"Lazar Lagin. The Old Genie Hottabych (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

that he was late.
"And where are you going?" the doorman asked Hottabych good-naturedly
as he was about to follow his young friend in.
"He's come to see the principal," Volka shouted from the top 'of the
stairs.
"You won't be able to see him now. He's at an examination. Won't you
please come by again later on in the day?"
Hottabych frowned angrily.
"If I be permitted to, 0 respected old man, I would prefer to wait for
him here." Then he shouted to Volka, "Hurry to your classroom, 0 Volka ibn
Alyosha! I'm certain that you'll astound your teachers and your comrades
with your great knowledge!"
"Are you his grandfather or something?" the doorman inquired, trying to
start up a conversation. Hottabych said nothing. He felt it beneath his
dignity to converse with a doorkeeper.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" the doorman continued. "The heat's
something terrible today."
He poured a full cup of tea and, turning to hand it to the untalkative
stranger, he saw to his horror that the old man had disappeared into thin
air. Shaken by this impossible occurrence, the doorman gulped down the tea
intended for Hottabych, poured himself a second cup, and then a third, and
did not stop until there wasn't a drop left. Then he sank into his chair and
began to fan himself exhaustedly with his newspaper.
All the while, a no less unusual scene was taking place on the second
floor, right above the doorman, in the classroom of 6B. The teachers, headed
by the principal, Pavel Vasilyevich, sat at a table covered with a heavy
cloth used for special occasions. Behind them was the blackboard, hung with
various maps. Facing them were rows of solemn pupils. It was so quiet in the
room that one could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously near the ceiling.
If the pupils of 6B were always this quiet, theirs would undoubtedly be the
most disciplined class in all of Moscow.
It must be noted, however, that the quiet in the classroom was not only
due to the hush accompanying any examination, but also to the fact that
Volka Kostylkov had been called to the board-and he was not in the room.
"Vladimir Kostylkov!" the principal repeated and looked at the quiet
children in surprise.
It became still more quiet.
Then, suddenly, they heard the loud clatter of running feet in the hall
outside, and at the very moment the principal called "Vladimir Kostylkov"
for the third and last time, the door burst open and Volka, very much out of
breath, gasped:
"Here!"
"Please come up to the board," the principal said dryly. "We'll speak
about your being late afterwards."
"I ... I feel ill," Volka mumbled, saying the first thing that came to
his head, as he walked uncertainly towards his examiners.
While he was wondering which of the slips of paper laid out on the
table he should choose, old man Hottabych slipped through the wall in the
corridor and disappeared through the opposite one into an adjoining
classroom. He had an absorbed look on his face.