The sound and the fury by William Faulkner

under the box bellowing. Father had a V-shaped silver cuirass on his running chest
     Shreve said, "Well, you didn't.... Is it a wedding or a wake?" 
     "I couldn't make it," I said. 
     "Not with all that primping. What's the matter? You think this was Sunday?" 
     "I reckon the police wont get me for wearing my new suit one time," I said. 
     "I was thinking about the Square students. They'll think you go to Harvard. Have you got too proud to at tend classes too?" 
     "I'm going to eat first." The shadow on the stoop was gone. I stepped into sunlight, finding my shadow again. I walked down the steps just ahead of it. The half hour went. Then the chimes ceased and died away. 
     Deacon wasn't at the postoffice either. I stamped the two envelopes and mailed the one to Father and put Shreve's in my inside pocket, and then I remembered where I had last seen the Deacon. It was on Decoration Day, in a G.A.R. uniform, in the middle of the parade. If you waited long enough on any corner you would see him in whatever parade came along. The one before was on Columbus' or Garibaldi's or somebody's birthday. He was in the Street Sweepers' section, in a stovepipe hat, carrying a two inch Italian flag, smoking a cigar among the brooms and scoops. But the last time was the G.A.R. one, because Shreve said: 
     "There now. Just look at what your grandpa did to that poor old nigger." 
     "Yes," I said. "Now he can spend day after day marching in parades. If it hadn't been for my grandfather, he'd have to work like whitefolks." 
     I didn't see him anywhere. But I never knew even a working nigger that you could find when you wanted him, let alone one that lived off the fat of the land. A car came along. I went over to town and went to Parker's and had a good breakfast. While I was eating I heard a clock strike the hour. But then I suppose it takes at least one hour to lose time in, who has been longer than history getting into the mechanical progression of it. 
     When I finished breakfast I bought a cigar. The girl said a fifty cent one was the best, so I took one and lit it and went out to the street. I stood there and took a couple of puffs, then I held it in my hand and went on toward the corner. I passed a jeweller's window, but I looked away in time. At the corner two bootblacks caught me, one on either side, shrill and raucous, like blackbirds. I gave the cigar to one of them, and the other one a nickel. Then they let me alone. The one with the cigar was trying to sell it to the other for the nickel. 
     There was a clock, high up in the sun, and I thought about how, when you dont want to do a thing, your body will try to trick you into doing it, sort of unawares. I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck, and then I could hear my watch ticking away in my pocket and after a while I had all the other sounds shut away, leaving only the watch in my pocket. I turned back up the street, to the window. He was working at the table behind the window. He was going bald. There was a glass in his eye--a metal tube screwed into his face. I went in. 
     The place was full of ticking, like crickets in September grass, and I could hear a big clock on the wall above his head. He looked up, his eye big and blurred and rushing beyond the glass. I took mine out and handed it to him. 
     "I broke my watch." 
     He flipped it over in his hand. "I should say you have. You must have stepped on it." 
     "Yes, sir. I knocked it off the dresser and stepped on it in the dark. It's still running though." 
     He pried the back open and squinted into it. "Seems to be all right. I cant tell until I go over it, though. I'll go into it this afternoon." 
     "I'll bring it back later," I said. "Would you mind telling me if any of those watches in the window are right?" 
     He held my watch on his palm and looked up at me with his