Девять рассказов

           "Thisanybody’schair?"

           "Well,thesefourchairsbelongtomyfamily,"Teddysaid."Butmyparentsaren’tupyet."

           "Notup?Onadaylikethis,"theyoungmansaid.HehadalreadyloweredhimselfintothechairatTeddy’sright.Thechairswereplacedsoclosetogetherthatthearmstouched."That’ssacrilege,"hesaid."Absolutesacrilege."Hestretchedouthislegs,whichwereunusuallyheavyatthethighs,almostlikehumanbodiesinthemselves.Hewasdressed,forthemostpart,inEasternseaboardregimentals:aturfhaircutontop,run-downbroguesonthebottom,withasomewhatmixeduniforminbetween—buff-coloredwoolensocks,charcoal-graytrousers,abutton-down-collarshirt,nonecktie,andaherringbonejacketthatlookedasthoughithadbeenproperlyagedinsomeofthemorepopularpostgraduateseminarsatYale,orHarvard,orPrinceton."Oh,God,whatadivineday,"hesaidappreciatively,squintingupatthesun."I’manabsolutepawnwhenitcomestotheweather."Hecrossedhisheavylegs,attheankles."Asamatteroffact,I’vebeenknowntotakeaperfectlynormalrainydayasapersonalinsult.Sothisisabsolutemannatome."Thoughhisspeakingvoicewas,intheusualconnotation,wellbred,itcarriedconsiderablymorethanadequately,asthoughhehadsomesortofunderstandingwithhimselfthatanythinghehadtosaywouldsoundprettymuchallright—intelligent,literate,evenamusingorstimulating—eitherfromTeddy’svantagepointorfromthatofthepeopleintherowbehind,iftheywerelistening.