"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 111 - Pirate Isle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

“Ouch! Damn!” he said. “What was that?”

“What was what?” asked the rattled Mr. Weed.

“What is up the mast, Mr. Weed?” the skipper inquired patiently.

“A man.”

“A four-legged man?"

“Yes, sir. I mean—no, sir. He has two legs.” Mr. Weed put his hat on his head—absent-mindedly
backward. “He is throwing snowballs at the crew!”

“Snowballs?”

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Hardgrove of the City of Tulsa was an unshakable man. He always thought twice and counted
ten. He never let a snap judgment push him into anything.

He put the rubber wad-shooting band carefully around two brass buttons on his uniform-coat cuff. He
swallowed. He went over and looked at the thermometer. The thermometer said a hundred and two. A
hundred and two was probably an understatement. Captain Hardgrove closed his eyes and counted ten.

“Mr. Weed,” he said. “It says a hundred and two, fahrenheit. Hell is two degrees less hot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Hardgrove pulled in a deep breath.

“Snowballs?” he said, inquisitively.

“Yes, sir.”

“Snowballs?” asked Captain Hardgrove gently.

“Yes, sir"

Captain Hardgrove's voice made just a shade less noise than an earthquake. “Damn it to hell and blazes,
Mr. Weed! You're drunk, mad, crazy! I'm in no mood for jokes!” He threw the copy of the newspaper
in a corner. “If this ark has driven you crazy, it is understandable; but please don't inflict it on me!”

Mr. Weed wiped off sweat.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Would you care to look for yourself.”

Captain Hardgrove stared at him. His face got flat with surprise.

“Well, love a little goose!” he said. “I believe you mean that, Mr. Weed.”