"Фредерик Браун. Night of the Jabberwock (англ) " - читать интересную книгу автора

to ask me why, damn it, if I felt that way about it, I didn't get out from
under while I had the chance by selling the Clarion to Clyde Andrews. But
the other part of my mind kept getting more and more annoyed by the picture
on the calendar, and I said, "Smiley, you ought to take down that calendar.
It's a lie. There aren't any women like that."
He turned around and looked at it. "Guess you're right, Doc; there
aren't any women like that. But a guy can dream, can't he?"
"Smiley," I said, "if that's not the first profound thing you've said,
it's the most profound. You are right, moreover. You have my full permission
to leave the calendar up."
He laughed and moved along the bar to finish wiping glasses, and I
stood there and wondered why I didn't go on home. It was still early, a few
minutes before eight o'clock. I didn't want another drink, yet. But by the
time I got home, I would want one.
So I got out my wallet and called Smiley back. We estimated how many
drinks I'd poured out of the bottle and I settled for them, and then I
bought another bottle, a full quart, and he wrapped it for me.
I went out with it under my arm and said "So long, Smiley," and he said
"So long, Doc," just as casually as though, before the gibbering night that
hadn't started yet was over, he and I would not but let's take things as
they happened.
The walk home.
I had to go past the post office anyway, so I stopped in. The mail
windows were closed, of course, but the outer lobby is always left open
evenings so those who have post office boxes can get mail out of them.
I got my mail there wasn't anything important in it and then stopped,
as I usually do, by the bulletin board to look over the notices and the
wanted circulars that were posted there.
There were a couple of new ones and I read them and studied the
pictures. I've got a good memory for faces, even ones I've just seen
pictures of, and I'd always hoped that some day I'd spot a wanted criminal
in Carmel City and get a story out of it, if not a reward.
A few doors farther on I passed the bank and that reminded me about its
president, Clyde Andrews, and his wanting to buy the paper from me. He
didn't want to run it himself, of course; he had a brother somewhere in Ohio
who'd had newspaper experience and who would run the paper for Andrews if I
sold it to him.
The thing I liked least about the idea, I decided, was that Andrews was
in politics and, if he controlled the Clarion, the Clarion would back his
party. The way I ran it, it threw mud at both factions when they deserved
it, which was often, and handed either one an occasional bouquet when
deserved, which was seldom. Maybe I'm crazy other people than Smiley and Al
have said so but that's the way I think a newspaper should be run, and
especially when it's the only paper in a town.
It's not, I might mention, the best way to make money. It had made me
plenty of friends and subscribers, but a newspaper doesn't make money from
its subscribers. It makes money from advertisers and most of the men in town
big enough to be advertisers had fingers in politics and no matter which
party I slammed I was likely to lose another advertising account.
I'm afraid that policy didn't help my news coverage, either. The best