Девять рассказов
Down at the Dinghy
Foranswer,Lionelsecuredtheheadstrapofthegogglesbetweenthebigandsecondtoesofhisrightfoot,and,withadeft,brief,legaction,flippedthegogglesoverboard.Theysankatonce.
"That’snice.That’sconstructive,"saidBooBoo."ThosebelongtoyourUncleWebb.Oh,he’llbesodelighted."Shedraggedonhercigarette."TheyoncebelongedtoyourUncleSeymour."
"Idon’tcare."
"Iseethat.Iseeyoudon’t,"BooBoosaid.Hercigarettewasangledpeculiarlybetweenherfingers;itburneddangerouslyclosetooneofherknucklegrooves.Suddenlyfeelingtheheat,sheletthecigarettedroptothesurfaceofthelake.Thenshetookoutsomethingfromoneofhersidepockets.Itwasapackage,aboutthesizeofadeckofcards,wrapped,onwhitepaperandtiedwithgreenribbon."Thisisakeychain,"shesaid,feelingtheboy’seyeslookupather."JustlikeDaddy’s.ButwithalotmorekeysonitthanDaddy’shas.Thisonehastenkeys."
Lionelleanedforwardinhisseat,lettinggothetiller.Heheldouthishandsincatchingposition."Throwit?"hesaid."Please?"
"Let’skeepourseatsaminute,Sunshine.Ihavealittlethinkingtodo.Ishouldthrowthiskeychaininthelake."
Lionelstaredupatherwithhismouthopen.Heclosedhismouth."It’smine,"hesaidonadiminishingnoteofjustice.
BooBoo,lookingdownathim,shrugged."Idon’tcare."
Lionelslowlysatbackinhisseat,watchinghismother,andreachedbehindhimforthetiller.Hiseyesreflectedpureperception,ashismotherhadknowntheywould.
"Here."
