"Avram Davidson - The Montavarde Camera" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Avram)

the red velveteen to the wooden doorframe, and through this Mr. Lucius Collins looked. It almost
seemed that he gaped.

Inside the shop, looking down at Mr. CollinsтАЩs round and red face, was a small, slender gentleman, who
leaned against a showcase as if he were (the thought flitted through Mr. CollinsтАЩs mind) posing for his
photograph. The mild amusement evident on his thin features brought to Mr. Collins anew the realization
that his position was, at best, undignified. He took up his hat, arose, brushed the errant bowler with his
sleeve, dusted his knees, and entered the shop. Somewhere in the back a bell tinkled as he did so.

A red rug covered the floor and muffled his footsteps. The place was small, but well furnished, in the
solid style more fashionable in past days. Nothing was shabby or worn, yet nothing was new. A gas jet
with mantle projected from a paneled wall whose dark wood had the gleam of much polishing, but the
burner was not lit, although the shop was rather dark. Several chairs upholstered in leather were set at
intervals around the shop. There was no counter, and no shelves, and only the one showcase. It was
empty, and only a well-brushed Ascot top hat rested on it.

Mr. Collins did not wish the slender little gentleman to receive the impression that he, Lucius, made a
practice of squatting down and peering beneath curtained shop windows.

тАЬAre you the proprietor?тАЭ he asked. The gentleman, still smiling, said that he was. It was a dry smile, and
its owner was a dry-looking person. His was a long nose set in a long face. His chin was cleft.

The gentlemanтАЩs slender legs were clad in rather baggy trousers, but it was obvious that they were the
aftermath of the period when baggy trousers were the fashion, and were not the result of any carelessness
in attire. The cloth was of a design halfway between plaid and checkered, and a pair of sharply pointed
and very glossy shoes were on his small feet. A gray waistcoat, crossed by a light gold watchchain, a
rather short frock coat, and a wing collar with a black cravat completed his dress. No particular period
was stamped on his clothes, but one felt that in his primeтАФwhenever that had beenтАФthis slender little
gentleman had been a dandy, in a dry, smiling sort of way.

From his nose to his chin two deep lines were etched, and there were laughter wrinkles about the corners
of his eyes. His hair was brown and rather sparse, cut in the conventional fashion. Its only unusual feature
was that the little gentleman had on his forehead, after the manner of the late Lord Beaconsfield, a ringlet
of the type commonly known as a тАЬspit curl.тАЭ And his nicely appointed little shop contained, as far as Mr.
Collins could see, absolutely no merchandise at all.

тАЬThe wind, you know, itтАФah, blew my hat off and carried it away. Dropped it at your door, so to
speak.тАЭ

Mr. Collins spoke awkwardly, aware that the man seemed still to be somewhat amused, and believed
that this was due to his own precipitate entry. In order to cover his embarrassment and justify his
continued presence inside, he asked in a rush, тАЬWhat is it exactly that you sell here?тАЭ and waved his arm
at the unstocked room.

тАЬWhat is it you wish to buy?тАЭ the man asked.

Mr. Collins flushed again, and gaped again, and fumbled about for an answer.

тАЬWhy what I meant was: in what line are you? You have nothing displayed whatsoever, you know. Not a
thing. How is one to know what sort of stock you have, if you donтАЩt put it about where it can be seen?тАЭ