"L. Sprague De Camp - The Gnarly Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

anything Mr. Gaffney would like? The gnarly man paused as usual to
let his massive mental machinery grind. A vagrant impulse moved him
to ask to see the instruments that were to be used on him.
Mahler had his orders, but this seemed a harmless enough
request. lie went and returned with a tray full of gleaming steel.
"You see," he said, "these are called scalpels."
Presently the gnarly man asked, "What's this?" He picked up a
peculiar-looking instrument. -
"Oh, that's the boss's own invention. For getting at the
midbrain."
"Midbrain? What's that doing here?"
"Why, that's for getting at your-that must be there by
mistake-" Little lines tightened around the queer hazel eyes.
"Yeah?" He remembered the look Dunbar had given him, and Dunbar's
general reputation. "Say, could I use your phone a minute?"
"Why-I suppose-what do you want to phone for?"
"I want to call my lawyer. Any objections?"
"No, of course not. But there isn't any phone here."
"What do you call that?" The gnarly man rose and walked toward
the instrument in plain sight on a table. But Mahler was there before
him, standing in front of it.
"This one doesn't work. It's being fixed."
"Can't I try it?"
"No, not till it's fixed. It doesn't work, I tell you."
The gnarly man studied the young physician for a few seconds.
"Okay, then I'll find one that does." He started for the door.
"Hey, you can't go out now!" cried Mahler.
"Can't I? Just watch me!"
"Hey!" It was a full-throated yell. Like magic more men in
white coats appeared. Behind them was the great surgeon. "Be
reasonable,
Mr. Gaffney," he said. "There's no reason why you should go out now,
you know. We'll be ready for you in a little wliile."
"Any reason why I shouldn't?" The gnarly man's big face swung
on his thick neck, and his hazel eyes swiveled. All the exits were
blocked. "I'm going."
"Grab him!" said Dunbar.
The white coats moved. The gnarly man got his hands on the back
of a chair. The chair whirled, and became a dissolving blur as the
men closed on him. Pieces of chair flew about the room, to fall with
the dry sharp pink of short lengths of wood. When the gnarly man
stopped swinging, having only a short piece of the chair back left in
each fist, one assistant was out cold. Another leaned whitely against
the wall and nursed a broken arm.
"Go on!" shouted Dunbar when he could make himself heard. The
white wave closed over the gnarly man, then broke. The gnarly man was
on his feet, and held young Mahler by the ankles. He spread his feet
and swung the shrieking Mahler like a club, clearing the way to the
door. He turned, whirled Mahler around his head like a hammer
thrower, and let the now mercifully unconscious body fly. His