"I do. I get to feeling it bad, sometimes. Why do you suppose that is,
Ernie?"
[Illustration]
Ernie considered the question for a moment. "Well," he said helpfully,
"it might mean you're cracking up."
Jory laughed. "Thanks. But when I need an analyst I'll go out and hire
one. No, I think I feel that way because life has somehow become a lot
more futile than it need be."
Ernie shrugged and let it go. He wiped the last trace of spaghetti
sauce from his plate. Jory got funny moods--probably because he read
so much, Ernie suspected--but he was a good man. All the guys in the
plant figured Jory for a regular guy. He liked to read some pretty
funny books, but so what? It was his eyesight, wasn't it?
Ernie remembered something else. "Hey," he said to Jory as he lit a
cigarette, "Harrigan over in the tool room told me that you write
stories. That right?"
"Yeah. But I don't have as much time for it as I once did."
"You ought to stay home nights like I do. Then you'd have time." Ernie
paused and added piously, "It makes you sharper on the job, too."
Jory started to laugh but caught it in time. He worked on the line
next to Ernie, and had witnessed the foul-up this morning. He said,
"What do you do until bedtime? Watch TV?"
"Every night. Boxing is good on Fridays. Monday night ain't so hot.
Wednesday, tonight, will be good. Lots of Westerns.
"You ought to try it. Come to think of it you look sort of tired. You
shouldn't go out drinking week nights."