"Theodore Sturgeon - The Dreaming Jewels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

himself to Junky.
He let the chin go, and the grinning head bobbed up and down, and then nodded
slowly, thoughtfully.
"They shouldn't 'a been like that about the ants," Horty confided. "I didn't drag
nobuddy to see. Went off by myself. But that stinky Hecky, he's been watching me.
An' then he sneaked off and got Mr. Carter. That was no way to do, now was it,
Junky?" He tapped the head on the side of its hooked nose, and it shook its head
agreeably. "I hate a sneak."
"You mean me, no doubt," said Armand Bluett from the doorway.
Horty didn't move, and for a long instant his heart didn't either. He half crouched,
half cowered behind the desk, not turning toward the doorway.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothin'."
Armand belted him across the cheek and ear. Horty whimpered, once, and bit his
lip. Armand said, "Don't lie. You are obviously doing something. You were talking to
yourself, a sure sign of a degenerating mind. What's this -- oh. Oh yes, the baby toy
that came with you. Your estate. It's as repulsive as you are." He took it from the
desk, dropped it on the floor, wiped his hand on the side of his trousers, and
carefully stepped on Junky's head.
Horty shrieked as if it were his own head which was being crushed, and leapt at
Armand. So unexpected was the attack that the man was bowled right off his feet.
He fell heavily and painfully against the bedpost, grabbed at it and missed, and went
to the floor. He sat there for a moment grunting and blinking, and then his little eyes
narrowed and fixed themselves on the trembling Horty. "Mmm -- hm!" said Armand
in a tone of great satisfaction, and rose. "You should be exterminated." He grasped
the slack of Horty's shirt and struck him. As he spoke, he hit the boy's face, back and
forth, back and forth, by way of punctuation. "Homicidal, that's what you are. I was
going to. Send you away. To a school. But it isn't safe. The police will. Take care of
you. They have a place. For juvenile delinquents. Filthy little. Pervert."
He rushed the sodden child across the room and jammed him into the closet.
"This will keep you safe until the police get here," he panted, and slammed the door.
The hinge side of it caught three fingers of Horty's left hand.
 At the boy's shriek of very real agony Armand snapped the door open again. "No
use in your yelling. You -- My God! What a mess. Now I suppose I'll have to get a
doctor. There's no end -- absolutely no end to the trouble you cause. Tonta!" He ran
out and down the stairs. "Tonta!"
"Yes, Peaches."
"That young devil stuck his hand in the door. Did it on purpose, to excite
sympathy. Bleeding like a stuck pig. You know what he did? He struck me. He
attacked me, Tonta! It's not safe to have him in the house!"
"You poor darling! Did he hurt you?"
"A wonder he didn't kill me. I'm going to call the police."
"I'd better go up while you're phoning," said Tonta. She wet her lips.
But when she reached the room, Horty was gone. There was a lot of excitement
for a while after that. At first Armand wanted to get his hands on Horty for his own
purposes, and then he began to be afraid of what people might say if the boy gave
his own garbled version of the incident. Then a day went by, and a week, and a
month, and it was safe to look to heaven and say mysteriously, "He's in safe hands
now, the poor little tyke," and people could answer, "I understand ... " Everyone
knew he was not Armand's child, anyway.