and finished his meal.

The cuckoo clock was not very large. It was hand-made, however, and
there were countless frets on it, little indentations and ornaments
scored in the soft wood. Doris sat on the bed drying her eyes and
winding the clock. She set the hands by her wristwatch. Presently she
carefully moved the hands to two minutes of ten. She carried the clock
over to the dresser and propped it up.

Then she sat waiting, her hands twisted together in her lap--waiting for
the cuckoo to come out, for the hour to strike.

As she sat she thought about Larry and what he had said. And what she
had said, too, for that matter--not that she could be blamed for any of
it. After all, she couldn't keep listening to him forever without
defending herself; you had to blow your own trumpet in the world.

She touched her handkerchief to her eyes suddenly. Why did he have to
say that, about getting it wholesale? Why did he have to spoil it all?
If he felt that way he needn't have got it in the first place. She
clenched her fists. He was so mean, so damn mean.

But she was glad of the little clock sitting there ticking to itself,
with its funny grilled edges and the door. Inside the door was the
cuckoo, waiting to come out. Was he listening, his head cocked on one
side, listening to hear the clock strike so that he would know to come
out?

Did he sleep between hours? Well, she would soon see him: she could ask
him. And she would show the clock to Bob. He would love it; Bob loved
old things, even old stamps and buttons. He liked to go with her to the
stores. Of course, it was a little _awkward_, but Larry had been staying
at the office so much, and that helped. If only Larry didn't call up
sometimes to--

There was a whirr. The clock shuddered and all at once the door opened.
The cuckoo came out, sliding swiftly. He paused and looked around
solemnly, scrutinizing her, the room, the furniture.

It was the first time he had seen her, she realized, smiling to herself
in pleasure. She stood up, coming toward him shyly. "Go on," she said.
"I'm waiting."

The cuckoo opened his bill. He whirred and chirped, quickly,
rhythmically. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he retired. And the
door snapped shut.

She was delighted. She clapped her hands and spun in a little circle. He
was marvelous, perfect! And the way he had looked around, studying her,
sizing her up. He liked her; she was certain of it. And she, of course,
loved hi