“Four o’clock,” she said aloud.
“Eh?”
Cale Wesson, her husband, lifted himself on one elbow and squinted at her.
“Whazzamatter?”
“That danged noise,” she replied. “Didn’t yuh hear it?”
Cale yawned audibly and turned his pillow over. He was not interested.
Hung-g-g, bong-g-g, zung-g-g-g, zung-g-g, bong-g-g-g.
“What the is that?” demanded Cale, sitting up in bed.
“That’s what I’ve been talkin’ about,” said Mrs. Wesson. “I’ve been hearin’ it for quite a while. Sounds like a tight wire in a wind.”
“Um-m-m.”