Morris showed up at this desk in the Ministry of Government and Consumer Services at a quarter to nine, took off his jacket, opened The Globe and Mail and began to do the crossword puzzle. This would continue through his coffee break and into his lunch hour. Morris was a small neat man, built somewhat like Peter Lorre, with a small black toupee and grey pasty skin. Paul arrived at the office a few minutes after nine. Paul was a tall version of W. C. Fields. He removed his jack and took a seat at his desk. He threw one of his long legs over the other, took a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and began to pick his teeth. I was a file clerk.
“What's you doing there, Maurice.” Paul asked. He knew what Morris was doing. Morris did the same thing everyday. But it pleased Paul to ask. And he called Morris, Maurice, for the same reason.
“What's a six letter word for enthusiasm?” Morris asked.
“A six letter word...” Paul pondered. “Vivacity.”
“That's eight letters,” Morris replied.
“Take a couple of letters out,” Paul responded, then added, “I think I might go out to lunch today. Something Mexican. Would you like to go, Maurice?”
“I brought a lunch,” Morris responded.
“How about Chinese, then,” Paul replied.
“I have a tuna fish sandwich,” Morris exclaimed.
“Tuna fish... eh. Who made it for you?”
“My mother.”
Paul thought about that for a moment. He knew that Morris's mother had made the sandwich.
“I'm thinking of growing a moustache,” he said.
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