his nose. “You know—that old clock up there puts me in mind of the targets at the target range at Fort Riley. That’s where I got my first medal, a sharpshooter medal. Dead-Eye Murphy. Who wants to lay me a pore little dollar that I can’t put this dab of butter square in the center of the face of that clock up
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