The Brass Register

I stepped inside the secondhand shop and found an ornate brass cash register on the oak counter. Rows of circular keycaps gleamed under the soft lamps. I stepped onto a stack of bound ledgers to reach the side lever. Unhurried, I rested my white-gloved palm against the cold metal bar. I pressed downward with deliberate weight. A sequence of brass gears ratcheted within the body. Clatter. Inside the top glass box, a small painted flag snapped upright. With a deep metallic chime, the heavy wooden till sprang forward three inches, resting steady against its stop. I kept my hand still, letting the bell ring out.