a gold watch, and a fine gold chain. It is a miracle of design, almost as thin and delicate as a wafer. The boy stares at it with bulging eyes and in a moment stammers:
“It’s—it’s a watch!”
“Does it look like an alarm clock?” Ben jeers quietly, as he turns a page and begins to scowl up and down the advertisements of another column.
“It’s—for me?” the boy says thickly, slowly, as he stares at it.
“No,” Ben says, “it’s for Napoleon Bonaparte, of course!… You little idiot! Don’t you know what day this is? Have I got to do all the thinking for you? Don’t you ever use your head for anything except a hat-rack?… Well,” he goes on quietly in a moment, still looking at his paper, “what do you think of it?… There’s a spring in the back that opens up,” he goes on casually, “Why don’t you look at it?”
The boy turns the watch over, feels the smooth golden surface of that shining wafer, finds the spring, and opens it. The back of the watch springs out, upon the inner surface is engraved, in delicate small words, this inscription:
“Well,” Ben says quietly in a moment. “Did you read what it says?”
“I’d just like to say—” the boy begins in a thick, strange voice, staring blindly down at the still open watch.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Ben says, lifting his scowling head in the direction of his unknown demon, and jerking his head derisively towards the boy. “Listen to this, won’t you?… Now, for God’s sake, try to take good care of it and don’t abuse it!” he says quickly and irritably. “You’ve got to look after a watch the same as anything else. Old man Enderby”—this is the name of the jeweller from whom he has bought the watch—“told me that a watch like that was good for fifty years, if you take care of it…. You know,” he goes on quietly, insultingly, “you’re not supposed to drive nails with it or use it for a hammer. You know that, don’t you?” he says, and for the first time turns and looks quietly at the boy. “Do you know what a watch is for?”
“Yes.”
