“Help ’im get that damn thing off,” Lawson said.

Johnson stepped forward and bent and lifted the cover; it clanged against the wet pavement. The hole gaped blackly.

“I went down in there,” he announced with triumphant pride.

Lawson gazed at him for a long time without speaking, then he reached his hand to his holster and drew forth his gun.

“Mister, I got a gun just like that down there,” he said, laughing and looking into Lawson’s face. “I hung it on the wall.”

“Show us how you went down,” Lawson said quietly.

“I’ll go down first, mister, and then you-all can come after me, hear?” he spoke like a little boy playing a game.

“Sure. We’ll come,” Lawson said soothingly. “Go on down.”

He looked brightly at the three policemen. He turned; then, just as he bent and grasped the rim of the manhole, a siren howled. He straightened and looked about; the three policemen were staring upward.

“Sounds like an air raid alarm,” Lawson mumbled.

The policemen seemed to have forgotten him and he was annoyed.

“I’m going down,” he said loudly.

Another siren sounded; then another. Soon the rainy air was full of screaming. The policemen stood with lifted faces. A huge bright beam of light shot from the horizon and stabbed the wet sky; another rose and crossed it; within ten seconds the air was full of bright, roving columns of light.

“But, mister,” he mumbled, his face lifted too, bewildered at what was happening.

“It’s a raid, all right,” Lawson breathed.

“Look!” Johnson exclaimed, pointing.

“Planes,” Murphy mumbled.

He saw tiny, silver planes were whirling in the beams of light. Then he was aware that the quiet, wet streets were full of people. Tense shouts and screams were heard above the sirens. People rushed past him; half-dressed women with children; men hastily pulling on overcoats; young girls weeping.

“What’re we going to do with ’im?” Murphy asked.

“Hunh?” Lawson asked, looking from face to face. Jerking to attention, he bit his lips. “Get on into the hole, boy.”

“Yes, sir!” he said.

A sound like thunder came from the west and shook the pavement. Then another, closer. To the east a tongue of red flame licked at the sky.

“Mister!” he exclaimed. “Look . . .”

“Get into the hole!” Lawson barked, his gun pointed at him.

He looked about, then stared in wild joy at the three policemen. Explosions burst about them, jarring the earth.

“Mister, this is it! LOOK!”

“Get into the hole!” Lawson yelled.

They didn’t believe him! They couldn’t see! Lawson’s left hand caught his collar, choking him.

“Get into the hole, now!”

His muscles tightened with a desire to wrench himself free; then his body relaxed. He sighed, shook his head. They did not understand.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

Lawson’s fingers left his collar. He bent slowly and placed his hands on the rim of the hole and sat on the edge. He looked up quickly, holding his breath; the jerking pencils of light reminded him of the diamonds on the floor of the cave; the roar of the sirens made him remember the radio; the tall buildings that loomed all about him were like those hundred-dollar bills pasted upon the walls; the distant sound of explosions was like the awful ticking of those golden watches.