"G.K.Chesterton. The man who was Thursday. A nightmare (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

London branch, which assembles in this room, has to elect its own deputy to
fill a vacancy in the Council. The gentleman who has for some time past
played, with propriety and general applause, the difficult part of Thursday,
has died quite suddenly. Consequently, we have called a meeting this very
evening to elect a successor."
He got to his feet and strolled across the room with a sort of smiling
embarrassment.
"I feel somehow as if you were my mother, Syme," he continued casually.
"I feel that I can confide anything to you, as you have promised to tell
nobody. In fact, I will confide to you something that I would not say in so
many words to the anarchists who will be coming to the room in about ten
minutes. We shall, of course, go through a form of election; but I don't
mind telling you that it is practically certain what the result will be." He
looked down for a moment modestly. "It is almost a settled thing that I am
to be Thursday."
"My dear fellow." said Syme heartily, "I congratulate you. A great
career!"
Gregory smiled in deprecation, and walked across the room, talking
rapidly.
"As a matter of fact, everything is ready for me on this table," he
said, "and the ceremony will probably be the shortest possible."
Syme also strolled across to the table, and found lying across it a
walking-stick, which turned out on examination to be a sword-stick, a large
Colt's revolver, a sandwich case, and a formidable flask of brandy. Over the
chair, beside the table, was thrown a heavy-looking cape or cloak.
"I have only to get the form of election finished," continued Gregory
with animation, "then I snatch up this cloak and stick, stuff these other
things into my pocket, step out of a door in this cavern, which opens on the
river, where there is a steam-tug already waiting for me, and
then--then--oh, the wild joy of being Thursday!" And he clasped his hands.
Syme, who had sat down once more with his usual insolent languor, got
to his feet with an unusual air of hesitation.
"Why is it," he asked vaguely, "that I think you are quite a decent
fellow? Why do I positively like you, Gregory?" He paused a moment, and then
added with a sort of fresh curiosity, "Is it because you are such an ass?"
There was a thoughtful silence again, and then he cried out--
"Well, damn it all! this is the funniest situation I have ever been in
in my life, and I am going to act accordingly. Gregory, I gave you a promise
before I came into this place. That promise I would keep under red-hot
pincers. Would you give me, for my own safety, a little promise of the same
kind? "
"A promise?" asked Gregory, wondering.
"Yes," said Syme very seriously, "a promise. I swore before God that I
would not tell your secret to the police. Will you swear by Humanity, or
whatever beastly thing you believe in, that you will not tell my secret to
the anarchists?"
"Your secret?" asked the staring Gregory. "Have you got a secret?"
"Yes," said Syme, "I have a secret." Then after a pause, "Will you
swear?"
Gregory glared at him gravely for a few moments, and then said