"Damon Knight - Turncoat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Knight Damon)

birthday?"
"He's just ten, Salesman, hardly past it."
"How long?"
The fat man blinked uneasily. "Just a few weeks, Salesman. It's the first chance I've had to bring him
in, Sales-man, I swear to you."
Leggett made a sound of disgust and glanced at Bass. "Seventeen-eight-oh--one," he said.

BASS, who knew his superior, had the number almost before Leggett finished. The item which now
appeared on the screen was the most ex-pensive boys' intermediate suit the Store carried; the fabric
showed wear readily, the dye was light in color and not fast, and the stitching was treated to disinte-grate
after four months, rendering the garments completely useless.
Leggett stared at the man, silently daring him to object.
The customer read the price and licked his lips. "Yes, Salesman," he said miserably. "That'll do main
well."
Bass entered the item.
"Ninety-one-two-seven-three," said Leggett. That was overshirts, of the same quality, in lots of five.
The next item was undershirts, in lots of ten. Then underpants; then socks; then neckscarves; then
shoes.
"Step down, Tom," said the fat man at last, wearily. "Onward, Salesman."
"A moment," said Leggett. He leaned forward in his pulpit and affected to peer with sudden interest
at the fat man's magenta overshirt."
"Your shirt, man, is fading," he said. "You had better have a dozen new ones.
Fifty-three-one-oh-nine, Bass."
" 'Scuse me, Salesman," the fat man said jerkily, "that'll better wait till next time. I've bought so much
for the boy, I've nothing left to buy for myself."
Leggett raised one gray eyebrow. "You surprise me," he said. "Bass, what is the man's credit
balance?"
Bass tapped keys. "One hundred nine-ty point fifty-three, Salesman Leggett," he said.
Leggett stared down his nose at the customer. " тАШNothing left,' you said."
"Two hundred's legal," the fat man said, his jowls quivering, "and it's not even the end of the month
yet. I know my rightsтАФyou can't intimidate meтАФI need that money for expenses. C'mon, Tom."
A murmur of outrage arose from the crowd. Peering down slantwise without moving his head, Bass
could see the fat man and his son descending into a bar-rage of angry stares.
Despite himself, Bass too was trem-bling with disgust. The very fatness of the two was unspeakably
offensiveтАФthe greasy swollen jowls, the necks folding over collars, the barrel thighs. How any-one could
get himself into that condition on an orthodox diet, Bass was unable to imagine. They must gorge
themselves like squirrels, eating till they choked, storing their wealth up under their skins because they
could express their selfish-ness in no other way. Who did they think they wereтАФStockholders, perhaps,
or Executives?
Leggett was silent, hands folded across his red-and-silver stole, staring down at the two through
half-closed eyes. Here and there in the first ranks of the crowd, Bass saw a man or a woman surge
abruptly forward with red face and uplifted fist, and as suddenly fall back, listening to angelic voices
audible to them alone. If this were the bad old days, he thought, there would be a riot.
The fat man turned at the foot of the dais. "I know my rights," he said angrily, and held up a
balloon-fingered hand. "Give me my card."
Bass stood motionless, waiting.
Leggett said expressionlessly, "You know your rights, man, but you have not yet learnt your duties. I
therefore offer you a choice. Will you appear in Sumptuary Court with your boy and his birth
certificateтАФand explain why you did not equip him with intermediate clothing until he had all but burst out
of his last primariesтАФor will you make this additional purchase for the benefit of your soul?