“I feel a little cooler now.” Immediately he got up. He left his overskirt
in the hall, and when he came out put it on backwards. “All backwards.
Playing tricks on me. Skirt backwards is tricks, you know.” He righted the
error and tied a skillful figure-ten knot. Immediately he was off again, this
time to the urinal. “The heat is worst when you’re at the board,” he said,
back once more. He wiped vigorously at his glasses with the towel.
It was three in the afternoon. The Master was having an ice. He
deliberated for twenty minutes. Apparently Black 63 struck him as a trifle
unorthodox.
At the outset of the game, Otaké had been careful to warn the Master that
he would frequently ask to be excused; but his departures from the board
had been so frequent during the preceding session that the Master had
thought them a little odd.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Kidneys. Nerves, really. When I have to think I have to go.”
