Девять рассказов

           Mr.McArdleabruptlyproppedhimselfupononeelbowandsquashedouthiscigarettestubontheglasstopofthenighttable."Oneofthesedays—"hebegangrimly.

           "Oneofthesedays,you’regoingtohaveatragic,tragicheartattack,"Mrs.McArdlesaid,withaminimumofenergy.Withoutbringingherarmsintotheopen,shedrewhertopsheetmoretightlyaroundandunderherbody."There’llbeasmall,tastefulfuneral,andeverybody’sgoingtoaskwhothatattractivewomaninthereddressis,sittingthereinthefirstrow,flirtingwiththeorganistandmakingaholy—"

           "You’resogoddamfunnyitisn’tevenfunny,"Mr.McArdlesaid,lyinginertlyonhisbackagain.

           Duringthislittleexchange,Teddyhadfacedaroundandresumedlookingoutoftheporthole."WepassedtheQueenMaryatthree-thirty-twothismorning,goingtheotherway,ifanybody’sinterested,"hesaidslowly."WhichIdoubt."Hisvoicewasoddlyandbeautifullyroughcut,assomesmallboys’voicesare.Eachofhisphrasingswasratherlikealittleancientisland,inundatedbyaminiatureseaofwhiskey."ThatdeckstewardBooperdespiseshaditonhisblackboard."

           "I’llQueenMaryyou,buddy,ifyoudon’tgetoffthatbagthisminute,"hisfathersaid.HeturnedhisheadtowardTeddy."Getdownfromthere,now.Gogetyourselfahaircutorsomething."Helookedatthebackofhiswife’sheadagain."Helooksprecocious,forGod’ssake."

           "Ihaven’tanymoney,"Teddysaid.