The Old Man gets anxious about his newspaper. This is a daily fix that he cannot do without. He keeps pacing to the window and eyeing the ice in the lane like a blackbird cocking its head for the sound of a worm. If the ice turns to slush, he can get in his car and creep off towards the nearest newspaper point. After a while he gives up the project.
But late afternoon and The Old Man comes in to see me in the "sun room". He is distinctly moist of eye. He is also clutching his daily newspaper and a large bag of bird food. A neighbour has just returned from town and has remembered The Old Man's daily necessities.
The Old Man mops his eyes and retires to the fire with his paper.