Загублений світ
He is a Perfectly Impossible Person
Ihadbeenhopelesslyinthewrongbefore,butthisman’smenaceswereputtingmeintheright."I’lltroubleyoutokeepyourhandsoff,sir.I’llnotstandit."
"Dearme!"Hisblackmoustacheliftedandawhitefangtwinkledinasneer."Youwon’tstandit,eh?"
"Don’tbesuchafool,Professor!"Icried."Whatcanyouhopefor?I’mfifteenstone,ashardasnails,andplaycenterthree-quartereverySaturdayfortheLondonIrish.I’mnottheman——"
Itwasatthatmomentthatherushedme.ItwasluckythatIhadopenedthedoor,orweshouldhavegonethroughit.WedidaCatharine-wheeltogetherdownthepassage.Somehowwegatheredupachairuponourway,andboundedonwithittowardsthestreet.Mymouthwasfullofhisbeard,ourarmswerelocked,ourbodiesintertwined,andthatinfernalchairradiateditslegsallroundus.ThewatchfulAustinhadthrownopenthehalldoor.Wewentwithabacksomersaultdownthefrontsteps.IhaveseenthetwoMacsattemptsomethingofthekindatthehalls,butitappearstotakesomepractisetodoitwithouthurtingoneself.Thechairwenttomatchwoodatthebottom,andwerolledapartintothegutter.Hesprangtohisfeet,wavinghisfistsandwheezinglikeanasthmatic.
"Hadenough?"hepanted.
"Youinfernalbully!"Icried,asIgatheredmyselftogether.
Thenandthereweshouldhavetriedthethingout,forhewaseffervescingwithfight,butfortunatelyIwasrescuedfromanodioussituation.Apolicemanwasbesideus,hisnotebookinhishand.
