Девять рассказов

           "I’mnotsure,though.Itmaybedifferentifyou’reinuniform.Anyway,thankyoufortheinformation.Goodbye!"HeturnedandtookthestairsuptothePromenadeDeck,againtwoatatime,butthistimeasifinratherahurry.

           HefoundBooper,aftersomeextensivelooking,highupontheSportsDeck.Shewasinasunnyclearing—aglade,almost—betweentwodeck-tenniscourtsthatwerenotinuse.Inasquattingposition,withthesunatherbackandalightbreezerifflinghersilky,blondhair,shewasbusilypilingtwelveorfourteenshuffleboarddiscsintotwotangentstacks,onefortheblackdiscs,oneforthered.Averysmallboy,inacottonsunsuit,wasstandingcloseby,onherright,purelyinanobserver’scapacity."Look!"Boopersaidcommandinglytoherbrotherasheapproached.Shesprawledforwardandsurroundedthetwostacksofshuffleboarddiscswithherarmstoshowoffheraccomplishment,toisolateitfromwhateverelsewasaboardship."Myron,"shesaidhostilely,addressinghercompanion,"you’remakingitallshadowy,somybrothercan’tsee.Moveyourcarcass."Sheshuthereyesandwaited,withacross-bearinggrimace,tillMyronmoved.

           Teddystoodoverthetwostacksofdiscsandlookeddownappraisinglyatthem."That’sverynice,"hesaid."Verysymmetrical."

           "Thisguy,"Boopersaid,indicatingMyron,"neverevenheardofbackgammon.Theydon’tevenhaveone."

           Teddyglancedbriefly,objectively,atMyron."Listen,"hesaidtoBooper."Where’sthecamera?Daddywantsitrightaway."