"Carr, Terry (ed) - anthology - Science Fiction for People Who Hate Science Fiction - 07 - Davidso" - читать интересную книгу автора (Carr Terry)

David and Mrs. Conar won two hundred and eighty-five
thousand dollars in cash before the program was over, as
well as a year's supply of Clear-o, and fifty shares of stock
in a mink ranch; and the band played "The Stars and Stripes
Forever" as Keith Kane counted out the money. Mrs. Conar
had kissed him and kissed David and was now clasping his
hands and sobbing that she didn't really believe it.
"Oh, it's true," David assured her. "It's all true; that's the
funny part of it." (David Mackay said that, in Matm6e,
when he admitted his wife was an alcoholic.) Sight and
sound and touch (kissing was pleasant; no wonder it was
so much done) and smell andandwhat was the other?
Taste. Keith Kane bawled at him the question of what he
was going to do with all his money David deliberated. What
was it that Clem Clooten, on Saddle-Galled, had said, the
time he broke the faro bank in Dogie City? Taste . . . yes:
"I'm goin' out'n buy m'self a cup o' java . . ." The audience
went wild.
Java tasted. Taste was as exciting as the other four sensa-
tions. And sitting next to him on the counter-stool was Mrs.
Ethel-Mae Conar, gazing at his distinguished profile. It was
clean-cut. He gazed down at her. He was tall, of course.
He searched for the right words. It turned out to be singu-
lar. "Happy?" he asked.
She sighed, nodded. Then"You're a rather strange
young man," she said. "Do you know that?"
Certainly he knew it.
He leaned closer. "This is bigger than both of us," he said
huskily. "Let me take you away from all this . . ."
"I certainly will," she said briskly, "right over to my place
in the Surrey-Regis on Park Avenue"that meant she was
unhappy despite her moneyl"where we can have a de-
cent cup of coffee."
The counterman scowled at the bill David offered him.
"Whatsis? Play-money? A five-hunnerd-doUa bill? Whud-
dya, wise guy?"
David arose slowly, buttoning his jacket, and leaned over.
"If you're looking for trouble, buddy . . ." he said. But the
guy chickened out. Anyway, Ethel-Mae had some change in
her purse. "Taxil" David called happily. He helped her in,
sank back in the seat, and when the driver asked Where To,
David said crisply, "Follow that cabi"
The driver (Herman Bogancz, the license read) half-
turned, half-growled. Ethel-Mae laughed. "Oh, if you aren't
never mind, driver: the Surrey-Regis, on Park near" But
H. Bogancz muttered that he knew where the place was.
David gazed out the window excitedly. Everywhere, men
and lights and women and automobiles. "Little Old New
York," he murmured.
Suddenly she yelped, dug her fingers into his arm.