“Yes, I think I have, if it’s the one with the window full of carved peasant figures, gnomes and cuckoo clocks!”
“Yes, that’s it!” Karl interrupted. “I arranged that window display myself,” he added with a touch of pride.
“Really?” Judy tactfully refrained from saying how ugly she had thought it. “I’ve passed it many times. Does the name Swiss Shop mean that your uncle imports these things from Switzerland?”
“Yes, and lots of other articles besides; jewelry and scarves, sweaters for skiers and mountain climbers. Of course, cuckoo clocks are his real hobby.”
“I can’t imagine who would want to buy a cuckoo clock,” Judy ventured to say.
“No, neither could I, at first, but they do. Tourists, lots of them, especially from Texas—they’re our best customers. Personally, I think they’re a nuisance, a mechanical bird popping at you every hour. It can be quite annoying when you practice.”
The jinx of silence was broken for the moment. Judy knew she had to keep the talk flowing. The subject of clocks could be pursued.
“The kind of clocks I like best,” she said, “are the antique ones from our American Colonial days. My grandmother collects them. She has one on every mantel, over every fireplace in her house! They’re really beautiful, usually of mahogany, with delicate pointed spires, like a church steeple. Of course, none of them work. When you really wish to know the time, you have to dash into the kitchen to look at the electric clock fastened to the wall.”
“Well, what’s the good of them—just ornaments?”
“Grandma says they can be made to work if she ever got around to finding a really dependable clockmaker,” Judy finished, rather crestfallen. The subject of clocks was definitely exhausted.