iter's cramp the first
hour they were on watch. And believe me, Sonny, any operator who
reported downtown on every reading over eighty would be back pounding a
beat before the end of his first day. They just do the best they can,
and you'd be surprised at how good that can be."

* * * * *

The old man woke up, but kept his eyes closed. He was afraid. It was too
quiet, and the room was clammy with an early morning chill. He opened
his eyelids a crack and looked at the window. Still dark outside. He lay
there trembling and brought his elbows in tight to his body. He was
going to have the shakes; he knew he'd have the shakes and it was still
too early. Too early. He looked at the clock. It was only a quarter
after five. Too early for the bars to be open. He covered his eyes with
his hands and tried to think.

It was no use; he couldn't think. He sobbed. He was afraid to move. He
knew he had to have a drink, and he knew if he got up he'd be sick. "Oh
Lord!" he breathed.

The trembling became worse. He tried to press it away by hugging his
body with his arms. It didn't help. He looked wildly around and tried to
concentrate. He thought about the bureau ... no. The dresser ... no. His
clothes ... he felt feverishly about his body ... no. Under the bed ...
no ... wait ... maybe. He'd brought some beer home. Now he remembered.
Maybe there was some left.

He rolled over on his stomach and groped under the bed. His tremulous
fingers found the paper bag and he dragged it out. It was full of empty
cans; the carton inside was ripped. He tore the sack open ... empty cans
... no! there was a full one ... two full ones--

He staggered to his feet and looked for an opener. There was one on the
bureau. He stumbled over and opened his first beautiful, lovely can of
beer. He put his mouth down close to the top so that none of the foam
could escape him. He'd be all right 'til seven, now. The bars opened at
seven. He'd be all right 'til seven.

He did not notice the knife lying beside the opener. He did not own a
knife and had no recollection of buying one.

It was a hunting knife and he was not a hunter.

* * * * *

The light at the end of the second row was growing gradually brighter.
The needle traveled slowly across the dial, 68.2, 68.4, 68.6....

King called over to the audio controller. "They all report in yet?"

The controller nodded. "Squirrel Hill's got your