"Adams, Douglas - Life, the Universe, and Everything" - читать интересную книгу автора (Adams Douglas)

then began to do that terribly slow crashing trick which Arctic ice-floes do
so spectacularly in the spring.
"And the other thing," said Ford, "is that you appear to have a bone in
your beard." He tossed back his tea.
Outside the refreshment tent, the sun was shining on a happy crowd. It
shone on white hats and red faces. It shone on ice lollies and melted them. It
shone on the tears of small children whose ice lollies had just melted and
fallen off the stick. It shone on the trees, it flashed off whirling cricket
bats, it gleamed off the utterly extraordinary object which was parked behind
the sight-screens and which nobody appeared to have noticed. It beamed on Ford
and Arthur as they emerged blinking from the refreshment tent and surveyed the
scene around them.
Arthur was shaking.
"Perhaps," he said, "I should ..."
"No," said Ford sharply.
"What?" said Arthur.
"Don't try and phone yourself up at home."
"How did you know ...?"
Ford shrugged.
"But why not?" said Arthur.
"People who talk to themselves on the phone," said Ford, "never learn
anything to their advantage."
"But ..."
"Look," said Ford. He picked up an imaginary phone and dialled an
imaginary dial.
"Hello?" he said into the imaginary mouthpiece. "Is that Arthur Dent? Ah,
hello, yes. This is Arthur Dent speaking. Don't hang up."
He looked at the imaginary mouthpiece in disappointment.
"He hung up," he said, shrugged, and put the imaginary phone neatly back
on its imaginary hook.
"This is not my first temporal anomaly," he added.
A glummer look replaced the already glum look on Arthur Dent's face.
"So we're not home and dry," he said.
"We could not even be said," replied Ford, "to be home and vigorously
towelling ourselves off."
The game continued. The bowler approached the wicket at a lope, a trot,
and then a run. He suddenly exploded in a flurry of arms and legs, out of
which flew a ball. The batsman swung and thwacked it behind him over the
sight-screens. Ford's eyes followed the trajectory of the ball and jogged
momentarily. He stiffened. He looked along the flight path of the ball again
and his eyes twitched again.
"This isn't my towel," said Arthur, who was rummaging in his rabbit-skin
bag.
"Shhh," said Ford. He screwed his eyes up in concentration.
"I had a Golgafrinchan jogging towel," continued Arthur, "it was blue with
yellow stars on it. This isn't it."
"Shhh," said Ford again. He covered one eye and looked with the other.
"This one's pink," said Arthur, "it isn't yours is it?"
"I would like you to shut up about your towel," said Ford.
"It isn't my towel," insisted Arthur, "that is the point I am trying to