Девять рассказов
Down at the Dinghy
"He’sbeenhittingtheroadregularlysincehewastwo.Butneververyhard.Ithinkthefarthestheevergot-inthecity,atleast-wastotheMallinCentralPark.Justacoupleofblocksfromhome.Theleastfar-ornearest-heevergotwastothefrontdoorofourbuilding.Hestuckaroundtosaygoodbyetohisfather."
Bothwomenatthetablelaughed.
"TheMall’swheretheyallgoskatin’inNewYork,"SandrasaidverysociablytoMrs.Snell."Thekidsandall."
"Oh!"saidMrs.Snell.
"Hewasonlythree.Itwasjustlastyear,"BooBoosaid,takingoutapackofcigarettesandafolderofmatchesfromaside.pocketinherjeans.Shelitacigarette,whilethetwowomenspiritedlywatchedher."Bigexcitement.Wehadthewholepoliceforceoutlookingforhim."
"Theyfindhim?"saidMrs.Snell.
"Suretheyfoundhim!"saidSandrawithcontempt."Wud-dayathink?"
"Theyfoundhimataquarterpastelevenatnight,inthemiddleof-myGod,February,Ithink.Notachildinthepark.Justmuggers,Iguess,andanassortmentofroamingdegenerates.Hewassittingonthefloorofthebandstand,rollingamarblebackandforthalongacrack.Half-frozentodeathandlooking-"
"HolyMackerel!"saidMrs.Snell."Howcomehedidit?Imeanwhatwasherunnin’awayabout?"
BooBooblewasingle,faultysmoke-ring,atapaneofglass."Somechildintheparkthatafternoonhadcomeuptohimwiththedreamymisinformation,’Youstink,kid.’Atleast,that’swhywethinkhedidit.Idon’tknow,Mrs.Snell.It’sallslightlyovermyhead."
