He said, “All right, Walter. And I’ll do anything you suggest. Anything. I’m afraid, and I’m afraid to try to figure out just what I’m afraid of—”
Back in my room, I didn’t sleep. Not until nearly dawn, anyway, and then I fell into fitful slumber that lasted until eleven. I dressed and went in to town to catch George during his lunch hour.
“Thought of anything, Walter?” he asked, the minute he saw me. His voice didn’t sound hopeful. I shook my head.
“Then,” he said—and his voice was firm on top, but with a tremor underneath—“this afternoon is going to end it one way or the other. Something’s happened.”
“What?”
He said, ”
I’m going back with a heavy hammer inside my shirt. I think there’s a chance of my getting it before it can get me. If not—well, I’ll have tried.”
I looked around me. We were sitting together in a booth at Shorty’s lunchroom, and Shorty was coming over to ask what we wanted. It looked like a sane and orderly world.
I waited until Shorty had gone to fry our hamburger steaks, and then I asked quietly, “What happened?”
“Another manifesto. Walter, it demands that I install another Linotype.” His eyes bored into mine, and a cold chill went down my spine.