uld tell...." Ernie laid aside a wrench to phrase exactly
what he wished to say to Rogers, and the next sub-assembly slipped
past. Both he and Broncewicz grabbed it hastily.

Unfortunately, Rogers happened to be watching. He walked over.
Broncewicz became intently interested in his work. Ernie sighed
resignedly.

Rogers seemed surprisingly resigned, himself. All he said was, "I
thought you got enough sleep this morning, Stump. Wake up, get on the
stick." He walked off.

Broncewicz raised his head. "Hey, I thought you were going to tell
him?"

"Aw, shut up."

Ernie did not like his foreman, but neither did he like the prospect
of losing his job. He couldn't afford to be out of work.

The noon whistle blew as he was finishing the last of the extra
assemblies. Ernie tossed his tools down and left the line.

* * * * *

The sight of the food in the cafeteria reminded him all over again
that he was spending too much money. His stomach had felt queasy. It
now turned sour. Without looking at them, Ernie selected a plate of
frankfurters and spaghetti, picked up a carton of milk for the sake of
his stomach, and sat down at the nearest table.

Jory sat down beside him. "Joe's waving at you," he said, nodding at
the cashier at the end of the counter. "You forgot to pay."

"What?" Ernie stomped over to the counter, threw down the money and
returned to his seat. To Jory he said: "I feel bad today."

"Uh-huh," Jory said disinterestedly. He turned a page of the book he
had propped next to his plate.

"Don't be a wise guy," Ernie grunted. He turned his attention to his
plate. Several mouthfuls of spaghetti convinced him that he was hungry
after all. He swallowed and opened his carton of milk. He looked up at
the book Jory was holding. Jory was a funny guy, always reading.

"What's the book today?" he asked.

Jory held the cover so he could see the title. "Celine's 'Journey to
the End of Night.' It's French."

Ernie's interest quickened. "French, huh? Has it got any good stuff in
it? You know, like Miller has?" He laughed.

"No."

"Well, what's it about?"

"About a guy who thinks he might commit suicide."

"Oh." Ernie thought about it for a minute. "Is that _all_ it's about?
Just some guy wonderin' if he should bump himself off?"

"Yes." Jory turned a page.

"Oh." Ernie thought about it again. "And he made a whole _book_ out of
it? Just that ... no sex or nothing?"

"No. No sex