"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?"