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

something?"
"Yes. He was the lame blacksmith of the gods."
"You mean you think that maybe somebody got the idea from
me? That's an interesting idea. Little late to check up on it,
though." Blue leaned forward, and said crisply, "Mr. Gaffney, no real
Neanderthal man could talk as entertainingly as you do. That's shown
by the poor development of the frontal lobes of the brain and the
attachments of the tongue muscles."
The gnarly man shrugged again. "You can believe what you like.
My own clan considered me pretty smart, and then you're bound to
learn something in fifty thousand years."
Dr. Saddler said, "Tell them about your teeth, Clarence."
The gnarly man grinned. "They're false, of course. My own
lasted a long time, but they still wore out somewhere back in the
Paleolithic. I grew a third set, and they wore out too. So I had to
invent soup."
"You what?" It was the usually taciturn Jeff cott.
"I had to invent soup, to keep alive. You know, the bark-dish-
andhot-stones method. My gums got pretty tough after a while, but
they still weren't much good for chewing hard stuff. So after a few
thousand years I got pretty sick of soup and mushy foods generally.
And when metal came in I began experimenting with false teeth. I
finally made some pretty good ones. Amber teeth in copper plates. You
might say I invented them too. I tried often to sell them, but they
never really caught on until around 1750 A.D. I was living in Paris
then, and I built up quite a little business before I moved on." He
pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket to wipe his
forehead; Blue made a face as the wave of perfume reached him.
"Well, Mr. Caveman," snapped Blue sarcastically, "how do you
like our machine age?"
The gnarly man ignored the tone of the question. "It's not bad.
Lots of interesting things happen. The main trouble is the shirts."
"Shirts?"
"Uh-huh. Just try to buy a shirt with a 20 neck and a 29
sleeve. I have to order 'em special. It's almost as bad with hats and
shoes. I wear an 8-1/2 and a 13 shoe." He looked at his watch. "I've
got to get back to Coney to work."
McGannon jumped up. "Where can I get in touch with you again,
Mr. Gaffney? There's lots of things I'd like to ask you."
The gnarly man told him. "I'm free mornings. My working hours
are two to midnight on weekdays, with a couple of hours off for
dinner. Union rules, you know."
"You mean there's a union for you show people?"
"Sure. Only they call it a guild. They think they're artists,
you know."

Blue and Jeffcott watched the gnarly man and the historian
walking slowly toward the subway together. Blue said, "Poor old Mac!
I always thought he had sense. Looks like he's swallowed this
Gaffney's ravings hook, line, and sinker."