His hat dropped off his head and lay crown down beside him.

He made a pathetic figure of miserable manhood, of strength mistreated.

His fine, brown hair fell in heavy locks down over his fingers that rested on his forehead.

Five minutes so, and he lifted his head and glanced around him apathetically.
"Gee-man-ee, I've got a headache!" he muttered, dropping his forehead into his spread palms again.
Cash hesitated, derision hiding in the back of his eyes.

Then he pushed the dented coffeepot forward on the stove.
"Try a cup of coffee straight," he said unemotionally, "and then lay down.