"Lester Del Rey - The Pipes of Pan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Del Rey Lester)

Bailey slapped him on the back, grinning. "Old-timer," he chuckled, "you've got the corniest instrument
there is, but you can roll it down the groove. I'd like to have the boys hear what a real hepeat can do to a
piece."

Pan's face was blank, though the voice seemed approving. "Can't you speak English?"

"Sure. I'm telling you you're hot. Give the jitterbugs an earful of that and top-billing would follow after.
Come on!""

Pan followed him, uncertain. "Where?"

"Over to the boys. If you can wrap your lips around a clarinet the way you do hat thing, our worries are
over. And I'm betting you can."

It was their last night's engagement at the Grotto a month later, and Pan stood up, roaring out the
doggerel words in a deep rich basso that caught and lifted the song. Strictly speaking, his voice was a
little too true for swing, but the boisterous jaganism in it was like a beat note from a tuba, something that
refused to permit 7eet to be still. Then it ended, and the usual clamor followed. His singing was a •ecent
experiment, but it went over.

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Bob shook hands with himself and grinned. "Great, Pan! You're hot tonight." [Tien he stepped to the
microphone. "And now, for our last number, folks, I'd ike to present a new tune for the first time over
played. It's called 'The Gods Got Rhythm,' and we think you'll like it. Words and music by Tin Pan
Faunus, the dol of the Jitterbugs. O.K., Tin Pan, take it!"

Pan cuddled the clarinet in his mouth and watched the crowd stampede out onto he floor. Bob winked at
him, and he opened up, watching the dancers. This was ike the rest, a wild ecstasy that refused to let
them stay still. Primitive, vital, :very nerve alive to the music. Even the nymphs of old had danced less
savagely o his piping.

One of the boys passed a note over to his knee, and he glanced at it as he >layed. "Boys, we're set.
Peterson just gave Bob the signal, and that means three nonths at the Crystal Palace. Good-by blues."

Pan opened up, letting the other instruments idle in the background, and went n for a private jam session
of his own. Out on the floor were his worshipers, ;very step an act of homage to him. Homage that paid
dividends, and was as real n its way as the sacrifices of old; but that was a minor detail. Right now he
was

lOt.

He lifted the instrument higher, drawing out the last wild ecsiasy from it. Under his clothes, his tail
twitched sharply, but the dancers couldn't see that, and wouldn't have cared if they had. Tin Pan Faunus,
Idol of the Jitterbugs, was playing, and that was enough.