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

omen. He hoped so.

The girl at the desk, when he finally found the right division, looked as bored as had the waitress.
Looking over the collection of people waiting, Pan felt she had more reason. There were the coarsened
red faces of professional sots, the lack-luster stares of men whose intelligence ranked slightly below the
apes, and the dreary faces of people who struggle futilely for a life that brings nothing but death to break
its monotony.

But there were others there who looked efficient and purposeful, and these were the ones Pan feared.
They had at least some training, some experience, and their appearance was better than his. Surely the
preference would go to them, and even as a minority, there were still many of that type there.

He studied the applicants and strained his ears to familiarize himself with the questions asked, holding
down his impatience as best he could. But the machine

ground slowly on. and his lime finally came, jusl as (he hot fetid air was becoming unbearable. "Your
name," said the girl studying him impersonally.

"Pan—Pan Faunus."

Many strange names had passed over the desk to her, and her expression remained the same. "Middle
name?"

"Uh . . . Sylvanus." The Romans had done him a good turn in doubling up on their names for him though
he preferred the Greek.

"Address?"

For a moment, that stumped him. Thence gave the address of the restaurant, figuring that he might be
able to arrange witk the cashier to accept any mail that came there; he'd heard another man talking or
that scheme while he waited, and it was as good as any. 1



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"Age?"

"Seven thou— Ulp! Forty-five." Since a pack of lies were needed of him, they might as well be good
ones. "Born June 5, 1894."

There were more questions, and at some of his answers the girl looked up sharply, but his wits had
always been good, and he passed the test with some fair success. Then came what he had been dreading.

"Experience and type of work?"

"General work in the country," he decided. "No trade, and I can't give references, since my former foil—
employer is dead."