I've got a gig," Jim said. I sat up in my bed, wide-awake. A gig was good- I needed the money. "Half. " "Third. " "Half. " "Thirty-five percent. " Jim's voice hardened. "Half. " The phone went silent as my former Guild partner mulled it over. "Okay, forty. " I hung up. (. . . ) The phone rang. I let it ring twice before I picked it up. "Fine. " Jim's voice had a hint of a snarl in it. "Half.
There ought to be some other means of reckoning quality in this the best and loveliest of games; the scoreboard is an ass.