The blaring siren disrupts my deep slumber, and with a jolt of adrenaline I am fighting fleeting dreams and the tangle of sheets. The thing perplexes me altogether. My mind struggles to determine the cause of the noise and what my thumping heart should do about it. I stop thrashing and am still for a pause. Finally, I manage to figure out that it’s the fire alarm and that I must leave.

Outside my apartment walk other occupants in various stages of undress.

“What a horrible awakening,” exclaims Mrs. Fomory with her hair in rollers. In front of her is Mr. Jeffers who tries to call the elevator.

“Gregory, the law says we cannot ride the elevator if there is a fire,” his wife informs him.

He grumbles, “Then it must be a very foolish law.”

We enter the stairwell to take the five flights down. Suddenly, Ms. Hemmins turns back toward her apartment.

“Where are you going?” asks Mrs. Jeffers.

“I forgot my pearls,” Ms. Hemmins cries.

“Pooh!—those were trifles,” Mrs. Jeffers says. “We must evacuate.”