"Horace Gold - Inside Man & Other Science Fiction Stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gold Horace)

feeling; or completely and absolutely dismayed by the breathless puffing under a
merciless load, likeтАУ
He listened sharply. He felt more sharply still.
It came from the warehouse behind the office. He sprang out of his seat savagely
enough to upset Miss Zeichner again, raced into the warehouse.
A valiant little fork-lift truck, overloaded by half again too many cases of canned
salmon was almost red-faced with strain.
Les leaped aboard, switched off the motor, hauled out the man, shoved him against
the wall and, started a murderous swing.
"Mr. Shay!" yelped the man. "What did I do wrong?"
It was Walt's voice. Les blinked, dropped his fist, slumped. "Sorry, Walt," he
mumbled. "Guess I'm all on edge. You had that forklift overloaded and it тАУ it jarred
me. Sorry."
Walt picked his shirt button up off the floor. "Hell, Mr. Shay, it's all right. I'd
probably do the same if somebody was ruining my property."
"Property!" shouted Les, for him again. "Things like machines тАУ property!"
Arnie, back while his truck was being repaired, caught Les from behind and held and
soothed him into the office.
"You're all tensed up," Arnie said. "I'll get you a cab and you can go home and take
a hot bath and relax with your slippers and bathrobe and newspaper. How about it,
huh?"
"I suppose so," Les muttered. "I'm not much help today."
The cab was in good shape тАУ that new pinion hurt a little, but it would break in soon
and Les sat back, easing, and even joined the comfortable, unworried motor hum.
Like all affectionate brides, beautiful or otherwise, when their husbands come home
half a day early, Thalia was flattered and coy, then concerned when he abstractedly
pecked her only once to her dozens of kisses on the face and mouth and ears and
neck, then relieved when he told her he wasn't sick, and finally delighted because
now he could help plan the menu for tonight.
"Menu?" he repeated.
"The Fitches are coming for dinner."
"Fitch? Fitch тАУ good God he has seventeen stores тАУ if I get the account тАУ what do
you mean, menu? Caviar, bluepoints, vichyssoise, filet mignon, breast of guinea
henтАУ"
"Darling," she said. "Mr. Fitch has an ulcer."
"Ulcer," said Les. "Milk and crackers. Cottage cheese."
"What about that new line of dietetic food you said you could tie up if you only had
the outlets?"
"Hey!" he cried. "Why'd I have to go marry you and lose the best office manager I
ever had?"
"Because it was one or the other."
He gave her a dirty grin.
"Well, I was tired of being a working girl," she said defensively. "Every real,
honest-to-goodness woman wantsтАУ"
"I know what every real, honest-to-goodness woman wants. Let's let the menu wait,
because every real, honest-to-goodness man wants what every real,
honest-to-goodness womanтАУ"
She wriggled out of his arms. "And with me going frantic? I was going to phone you
to pick up those dietetic foods and bring them home with you tonight. Now we'll
have to get a special messenger."