"Harry Harrison - A Transatlantic Tunnel Hurrah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

was. Sitting so bolt upright in his black suit and black waistcoat that they
showed no wrinkles, his stiff white collar shining, his gleam-ing leather
portfolio on his knees, he generated no sign of his internal emotions. On
the rack above, his tightly rolled umbrella and black bowler indicated he
was a City man and men of the City of London are just not given to
expressing their innermost feelings in public. Never-theless he could not
suppress a slight start when the compartment door whisked open on silent
runners and a cheerful cockney voice addressed him.

тАЬTea, sir, tea?тАЭ

One hundred and fifty miles an hourтАФor more!тАФand the cup remained
in place on the ledge be-neath the window while the tea poured into it in a
steady stream.

тАЬThat will be thrupence, sir.тАЭ

Drigg took a sixpence from his pocket and passed it over to murmured
thanks, then instantly re-gretted his largesse as the door closed again. He
must be unnerved if he tipped in so magnanimous a man-ner, but he was
solaced by the fact that he could put it on the expense account since he
was traveling on company business. And the tea was good, freshly brewed
and hot, and did very much to soothe his nerves. A whiskey would do a lot
more he realized and he almost touched the electric button for the waiter
when he remembered the Saloon Car, of-ten seen in the pages of The
Taller and Pall Mall Gazette, but visited only by the very few. He finished
the tea and rose, tucking the extra length of chain back into his sleeve. It
both-ered him that the portfolio was ir-removably shackled to the cuff
about his wrist and indicated that he was something less than a complete
gen-tleman, but by careful maneuvering he could keep the chain from the
public view. The Saloon Car, that was the very thing!
 The carpeting in the corridor was a deep gold in color making a subtle
contrast with the ruddy oiled gloss of the mahogany paneling. Drigg had
to pass through another coach to reach the Saloon Car, but there was no
need to struggle with recalcitrant doors as on an ordinary train for as he
approached some concealed de-vice detected his proximity and the doors
opened swiftly before him to the accompaniment of the hum of hidden
electric motors. Naturally he did not look through the com-partment
windows he passed, but out of the corners of his eyes he had quick
glimpses of finely dressed men and elegantly attired women, some
children sitting sedately, readingтАФthen a sudden loud barking that
inadvertently drew his eye. Two coun-try gentlemen sat with their feet up,
emptying a bottle of port between them while a half dozen hounds of
various breeds and sizes milled about and sought after their atten-tion.
And then Drigg was at the Sa-loon Car.

No automatic devices here but the best of personal services. A grand
carved door with massive brass han-dles and a pillbox capped boy, his
double row of uniform buttons glint-ing and catching the eye, who
sa-luted and tugged at the handles.