The dog sighed. “That means I have to summon.”
“Correct.” The Clerk checked his instruction sheet. “You’re to summon at precisely eight-fifteen. You’ve got that? Eight-fifteen. No later.”
“What will an eight-fifteen summons bring?”
The Clerk flipped open his instruction book, examining the code columns. “It will bring A Friend with a Car. To drive him to work early.” He closed the book and folded his arms, preparing to wait. “That way he’ll get to his office almost an hour ahead of time. Which is vital.”
“Vital,” the dog murmured. He lay down, half inside his shed. His eyes closed. “Vital.”
“Wake up! This must be done exactly on time. If you summon too soon or too late—”
The dog nodded sleepily. “I know. I’ll do it right. I always do it right.”
* * * *
Ed Fletcher poured more cream in his coffee. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Behind him the oven hissed softly, filling the kitchen with warm fumes. The yellow overhead light beamed down.
“Another roll?” Ruth asked.
“I’m full.” Ed sipped his coffee. “You can have it.”
“Have to go.” Ruth got to her feet, unfastening her robe. “Time to go to work.”
“Already?”
“Sure. You lucky bum! Wish I could sit around.” Ruth moved toward the bathroom, running her fingers through her long black hair. “When you work for the Government you start early.”
“But you get off early,” Ed pointed out. He unfolded the Chronicle, examining the sporting green. “Well, have a good time today. Don’t type any wrong words, any double-entendres.”
The bathroom door closed, as Ruth shed her robe and began dressing.
Ed yawned and glanced up at the clock over the sink. Plenty of time. Not even eight. He sipped more coffee and then rubbed his stubbled chin. He would have to shave. He shrugged lazily. Ten minutes, maybe.
Ruth came bustling out in her nylon slip, hurrying into the bedroom. “I’m late.” She rushed rapidly around, getting into her blouse and skirt, her stockings, her little white shoes. Finally she bent over and kissed him. “Goodbye, honey. I’ll do the shopping tonight.”
“Goodbye.” Ed lowered his newspaper and put his arm around his wife’s trim waist, hugging her affectionately. “You smell nice. Don’t flirt with the boss.”
Ruth ran out the front door, clattering down the steps. He heard the click of her heels diminish down the sidewalk.
She was gone. The house was silent. He was alone.
Ed got to his feet, pushing his chair back. He wandered lazily into the bathroom and got his razor down. Eight-ten. He washed his face, rubbing it down with shaving cream, and began to shave. He shaved leisurely. He had plenty of time.
* * * *
The Clerk bent over his round pocket-watch, licking his lips nervously. Sweat stood out on his forehead. The second hand ticked on. Eight-fourteen. Almost time.
“Get ready!” the Clerk snapped. “Ten seconds to go!” He tensed, his small body rigid.
“Time!” the Clerk cried.
Nothing happened.
The Clerk turned, eyes wide with horror. From the little shed a thick black tail showed. The dog had gone back to sleep.
“TIME!” the Clerk shrieked. He kicked wildly at the furry rump. “In the name of God—”
The dog stirred. He thumped around hastily, backing out of the shed. “My goodness.” Embarrassed, he made his way quickly to the fence. Standing up on his hind paws, he opened his mouth wide. “Woof!” he summoned. He glanced apologetically at the Clerk. “I beg your pardon. I can’t understand how—”
The Clerk gazed fixedly down at his watch. Cold terror knotted his stomach. The hands showed eight-sixteen. “You failed,” he grated. “You failed! You miserable flea-bitten rag-bag of a worn-out old mutt! You failed!”
The dog dropped and came anxiously back. “I failed, you say? You mean the summons time was—?”
“You summoned too late.” The Clerk put his watch away slowly, a glazed expression on his face. “You summoned too late. We won’t get A Friend with a Car. There’s no telling what will come instead. I’m afraid to see what eight-sixteen brings.”
“I hope he’ll be in Sector T137 in time.”
“He won’t,” the Clerk wailed. “He won’t be there. We’ve made a mistake. We’ve made things go wrong!”
* * * *
Ed was rinsing the shaving cream from his face when the muffled sound of the dog’s bark echoed through the silent house.
“Damn,” Ed muttered. “Wake up the whole block.” He dried his face, listening. Was somebody coming?
A vibration. Then—
The doorbell rang.
Ed came out of the bathroom. Who could it be? Had Ruth forgotten something? He tossed on a white shirt and opened the front door.
A bright young man, face bland and eager, beamed happily at him. “Good morning, sir.” He tipped his hat. “I’m sorry to bother you so early—”
“What do you want?”
“I’m from the Federal Life Insurance Company. I’m here to see you about—”
Ed pushed the door closed. “Don’t want any. I’m in a rush. Have to get to work.”
“Your wife said this was the only time I could catch you.” The young man picked up his briefcase, easing the door open again. “She especially asked me to come this early. We don’t usually begin our work at this time, but since she asked me, I made a special note about it”
“Okay.” Sighing wearily, Ed admitted the young man. “You can explain your policy while I get dressed.”
The young man opened his briefcase on the couch, laying out heaps of pamphlets and illustrated folders. “I’d like to show you some of these figures, if I may. It’s of great importance to you and your family to—”
Ed found himself sitting down, going over the pamphlets. He purchased a ten-thousand-dollar policy on his own life and then eased the young man out. He looked at the clock. Practically nine-thirty!
“Damn.” He’d be late to work. He finished fastening his tie, grabbed his coat, turned off the oven and the lights, dumped the dishes in the sink, and ran out on the porch.
As he hurried toward the bus stop, he was cursing inwardly. Life insurance salesmen. Why did the jerk have to come just as he was getting ready to leave?
Ed groaned. No telling what the consequences would be, getting to the office late. He wouldn’t get there until almost ten. He set himself in anticipation. A sixth sense told him he was in for it. Something bad. It was the wrong day to be late.
If only the salesman hadn’t come.
* * * *
Ed hopped off the bus a block from his office. He began walking rapidly. The huge clock in front of Stein’s Jewelry Store told him it was almost ten.
His heart sank. Old Douglas would give him hell for sure. He could see it now. Douglas puffing and blowing, red-faced, waving his thick finger at him; Miss Evans, smiling behind