"L. Sprague De Camp - The Stolen Dormouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

“You, Your Integrity of Stromberg?”
“Uh-huh.”

BACK at the Crosley exhibit, Archwin Taylor-Thing searched out Horace Juniper-Hallett. His
Integrity’s eye had the sparkle of one who bears devastatingly good news.
He said: “Horace, that was a fine piece of work you did this morning. A fine piece of
work. That was just the right course to follow; just the right course. Try to prevent trouble, but
if your honor’s attacked, give back better than you get. I’ve had my eye on you for some time.
But, until today, you minded your own affairs and didn’t do anything to businessman you for.” The
chairman raised his voice: “Come gather round, all you
loyal Crosleys. Gimme a stick, somebody. Thanks. Kneel, Whitecollar Juniper-Hallett.” He tapped
Juniper-Hallett on the shoulder and said: “Rise, Horace Juniper-Hallett, Esquire. You are now of
the rank of businessman, with all the privileges and responsibilities of that honorable rank. I
hereby present to you the gold-inlaid fountain pen and the briefcase that are the insignia of your
new status. Guard them with your life.”
It was over. The Crosleys crowded around, slapping Juniper-Hallett’s back and wringing his
hand. Dimly, he heard Lord Archwin’s voice telling him he could have the rest of the day off.
Then he was instructing a still younger whitecollar, Wilmot Dunn-Terry, in the duties of
the outhander. “You encourage ‘em to take one of each of the catalogues,” he said, “but not more
than one. Some of these birds’ll try to walk off with half a dozen of each, just because they’re
free.” He lowered his voice. “Along around fifteen o’clock, your feet will begin to hurt. If
there’s a lull in the business, look around carefully to see that none of the nobles is in sight,
and sit down. But don’t stay sat long, and don’t get to reading or talking. Keep your eyes open
for visitors and nobles, especially nobles. Got it?”
Dunn-Terry grinned at him. “Thanks, Horace. Can I still call you Horace, now that you’re a
businessman and all? Say, what’s this about the theft of a dormouse from Sleepers’ Crypt?”
“Huh? I haven’t heard. Haven’t seen a paper this morning.”
“One of ‘em’s disappeared,” said Dunn-Terry. “I overheard some of the nobility talking
about it. They sounded all worked up. There was some talk about the Hawaiians, too.”
Juniper-Hallett shrugged. His head was too full of his recent good fortune to pay much


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attention. The clock hands reached ten; the gates opened; the visitors started to trickle in. A
still slightly dazed Horace Juniper-Hallett wandered off.
His hand still tingled from the squeezing it had received. He wondered what on earth he
had done to deserve his elevation to businessmanhood. He was young for the rank, he knew. True, he
was of noble blood on his mother’s side, but Archwin of Crosley had the reputation of leaning over
backward to avoid favoring members of the ruling class in dealing out busi
nessmanhoods; he had even been known to elevate proletarians.
What Juniper-Hallett did not know was that the chairman was trying to build him up as a
possible heir to the presidency. His Acumen, the president of Crosley, was getting on; he had two
sons, one a moron and the other a young hellion. Next in line, by relationship, was Juniper-
Hallett himself. Though, as the relationship was remote, and Juniper-H allett was of noble blood
on his mother’s side only, he had not given the prospect any thought. His Acumen, the president,
father of the precious pair of misfits, did not know the chairman’s plans, either.

J UNIPER-HALLETT, in his happy daze, noted casually the scowls of the Stromberg whitecollars. But