surprised at some of the jobs I've had, Ernie." He grinned. "As far as that goes, I might get laid off here before I want to go."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look around you. How many men are working today?"

Now that his attention was called to it, Ernie glanced around the cafeteria. Normally, it was packed during the lunch hour. Today, it was less than three-quarters full.

"So? Some of the guys are out sick, that's all."

"There won't be much work this afternoon. We got most of it out this morning."

"It's some new bug. Like that flu thing last winter." But Ernie's voice, as he said it, was defensive. In Ernie's book, a layoff was a bad thing.

Inside, Ernie's mind began to calculate the possibilities. It was a thing Ernie's mind always did when it was confronted with the unexpected. His mind didn't like to work, but Ernie liked the unforeseen even less.

It was unlikely that the entire plant would be shut down. In that case what supervisors would want him to stay on? He ran through the list of his superiors and immediately came to Rogers.

Ernie winced. After this morning, Rogers would post him for the layoff for sure. He could take it to the union, but—Ernie stopped and looked suspiciously at Jory.

Did Jory know about the beef he had this morning with Rogers? Come to think of it, Ernie didn't know there was going to be a layoff. Was Jory just needling him?

He looked around the cafeteria again. The tables on the edges of the floor were deserted and empty. To Ernie's eyes it suddenly looked as if the men who were eating had purposely gathered so they could be close together. They sat with their backs hunched, turned on the empty spaces behind them.

Even the noise, compared to the usual din of the cafeteria, seemed to be different. It echoed and fell flat. Ernie didn't like it. He felt funny. The overly familiar cafeteria had suddenly become strange.

A feeling began to grow in him that, somehow, the cafeteria was wrong. "It ... looks funny," he said.

Jory became alert. "What looks funny?"

"I don't know ... the room."

"What's wrong with the room?" Jory bent over. His eyes were intent, but his voice stayed low. He spoke with great care.

"I ... don't know. It looks funny. Empty. Older. No, wait—" And the feeling was gone. Ernie shook his head. It was the old, crowded and not too clean cafeteria, again.

He turned to Jory. "Well, they better not! I was out of work six months on the last layoff." He paused and marshaled a last, telling argument: "I can't afford it!"

Jory laughed. "Take it easy. I said there might be one. Lots of things might happen. Hell, the world itself might come to an end."

Ernie said grumpily, "I don't like 'mights'. Why can't they leave a man alone and let him do his work? Why do they gotta—"

Jory stood up and grinned. "Come on, Ernie. What do you need money for? I mean, other than to keep up the payments on your TV?"

Ernie rose. "Don't be such a guy," he grumbled. "We better get back. If I come in late from lunch, I've had it."

It was a quarter of a mile across the plant yard to where they worked. They walked in silence for the first few yards. Ernie thought his own thoughts and listened to the sound of their feet on the gravel.

Presently, Jory said, "Ernie, you watch the fights. Do you remember back when they had the Rico-Marsetti bout?"

Ernie still felt irritable. "Hell, yes, I remember. It was just two weeks ago. You make it sound like it happened six months back."

"How well do you remember it?"

"Well enough. That bum Marsetti cost me ten bucks when he dived in the sixth. He was the two-to-one favorite."

"He didn't dive."

"Yeah? You ask him?"

"No. I read the papers. He was pretty scrambled up ... in the head, I mean ... for quite a while after they brought him back to his dressing room."

"Maybe he was that way all along. Maybe they just then noticed