Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

But we can’t be through, can we, Morrison? I mean, Mankind —”

“Hello, hello,” Morrison called: “What happened?” he asked the operator.

“They conked out,” the operator said. “I’ll try again.”

“Don’t bother,” Morrison said. Just then Rivera dashed in.

“Got every last man on board,” he said. “The ports are sealed. We’re all set to go, Mr. Morrison.”

They were all looking at him. Morrison slumped back in his chair and grinned helplessly.

“We’re all set,” he said.

The Accountant

Mr. Dee was seated in the big armchair, his belt loosened, the evening papers strewn around his knees. Peacefully he smoked his pipe, and considered how wonderful the world was. Today he had sold two amulets and a philter; his wife was bustling around the kitchen, preparing a delicious meal; and his pipe was drawing well. With a sigh of contentment, Mr. Dee yawned and stretched.

Morton, his nine-year-old son, hurried across the living-room, laden down with books.

“How’d school go today?” Mr. Dee called.

“O.K.,” the boy said, slowing down, but still moving toward his room.

“What have you got there?” Mr. Dee asked, gesturing at his son’s tall pile of books.

“Just some more accounting stuff,” Morton said, not looking at his father. He hurried into his room.

Mr. Dee shook his head. Somewhere, the lad had picked up the notion that he wanted to be an accountant. An accountant! True, Morton was quick with figures; but he would have to forget this nonsense.

The doorbell rang.

Mr. Dee tightened his belt, hastily stuffed in his shirt and opened the front door. There stood Miss Greeb, his son’s fourth-grade teacher.

“Come in, Miss Greeb,” said Dee. “Can I offer you something?”

“I have no time,” said Miss Greeb. She stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo. With her gray, tangled hair, her thin, long-nosed face and red runny eyes, she looked exactly like a witch.

“I’ve come to speak to you about your son,” she said.

At this moment Mrs. Dee hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I hope he hasn’t been naughty,” Mrs. Dee said anxiously.

Miss Greeb sniffed ominously. “Today I gave the yearly tests. Your son failed miserably.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Dee said. “It’s Spring.