"Robert A. Heinlein - The Man who sold the Moon (collected sto" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

chair recognized him and he spoke:
"Mr. Chairman, how can the eminent doctor seriously propose such a
course? Does he expect us to wait around for twenty or thirty years for some
one to die and prove his claims?"
Pinero ignored the chair and answered directly:
"Pfui! Such nonsense! Are you so ignorant of statistics that you do not
know that in any large group there is at least one who will die in the
immediate future? I make you a proposition; let me test each one of you in
this room and I will name the man who will die within the fortnight, yes, and
the day and hour of his death." He glanced fiercely around the room. "Do you
accept?"
Another figure got to his feet, a portly man who spoke in measured
syllables. "I, for one, can not countenance such an experiment. As a medical
man, I have noted with sorrow the plain marks of serious heart trouble in
many of our elder colleagues. If Doctor Pinero knows those symptoms, as he
may, and were he to select as his victim one of their number, the man so
selected would be likely to die on schedule, whether the distinguished
speaker's mechanical egg-timer works or not."
Another speaker backed him up at once. "Doctor Shepard is right. Why
should we waste time on voodoo tricks? It is my belief that this person who
calls himself Doctor Pinero wants to use this body to give his statements
authority. If we participate in this farce, we play into his hands. I don't know
what his racket is, but you can bet that he has figured out some way to use
us for advertising for his schemes. I move, Mister Chairman, that we proceed
with our regular business."
The motion carried by acclamation, but Pinero did not sit down. Amidst
cries of "Order! Order!" he shook his untidy head at them, and had his say:
"Barbarians! Imbeciles! Stupid dolts! Your kind have blocked the
recognition of every great discovery since time began. Such ignorant canaille
are enough to start Galileo spinning in his grave. That fat fool down there
twiddling his elk's, tooth calls himself a medical man. Witch doctor would be a
better term! That little baldheaded runt over there - You! You style yourself a
philosopher, and prate about life and time in your neat categories. What do
you know of either one? How can you ever learn when you won't examine the
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truth when you have a chance? Bah!" He spat upon the stage. "You call this
an Academy of Science. I call it an undertaker's convention, interested only in
embalming the ideas of your red-blooded predecessors."
He paused for breath and was grasped on each side by two members
of the platform committee and rushed out the wings. Several reporters arose
hastily from the press table and followed him. The chairman declared the
meeting adjourned.
The newspapermen caught up with him as he was going out by the
stage door. He walked with a light springy step, and whistled a little tune.
There was no trace of the belligerence he had shown a moment before. They
crowded about him. "How about an interview, doe?" "What dyu think of
Modem Education?" "You certainly told 'em. What are your views on Life
after Death?" "Take off your hat, doe, and look at the birdie."
He grinned at them all. "One at a time, boys, and not so fast. I used to
be a newspaperman myself. How about coming up to my place, and we'll talk