"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 128 - The Goblins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

There was no answer.

Park's next impulse was to snort at himself, for now he didn't believe that it was a man at all. The thing
must be some kind of statue.

Maybe a gag. Maybe some of his friends were pulling a little trick on him. He had some friends who went
in for gags.

Park walked toward the little man, then Park jumped a foot in the air again, and stopped. His mouth hung
open in amazement. For the little man had moved.

Unquestionably, the little man had skittered a foot or so across the floor.

Park took a close look. It was early in the morning, and not fully daylight, but there was enough light that
Park could tell he didn't care for the little man's expression. It was still a grin. The same grin, in fact. But it
was a sinister, devilish, distorted kind of grin.

Bothered by the conviction that his own hair was standing on end, Park backed away.

тАЬI'll just get the broom,тАЭ he announced, тАЬand push you around and see what you are.тАЭ

He retreated toward the kitchen. The last he saw of the small man, the latter was standing exactly where
he had been, but his eyes seemed to have followed Park. At any rate, they were still looking at Park,
apparently.

Park found the broom. He had a little trouble locating it. The broom, like his socks, was an article he
frequently misplaced.

тАЬNow,тАЭ Park announced, brandishing the broom, тАЬyou grin at me again like that, and I'll swat you one.тАЭ

He went back into the living room, but now the small green man with the grin was gone.



YOUNG PARKER O'DONNEL gave his apartment a quick going over. He searched the place as if
there was a five-dollar bill lost somewhere about. He found a fountain pen, a book, necktie and other
articles he had misplaced weeks ago. But no grinning little green fellow.

Park sat down and considered the matter. тАЬThe little man who wasn't there,тАЭ he said foolishly.

Parker O'Donnel, aged twenty-fourтАФno, he was twenty-five, for today was his birthdayтАФwas a lean,
brown young man. His height was almost six feet, and he had run the high school mile in five minutes and
five seconds. He could ride a bronc, bulldog a steer, and give a girl quite a line of talk.

He was manager-operator of the telegraph office in Sandersonville, which had a population a little over
two thousand. Towns did not come large in this part of Idaho.

His parents were dead. He did not remember his mother at all, and his father was dim in his recollection.
His father, Sandy O'Donnel, had been a roaming, eccentric man who was lawyer, cowboy, prospector,
adventurer, and about whatever other profession had come handy, as far as Park knew.