"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 148 - The Terrible Stork" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

“Seventy,” a voice said.

“Sold!” the auctioneer said.

“Oh, dry up!” muttered Ham. He wondered if a crack in the seat of the chair was going to catch him and
pinch him. That was all he needed to make the afternoon complete.

Doc Savage asked, “Why don't you two take a nap?”

Doc Savage was a bronze-colored giant of a man who was conspicuous in the auction room in spite of
the long raincoat he'd worn so as not to be conspicuous. Monk and Ham looked at Doc Savage. Ham
asked, “Go to sleep? On these chairs!”

“Doc's being funny,” Monk said. “He made a joke. Yes, sir, the auctioneer's humor is contagious.”
Monk's very large humorous mouth was all that saved his face from being frighteningly homely. He
added, “No kidding, why don't we go somewhere else? What've we lost in here?”

Ham Brooks showed lively interest. “You bet! Go somewhere else. We've got the afternoon off, and we
just started out for a walk, got tired, and came in here for a rest. Now what are we staying for?”

“Why don't we repair to a burley-cue show?” Monk asked.

“That's two good ideas from you in a row,” Ham said. “Goodness, what kind of vitamins are you
taking?”

The auctioneer held up a small shiny metal statuette of some kind of a bird, apparently a stork. “Who'll
start it at fifty cents?” asked the auctioneer.

“Fifty,” a voice said.

“Fifty cents is bid. Who'll give—”

“Fifty dollars is bid,” the bidder corrected.

DOC SAVAGE straightened on his chair. Straightening made him taller than anyone in the room, enabled
him to see over people's heads. He said, “What on earth!” His eyes, which had been sleepy, became
wide with interest—his eyes were more gold than brown, like pools of flake gold. He added, “Fifty
dollars for that thing!”

“What is that thing?” Ham pondered.

“Some kind of a boid,” Monk said. “This is gettin dull, pal. What say we scrammo to the girlies?”

“Fifty dollars!” The auctioneer got his eyes back in their sockets. “Who'll give a hundred?”

“Good God!” Monk sat up suddenly. “Fifty dollars?” He added, “Say, what's that thing made of,
platinum?”

Clear and tight as a bell, a voice came from the other side of the auction room.