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

of Adam, and especially not to the police? Will you swear that! If you will
take upon yourself this awful abnegations if you will consent to burden your
soul with a vow that you should never make and a knowledge you should never
dream about, I will promise you in return--"
"You will promise me in return?" inquired Syme, as the other paused.
"I will promise you a very entertaining evening." Syme suddenly took
off his hat.
"Your offer," he said, "is far too idiotic to be declined. You say that
a poet is always an anarchist. I disagree; but I hope at least that he is
always a sportsman. Permit me, here and now, to swear as a Christian, and
promise as a good comrade and a fellow-artist, that I will not report
anything of this, whatever it is, to the police. And now, in the name of
Colney Hatch, what is it?"
"I think," said Gregory, with placid irrelevancy, "that we will call a
cab."
He gave two long whistles, and a hansom came rattling down the road.
The two got into it in silence. Gregory gave through the trap the address of
an obscure public-house on the Chiswick bank of the river. The cab whisked
itself away again, and in it these two fantastics quitted their fantastic
town.


CHAPTER II. THE SECRET OF GABRIEL SYME


THE cab pulled up before a particularly dreary and greasy beershop,
into which Gregory rapidly conducted his companion. They seated themselves
in a close and dim sort of bar-parlour, at a stained wooden table with one
wooden leg. The room was so small and dark, that very little could be seen
of the attendant who was summoned, beyond a vague and dark impression of
something bulky and bearded.
"Will you take a little supper?" asked Gregory politely. "The pate de
foie gras is not good here, but I can recommend the game."
Syme received the remark with stolidity, imagining it to be a joke.
Accepting the vein of humour, he said, with a well-bred indifference--
"Oh, bring me some lobster mayonnaise."
To his indescribable astonishment, the man only said "Certainly, sir!"
and went away apparently to get it.
"What will you drink?" resumed Gregory, with the same careless yet
apologetic air. "I shall only have a crepe de menthe myself; I have dined.
But the champagne can really be trusted. Do let me start you with a
half-bottle of Pommery at least?"
"Thank you!" said the motionless Syme. "You are very good."
His further attempts at conversation, somewhat disorganised in
themselves, were cut short finally as by a thunderbolt by the actual
appearance of the lobster. Syme tasted it, and found it particularly good.
Then he suddenly began to eat with great rapidity and appetite.
"Excuse me if I enjoy myself rather obviously!" he said to Gregory,
smiling. "I don't often have the luck to have a dream like this. It is new
to me for a nightmare to lead to a lobster. It is commonly the other way."