I took him up to my room. He straddled a chair and put a match in his mouth. I sat on the side of the bed and waited for him to say something. He chewed his match a while and began:

“I’m going to come clean with you, brother. I’m⁠—”

“You mean you’re going to tell me you knew me when you braced me yesterday?” I asked. “And you’re going to tell me Bush hadn’t told you to bet on him? And you didn’t until afterwards? And you knew about his record because you used to be a bull? And you thought if you could get me to put it to him you could clean up a little dough playing him?”

“I’ll be damned if I was going to come through with that much,” he said, “but since it’s been said I’ll put a yes to it.”

“Did you clean up?”