75 лучших рассказов / 75 Best Short Stories

Dawes was an entirely negative person, but Mrs. Dawes shone by virtue of a high, whining, insistent voice, keyed to within half a note of hysteria.

Then, at one point, the conversation suddenly took a peculiar turn. It came about through Mrs. Dawes mentioning that her aunt, who died from eating tinned lobster, used to work in a corset shop in Wych Street. When she said that, The Agent, whose right eye appeared to survey the ceiling, whilst his left eye looked over the other side of his tankard, remarked:

�Where was Wych Street, ma?’

�Lord!’ exclaimed Mrs.

Dawes. �Don’t you know, dearie? You must be a young ’un, you must. Why, when I was a gal every one knew Wych Street. It was just down there where they built the Kingsway, like.’

Baldwin Meadows cleared his throat, and said:

�Wych Street used to be a turnin’ runnin’ from Long Acre into Wellington Street.’

�Oh, no, old boy,’ chipped in Mr. Dawes, who always treated the ex-man with great deference. �If you’ll excuse me, Wych Street was a narrow lane at the back of the old Globe Theatre[17 - the old Globe Theatre – a theatre built in 1599 on the south bank of the Thames and famous for the performance of the greatest Shakespeare’s plays; it remained in use until 1644.

] that used to pass by the church.’

�I know what I’m talkin’ about,’ growled Meadows. Mrs. Dawes’s high nasal whine broke in:

�Hi, Mr. Booth, you used ter know yer wye abaht. Where was Wych Street?’

Mr.

Booth, the proprietor, was polishing a tap. He looked up.

�Wych Street? Yus, of course I knoo Wych Street. Used to go there with some of the boys – when I was Covent Garden[18 - Covent Garden – 1) London’s wholesale flower, fruit and vegetable market in central London at the time when the story was written; 2) the Royal Opera House which is near the place where the market used to be.] way. It was at right angles to the Strand[19 - the Strand – the street in central London linking the West End and the City of London], just east of Wellington Street.

’

�No, it warn’t. It were alongside the Strand, before yer come to Wellington Street.’

The coloured man took no part in the discussion, one street and one city being alike to him, provided he could obtain the material comforts dear to his heart; but the others carried it on with a certain amount of acerbity.

Before any agreement had been arrived at three other men entered the bar.