III
ALVA
It was nine o’clock. The alarm rang. Alva’s roommate awoke cursing.
“Why the hell don’t you turn off that alarm?”
There was no response. The alarm continued to ring.
“Alva!” Braxton yelled into his sleeping roommate’s ear, “Turn off that clock. Wake up,” he began shaking him, “Wake up, damn you. . . ya dead?”
Alva slowly emerged from his stupor. Almost mechanically he reached for the clock, dancing merrily on a chair close to the bed, and, finding it, pushed the guilty lever back into the silent zone. Braxton watched him disgustedly:
“Watcha gettin’ up so early for? Don’tcha know this is Monday?”
“Shure, I know it’s Monday, but I gotta go to Uncle’s. The landlord’ll be here before eleven o’clock.”
“Watcha gonna pawn?”
111
