"Frederik Pohl - The Midas Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

Ruffled, Morey held out his glass. Cherry wasn't the
type of girl to cheat. Of. course she wasn't. A fine, loving
girl like hera pretty girl, of a good family; she wouldn't
know how to begin.
Howland was saying, in a sort of chant, "No more
budget. No more fights. No more 'Daddy never treated
me like this.' No more nagging. No more extra radons
for household allowance. No moreMorey, what do you
say we go out and have a few drinks? I know a place
where"
"Sorry, Howland," Morey said. "I've got to get back
to the office, you know."
Howland guffawed. He held out his wristwatch. As
Morey, a little unsteadily, bent over it, it tinkled out the
hour. It was a matter of minutes before the office dosed
for the day.
"Oh," said Morey. "I didn't realizeWell, anyway,
Howland, thanks, but I can't. My wife will be expecting
me."
"She certainly will," Howland sniggered. "Won't catch
her eating up your rations and hers tonight."
Morey said tightly, "Howland!"
"Oh, sorry, sorry." Howland waved an arm. "Don't
mean to say anything against your wife, of course. Guess
maybe Jocelyn soured me on women. But honest, Morey,
you'd like this place. Name of Uncle Piggotty's, down in
the Old Town. Crazy bunch hangs out there. You'd like
them. Couple nights last week they had1 mean, you
understand, Morey, I don't go there as often as all that,
but I just happened to drop in and"
Morey interrupted firmly. "Thank you, Rowland. Must
go home. Wife expects it. Decent of you to offer. Good
night. Be seeing you."
He walked out, turned at the door to bow politely, and
in turning back cracked the side of his face against the
door jamb. A sort of pleasant numbness had taken pos-
session of his entire skin surface, though, and it wasn't
until he perceived Henry chattering at him sympathetic-
ally that he noticed a trickle of blood running down the
side of his face.
"Mere flesh wound," he said with dignity. "Nothing to
cause you least conshterconsternation, Henry. Now
kindly shut your ugly face. Want to think."
And he slept in the car all the way home.
It was worse than a hangover. The name is "hold-
over." You've had some drinks; you've started to sober
up by catching a little sleep. Then you are required to be
awake and to function. The consequent state has the
worst features of hangover and intoxication; your head
thumps and your mouth tastes like the floor of a bear-pit,