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

the sensible thing, which was to go home, the idea would plague her
from now on.
After the third performance she spoke to the spieler. "I think
your Mr. Ungo-Bungo used to be a friend of mine. Could you arrange
for me to see him after he finishes?"
The spieler checked his sarcasm. His questioner was so
obviously not a-not the sort of dame who asks to see guys after they
finish.
"Oh, him," he said. "Calls himself Gaffney-Clarence Aloysius
Gaff ney. That the guy you want?"
"Why, yes."
"Guess you can." He looked at his watch. "He's got four more
turns to do before we close. I'll have to ask the boss." He popped
through a curtain and called, "Hey, Morrie!" Then he was back. "It's
okay. Morrie says you can wait in his office. Foist door to the
right."
Morrie was stout, bald, and hospitable. "Sure, sure," he said,
waving his cigar. "Glad to be of soivice, Miss Saddler. Chust a mm
while I talk to Gaffney's manager." He stuck his head out. "Hey,
Pappas! Lady wants to talk to your ape-man later. I meant lady.
Okay." He returned to orate on the difficulties besetting the freak
business. "You take this Gaffney, now. He's the best damn ape-man in
the business; all that hair really grows outa him. And the poor guy
really has a face like that. But do people believe it? No! I hear 'em
going out, saying about how the hair is pasted on, and the whole
thing is a fake. It's mortifying." He cocked his head, listening.
"That rumble wasn't no rolly-coaster; it's gonna rain. Hope it's over
by tomorrow. You wouldn't believe the way a rain can knock ya
receipts off. If you drew a coive, it would be like this." He drew
his finger horizontally through space, jerking it down sharply to
indicate the effect of rain. "But as I said, people don't appreciate
what you try to do for 'em. It's not just the money; I think of
myself as an ottist. A creative ottist. A show like this got to have
balance and proportion, like any other ott . .
It must have been an hour later when a slow, deep voice at the
door said, "Did somebody want to see me?"
The gnarly man was in the doorway. In street clothes, with the
collar of his raincoat turned up and his hat brim pulled down, he
looked more or less human, though the coat fitted his great sloping
shoulders badly. He had a thick knobby walking stick with a leather
loop near the top end. A small dark man fidgeted behind him.
"Yeah," said Morrie, interrupting his lecture. "Clarence, this
is Miss Saddler, Miss Saddler, this is our Mister Gaffney, one of our
outstanding creative ottists."
"Pleased to meetcha," said the gnarly man. "This is my manager,
Mr. Pappas."
Dr. Saddler explained, and said she'd like to talk to Mr.
Gaffney if she might. She was tactful; you had to be to pry into the
private affairs of Naga headhunters, for instance. The gnarly man
said he'd be glad to have a cup of coffee with Miss Saddler; there