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

"I gave her your number. I suppose she called the hospital and
my boarding house, and tried you as a last resort. This door goes
into the hail, doesn't it? Well, when she comes in the regular door
I'm going
out this one. And I don't want you saying where I've gone. Nice to
have known you, Mr. Robinette."
"Why? What's the matter? You're not going to run out now, are
you? Dunbar's harmless, and you've got friends. I'm your friend."
"You're durn tootin' I'm gonna run out. There's too much
trouble. I've kept alive all these centuries by staying away from
trouble. I let down my guard with Dr. Saddler, and went to the
surgeon she recommended. First he plots to take me apart to see what
makes me tick. If that brain instrument hadn't made me suspicious I'd
have been on my way to the alcohol jars by now. Then there's a fight,
and it's just pure luck I didn't kill a couple of those internes or
whatever they are and get sent up for manslaughter. Now Matilda's
after me with a more than friendly interest. I know what it means
when a woman looks at you that way and calls you 'dear.' I wouldn't
mind if she weren't a prominent person of the kind that's always in
some sort of garboil. That would mean more trouble sooner or later.
You don't suppose I like trouble, do you?"
"But look here, Gaffney, you're getting steamed up over a lot
of damn-"
"Ssst!" The gnarly man took his stick and tiptoed over to the
private entrance. As Dr. Saddler's clear voice sounded in the outer
office, he sneaked out. He was closing the door behind him when the
scientist entered the inner office.
Matilda Saddler was a quick thinker. Robinette hardly had time
to open his mouth when she flung herself at and through the private
door with a cry of "Clarence!"
Robinette heard the clatter of feet on the stairs. Neither the
pursued nor the pursuer had waited for the creaky elevator. Looking
out the window he saw Gaffney leap into a taxi. Matilda Saddler
sprinted after the cab, calling, "Clarence! Come back!" But the
traffic was light and the chase correspondingly hopeless.

They did hear from the gnarly man once more. Three months later
Robinette got a letter whose envelope contained, to his vast
astonishment, ten ten-dollar bills. The single sheet was typed even
to the signature.

Dear Mr. Robinette:
I do not know what your regular fees are, but I hope that the
enclosed will cover your services to me of last July.
Since leaving New York I have had several jobs. I pushed a hack
(as we say) in Chicago, and I tried out as pitcher on a bush-league
baseball team. Once I made my living by knocking over rabbits and
things with stones, and I can still throw fairly well. Nor am I bad
at swinging a club like a baseball bat. But my lameness makes me too
slow for a baseball career.