"Fritz Leiber - The Hound" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leiber Fritz)

gave him a sudden fright.
Lunch came early for him. He arrived at the locker room in time to
catch hold of Gertrude Rees as she retreated uncertainly from the
dark doorway.
"Dog," she gasped. "Huge one. Gave me an awful start. Talk about
jitters! Wonder where he ever came from? Watch out. He looked
nasty."
But David, impelled by sudden recklessness born of fear and shock,
was already inside and switching on the light.
"No dog in sight," he told her. His face was whiter than hers.
"You're crazy. It must be there." Her face, gingerly poked through
the doorway, lengthened in surprise. "But I tell you IтАФ. Oh, I guess
it must have pushed out through the other door."
He did not tell her that the other door was bolted.
"I suppose a customer brought it in," she rattled on, nervously.
"Some of them can't seem to shop unless they've got a pair of
Russian wolfhounds. Though that kind usually keeps out of the
bargain basement. I suppose we ought to find it before we eat lunch.
It looked dangerousтАФ"
But he hardly heard her. He had just noticed that his locker was
open, and his overcoat dragged down on the floor. The brown paper
bag containing his lunch had been torn open, and the contents

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The Hound


rummaged through, as if an animal had been nosing at it. As he
stooped, he saw that there were greasy black stains on the
sandwiches, and a familiar stale stench rose to his nostrils.
That night he found Tom Goodsell in a nervously elated mood. The
latter had been called up and would start for camp in a week. As
they sipped coffee in the empty little restaurant, Tom poured out a
flood of talk about old times. David would have been able to listen
better, had not the uncertain shadowy shapes outside the window
been continually distracting his attention. Eventually he found an
opportunity to turn the conversation down the channels which
absorbed his mind.
"The supernatural beings of a modern city?" Tom answered,
seeming to find nothing out of the way in the question. "Sure, they'd
be different from the ghosts of yesterday. Each culture creates its
own demons. Look, the Middle Ages built cathedrals, and pretty
soon there were little gray shapes gliding around at night to talk
with the gargoyles. Same thing ought to happen to us, with our
skyscrapers and factories." He spoke eagerly, with all his old poetic
flare, as if he'd just been meaning to discuss this very matter. He
would talk about anything tonight. "I'll tell you how it works out,
Dave. We begin by denying all the old haunts and superstitions.
Why shouldn't we? They belong to the era of cottage and castle.
They can't take root in the new environment. Science goes