Ivy Day in the Committee Room

           OldJackrakedthecinderstogetherwithapieceofcardboardandspreadthemjudiciouslyoverthewhiteningdomeofcoals.Whenthedomewasthinlycoveredhisfacelapsedintodarknessbut,ashesethimselftofanthefireagain,hiscrouchingshadowascendedtheoppositewallandhisfaceslowlyreemergedintolight.Itwasanoldman’sface,verybonyandhairy.Themoistblueeyesblinkedatthefireandthemoistmouthfellopenattimes,munchingonceortwicemechanicallywhenitclosed.Whenthecindershadcaughthelaidthepieceofcardboardagainstthewall,sighedandsaid:

           “That’sbetternow,Mr.O’Connor.”

           Mr.O’Connor,agrey-hairedyoungman,whosefacewasdisfiguredbymanyblotchesandpimples,hadjustbroughtthetobaccoforacigaretteintoashapelycylinderbutwhenspokentoheundidhishandiworkmeditatively.Thenhebegantorollthetobaccoagainmeditativelyandafteramoment’sthoughtdecidedtolickthepaper.

           “DidMr.Tierneysaywhenhe’dbeback?”heaskedinaskyfalsetto.

           “Hedidn’tsay.”

           Mr.O’Connorputhiscigaretteintohismouthandbegansearchhispockets.Hetookoutapackofthinpasteboardcards.

           “I’llgetyouamatch,”saidtheoldman.

           “Nevermind,this’lldo,”saidMr.O’Connor.