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

was a place around the corner that they could reach without getting
wet.
As they started out, Pappas followed, fidgeting more and more.
The gnarly man said, "Oh, go home to bed, John. Don't worry about
me." He grinned at Dr. Saddler. The effect woul& have been unnerving
to anyone but an anthropologist. "Every time he sees me talking to
anybody, he thinks it's some other manager trying to steal me." He
spoke General American, with a suggestion of Irish brogue in the
lowering of the vowels in words like "man" and "talk." "I made the
lawyer who drew up our contract fix it so it can be ended on short
notice."
Pappas departed, still looking suspicious. The rain had
practically ceased. The gnarly man stepped along smartly despite his
limp. A woman passed with a fox terrier on a leash. The dog sniffed
in the direction of the gnarly man, and then to all appearances went
crazy, yelping and slavering. The gnarly man shifted his grip on the
massive stick and said quietly, "Better hang on to him, ma'am." The
woman departed hastily. "They just don't like me," commented Gaffney.
"Dogs, that is."
They found a table and ordered their coffee. When the gnariy
man took off his raincoat, Dr. Saddler became aware of a strong smell
of cheap perfume. He got out a pipe with a big knobbly bowl. It
suited him, just as the walking stick did. Dr. Saddler noticed that
the deep-sunk eyes under the beetling arches were light hazel.
"Well?" he said in his rumbling drawl.
She began her questions.
"My parents were Irish," he answered. "But I was born in South
Boston-let's see-forty-six years ago. I can get you a copy of my
birth certificate. Clarence Aloysius Gaffney, May 2, 1910." He seemed
to get some secret amusement out of that statement.
"Were either of your parents of your somewhat unusual physical
type?"
He paused before answering. He always did, it seemed. "Uh-huh.
Both of 'em. Glands, I suppose."
"Were they both born in Ireland?"
"Yep. County Sligo." Again that mysterious twinkle.
She paused. "Mr. Gaffney, you wouldn't mind having some
photographs and measurements made, would you? You could use the
photographs in your business."
"Maybe." He took a sip. "Ouch! Gazooks, that's hot!"
"What?"
"I said the coffee's hot."
 "I mean, before that."
The gnarly man looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, you mean the
~gazooks'? Well, I-uh---once knew a man who used to say that."
"Mr. Gaffney, I'm a scientist, and I'm not trying to get
anything out of you for my own sake. You can be frank with me."
There was something remote and impersonal in his stare that
gave her a slight spinal chill. "Meaning that I haven't been so far?"
"Yes. When I saw you I decided that there was something