Vag looked at the brown paper soap flakes box squatting sullenly in the middle of the floor, with a pyramid of books heaped up over its rim. Three years worth of junk, thought Vag, just taking up space. This year he would start differently. Vag seized the box with one hand and heaved the books out onto the rung.

There was a paper-covered volume on top of the pile. Vag picked it up and gingerly opened it. Logarithmic Tables and Mathematical Functions. Math C, thought Vag; a lot of good that had done. Vag flipped the book across the room and it slid behind an old laundry case. That for that.

The next book on the pile was thin and green, with an H. carefully blacked in with pencil on the front. French Grammar for the College Student. He flipped open the cover; somebody had written "Ou est le W. C.?" inside. Pretty good course, that had been. Neat guys--real jokers. That was the kind of thing you probably remembered about College. He weighed the book in his hand; it was small and handy, printed on exceptionally light paper. It wouldn't really take up too much space. Vag held the book a minute more, and then let it slip back into the carton.

"Junk," muttered Vag; he reached in the pile. Five Kinds of Writing. That certainly wasn't worth keeping. Vag opened the book at random. "Why I am a Marxist" it said. He shuddered and threw it beside the math tables. Family and Community in Ireland. The book joined the others behind the laundry case. Essays on Sociological Theory. The dust was coming up from the laundry box now as the books hit. Vag worked his way to the bottom of the box, watched a copy of Plato's "Republic" thud into the pile, and then stood up. That had been his first textbook.

He walked over to the laundry case and picked up the Plate. "In case of loss return to. . ." it said on the flyleaf. A book was important in those days. And the math tables, you never knew when you were going to need a math table. Vag stood over the box, and then quickly slipped in the two books. These were valuable books, a real library. Vag started throwing the books back at their box, working faster and faster.

The only one left now was Five Kinds of Writing, lying alone in the dust. Vag lifted it and opened it carefully to "Why I am a Marxist" again. He started reading, and paused for a minute to look over his shoulder. Then he quickly crouched over the box, dug into pile with his free hand, and slipped the book back at their box, working faster and faster.

The only one left now was Five Kinds of Writing, lying alone in the dust. Vag lifted it and opened it carefully to "Why I am a Marxist" again. He started reading, and paused for a minute to look over his shoulder. Then he quickly crouched over the box, dug into the pile with his free hand, and slipped the book into the heap.