ling, maybe--but whatever he did it was
sure to be better than staying home every night.

Oh, he supposed he _could_ go out, just once in a while, during the
work week. Some of the guys at the plant did. But then, the guys that
did go out week nights weren't as sharp at their jobs as Ernie was.
Sometimes they showed up late and pulled other stuff like that. You
couldn't do things like that too often, Ernie thought virtuously. Not
if it was a good job, a job that you wanted to keep. You had to be
sharp.

Ernie smiled. _He_ was sharp. A growing feeling of virtue began to
replace his boredom.

Ernie glanced at his watch and went sprawling out of his bed. He was
late. He didn't even have time for breakfast.

His last thought, as he slammed out of his apartment, was an angry
regret that he had not had time to pack a lunch. He would have to eat
in the plant cafeteria again. Cafeteria lunches cost money. Money
concerned Ernie. It always did. But right now he was going to need
money for the week end; payday was another week away.

* * * * *

Ernie punched in twelve minutes late.

His foreman was waiting beside the time clock. He was a big man, and
what was left of his red hair matched in color the skin of his neck.
And the color of his face, when he grew angry.

His name was Rogers. He smiled now as Ernie nervously pushed his time
card into the clock. His voice was warm and jovial as he spoke.

"Well ... _good morning_, Mr. Stump. And did we have a nice, late,
cozy little sleep-in this morning?"

Ernie smiled uncertainly. "I'm sorry, Rogers. I know I'm late, but the
time just sort of got away from me--"

Rogers laughed lightly. "Think nothing _of_ it, Mr. Stump. These
things happen, after all."

"Uh, yeah. Well, like I said, I'm sorry and--"

Rogers went on, unheeding. "Of course, complications can develop when
your number three wrist-pin man decides that he just isn't feeling
sharp this morning and he needs a little extra sleep to put him right.
If you're the foreman for Sub-Assembly Line 3-A, for example, Mr.
Stump, one wonders if the rush order that must be filled by this
morning is going to be finished any time before next Christmas. One
wonders where the wrist-pin man is, Mr. Stump. Does he intend to come
in at all, or will he just snooze his little head off all day? One
wonders what to say to the plant manager, Mr. Stump. How do you tell
him that twenty men are standing idle