Morning Racket

That brass twin-bell brute I cranked tight last night finally blew its gasket. The clapper went berserk, hammering between the bells like a twin-cylinder engine and vibrating the whole tabletop until a scatter of loose coins started dancing. Most folks fumble for the shut-off tab; not me. I planted my studded boots, locked my gauntlet around the cold metal casing, and rammed the curved iron hook of my chain right into the striker's path. Clang-clang-screech! The furious rattle buzzed straight up my arm and rattled my teeth, kicking up a ring of settled dust. Held that thrashing beast dead still until its spring choked out. Heh. That’s how you shut up a morning.