Alvin lived with his grandfather. Alvin was nineteen. His parents had died in an accident when he was fifteen, which is why he had spent just over four years living with his grandfather. His grandfather was very kind. The only thing that rattled Alvin’s patience was the persistent chimes of his grandfather’s grandfather clock! The clock ruled the dining room and interrupted all conversation at regular intervals. It had been Alvin’s task to ensure the weights were correctly pulled and the time correctly adjusted.
When grandfather (the man not the clock) died several weeks after a terminal diagnosis, Alvin was left the house and little else in the will. Alvin was surprised. He had always presumed his grandfather was fairly well off, and Alvin was the sole surviving relative. How was he to pay for the funeral? How was he to find money to live? He would have to leave his education behind and find a job. Instantly.
First things first; he needed some money fast. He would sell the grandfather clock. But he would pull the weights and let the clock run its course for the last time; a sort of tribute to grandpa. Alvin opened the clock. Shite and flummox! Knock me down with a feather! Goodness gracious!
Grandpa had a sense of humour! Cunning grandpa!