Девять рассказов

           Hetooktwostepsatatime,butslowly,holdingontothebanister,puttinghiswholebodyintoit,asiftheactofclimbingaflightofstairswasforhim,asitisformanychildren,amoderatelypleasurableendinitself.AttheMainDecklanding,hewentdirectlyovertothePurser’sdesk,whereagood-lookinggirlinnavaluniformwaspresidingatthemoment.Shewasstaplingsomemimeographedsheetsofpapertogether.

           "Canyoutellmewhattimethatgamestartstoday,please?"Teddyaskedher.

           "Ibegyourpardon?"

           "Canyoutellmewhattimethatgamestartstoday?"Thegirlgavehimalipstickysmile."Whatgame,honey?"sheasked.

           "Youknow.Thatwordgametheyhadyesterdayandthedaybefore,whereyou’resupposedtosupplythemissingwords.It’smostlythatyouhavetoputeverythingincontext."

           Thegirlheldofffittingthreesheetsofpaperbetweentheplanesofherstapler."Oh,"shesaid."Nottilllateafternoon,Ibelieve.Ibelieveit’saroundfouro’clock.Isn’tthatalittleoveryourhead,dear?"

           "No,itisn’t...Thankyou,"Teddysaid,andstartedtoleave.

           "Waitaminute,honey!What’syourname?"

           "TheodoreMcArdle,"Teddysaid."What’syours?"

           "Myname?"saidthegirl,smiling."Myname’sEnsignMathewson."

           Teddywatchedherpressdownonherstapler."Iknewyouwereanensign,"hesaid."I’mnotsure,butIbelievewhensomebodyasksyournameyou’resupposedtosayyourwholename.JaneMathewson,orPhyllisMathewson,orwhateverthecasemaybe."

           "Oh,really?"

           "AsIsay,Ithinkso,"Teddysaid.