Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur (лучшие книги .TXT) 📗
I would appreciate payment in gold, on or before 25th September, 1912, and I will take the necessary steps to collect same personally.
Yours sincerely, Flynn Patrick O'Flynn, Esq
(Citizen of The United States of America).
After much heavy thought, Flynn had decided not to include a claim for the ivory as he was not too certain of its legality. Best not to mention it.
He had considered signing himself "United States Ambassador to Africa', but had discarded the idea on the grounds that Governor Schee knew damned well that he was no such thing. However, there was no harm in reminding him of Flynn's nationality it might make the old rogue hesitate before hanging Flynn out of hand if ever he got his hooks into him.
Satisfied that the only response to his demands would be a significant increase in Governor Schee's blood pressure, Flynn proceeded with his preparations to make good his threat of collecting the debt personally.
Flynn used this word lightly he had long ago selected a representative debt collector in the form of Sebastian Oldsmith. It now remained to have him suitably outfitted for the occasion, and, armed with a tape-measure from Rosa's work basket Flynn visited Sebastian's sick bed.
These days, visiting Sebastian was much like trying to arrange an interview with the Pope. Sebastian was securely under the maternal protection of Rosa O'Flynn.
Flynn knocked discreetly on the door of the guest bedroom, paused for a count of five, and entered.
"What do you want?" Rosa greeted him affectionately.
She was sitting on the foot of Sebastian's bed.
"Hello, hello," said Flynn, and then again lamely, "Hello."
"I suppose you're looking for a drinking companion,"
accused Rosa.
"Good Lord, no!" Flynn was genuinely horrified by the accusation. What with Rosa's depredations his stock of gin was running perilously low, and he had no intention of sharing it with anyone. "I just called in to see how he was doing." Flynn transferred his attention to Sebastian. "How you feeling, old Bassie boy?"
"Much better, thank you." In fact, Sebastian was looking very chirpy indeed. Freshly shaved, dressed in one of Flynn's best night-shirts, he lay like a Roman emperor on clean sheets. On the low table beside his bed stood a vase of frangipani blooms, and there were other floral tributes standing about the room all of them cut and carefully arranged by Rosa O'Flynn.
He was steadily putting on weight again as Rosa and Nanny stuffed food into him and colour was starting to drive the yellowish fever stains from his skin. Flynn felt a prickle of irritation at the way Sebastian was being pampered like a stud stallion, while Flynn himself was barely tolerated in his own home.
The metaphor which had come naturally into Flynn's mind now sparked a further train of thought, and a sharper prickle of irritation. Stud stallion! Flynn looked at Rosa with attention, and noticed that the dress she wore was the white one with gauzy sleeves, that had belonged to her mother a garment that Rosa usually kept securely locked away, a garment she had worn perhaps twice before in her life.
Furthermore, her feet, which were usually bare about the house, were now neatly clad in store-bOLight patent leather, and, by Jesus, she was wearing a sprig of bougainvillaea tucked into the shiny black slick of her hair. The tip of her long braid, which was usually tied carelessly with a thong of leather, flaunted a silk ribbon.
Now, Flynn O'Flynn was not a sentimental man but suddenly he recognized in his daughter a strange new glow, and a demure air that had never been there before, and within himself he became aware of an unusual sensation, so unfamiliar that he did not recognize it as paternal jealousy.
He did, however, recognize that the sooner he sent Sebastian on his way, the safer it would be.
"Well, that's fine, Bassie," he boomed genially. "That's just fine. Now, I'm sending bearers down to Beira to pick up supplies, and I just thought they might as well get some clothes for you while they were there."
"Well, thank you very much, Flynn." Sebastian was touched by the kindness of his friend.
"Might as well do it properly." Flynn produced his tape measure with a flourish. "We'll send your measurements down to old Parbhoo and he can tailor-make some stuff for you.
I say, that is jolly decent of you."
And completely out of character, thought Rosa O'Flynn as she watched her father carefully noting the length of Sebastian's legs and arms, and the girth of his neck, chest and waist.
"The boots and the hat will be a problem," Flynn mused aloud when he had finished. "But I'll find something."
"And what do you mean by that, Flynn O'Flynn?" Rosa demanded suspiciously.
"Nothing, just nothing at all." Hurriedly Flynn gathered his notes and his tape, and fled from further interrogation.
Some time later, Mohammed and the bearers returned from the shopping expedition to Beira, and he and Flynn immediately closeted themselves in secret conclave in the arsenal.
"Did you get it? "demanded Flynn eagerly.
"Five boxes of gin I left in the cave behind the waterfall at the top of the valley," whispered Mohammed, and Flynn sighed with relief. "But one bottle I brought with me."
Mohammed produced it from under his tunic. Flynn took it from him and drew the cork with his teeth, before spilling a little into the enamel mug that was standing ready.
