"That'll be all right."
"California plates. On your way through?"
"Just on a vacation. I stopped here because I used to know a fellow
from this town. Timmy Warden."
He was a gaunt man with prematurely white hair and bad teeth. He picked
a cigarette out of the top pocket of his coveralls. "Knew Timmy, did
you? The way you say it, I guess you know he's dead."
"Yes. I was with him when he died."
"There in the camp, eh? Guess it was pretty rough."
"It was rough. He used to talk about this place. And about his brother
George. I thought I'd stop and maybe see his brother and tell him about
how it was with Timmy."