"Г.К.Честертон. The Club of Queer Trades " - читать интересную книгу автора

"`We've not our cards with us,' said Miss Mowbray, with
indescribable dignity. `Nor do we see why we should be insulted by
any Jack-in-office who chooses to be rude to ladies, when he is
paid to protect them. If you choose to take advantage of the
weakness of our unfortunate friend, no doubt you are legally
entitled to take her. But if you fancy you have any legal right to
bully us, you will find yourself in the wrong box.'

"The truth and dignity of this staggered the policeman for a
moment. Under cover of their advantage my five persecutors turned
for an instant on me faces like faces of the damned and then
swished off into the darkness. When the constable first turned his
lantern and his suspicions on to them, I had seen the telegraphic
look flash from face to face saying that only retreat was possible
now.

"By this time I was sinking slowly to the pavement, in a state of
acute reflection. So long as the ruffians were with me, I dared not
quit the role of drunkard. For if I had begun to talk reasonably
and explain the real case, the officer would merely have thought
that I was slightly recovered and would have put me in charge of my
friends. Now, however, if I liked I might safely undeceive him.

"But I confess I did not like. The chances of life are many, and
it may doubtless sometimes lie in the narrow path of duty for a
clergyman of the Church of England to pretend to be a drunken old
woman; but such necessities are, I imagine, sufficiently rare to
appear to many improbable. Suppose the story got about that I had
pretended to be drunk. Suppose people did not all think it was
pretence!

"I lurched up, the policeman half-lifting me. I went along weakly
and quietly for about a hundred yards. The officer evidently
thought that I was too sleepy and feeble to effect an escape, and
so held me lightly and easily enough. Past one turning, two
turnings, three turnings, four turnings, he trailed me with him,
a limp and slow and reluctant figure. At the fourth turning, I
suddenly broke from his hand and tore down the street like a
maddened stag. He was unprepared, he was heavy, and it was dark.
I ran and ran and ran, and in five minutes' running, found I was
gaining. In half an hour I was out in the fields under the holy
and blessed stars, where I tore off my accursed shawl and bonnet
and buried them in clean earth."

The old gentleman had finished his story and leant back in his
chair. Both the matter and the manner of his narration had, as
time went on, impressed me favourably. He was an old duffer and
pedant, but behind these things he was a country-bred man and
gentleman, and had showed courage and a sporting instinct in the
hour of desperation. He had told his story with many quaint