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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 104 из 164But when Edison of Westinghouse dismounted from his Esso-fueled gasoline buggy, completing the circle, the laughter on the steps turned into a roar.
Just as the crowd of guests turned to enter Presteign's home, a distant commotion attracted their attention. It was a rumble, a fierce chatter of pneumatic punches, and an outrageous metallic bellowing. It approached rapidly. The outer fringe of sightseers opened a broad lane. A heavy truck rumbled down the lane. Six men were tumbling baulks of timber out the back of the truck. Following them came a crew of twenty arranging the baulks neatly in rows.
Presteign and his guests watched with amazement. A giant machine, bellowing and pounding, approached, crawling over the ties. Behind it were deposited parallel rails of welded steel. Crews with sledges and pneumatic punches spiked the rails to the timber ties. The track was laid to Presteign's door in a sweeping arc and then curved away. The bellowing engine and crews disappeared into the darkness.
«Good God!» Presteign was distinctly heard to say. Guests poured out of the house to watch.
A shrill whistle sounded in the distance. Down the track came a man on a white horse, carrying a large red flag. Behind him panted a steam locomotive drawing a single observation car. The train stopped before Presteign's door. A conductor swung down from the car followed by a Pullman porter. The porter arranged steps. A lady and gentleman in evening clothes descended.
«Shan't be long,» the gentleman told the conductor. «Come back for me in an hour.»
«Good God!» Presteign exclaimed again.
The train puffed off. The couple mounted the steps.
«Good evening, Presteign,» the gentleman said. «Terribly sorry about that horse messing up your grounds, but the old New York franchise still insists on the red flag in front of trains.»
«Fourmyle!» the guests shouted.
«Fourmyle of Ceres!» the sightseers cheered. Presteign's party was now an assured success.
Inside the vast velvet and plush reception hall, Presteign examined Fourmyle curiously. Foyle endured the keen iron-gray gaze with equanimity, meanwhile nodding and smiling to the enthusiastic admirers he had acquired from Canberra to New York, with whom Robin Wednesbury was chatting.
«Control,» he thought. «Blood, bowels and brain. He grilled me in his office for one hour after that crazy attempt I made on 'Vorga.' Will he recognize me? Your face is familiar, Presteign,» Fourmyle said. «Have we met before?»
«I have not had the honor of meeting a Fourmyle until tonight,» Presteign answered ambiguously.
Just as the crowd of guests turned to enter Presteign's home, a distant commotion attracted their attention. It was a rumble, a fierce chatter of pneumatic punches, and an outrageous metallic bellowing. It approached rapidly. The outer fringe of sightseers opened a broad lane. A heavy truck rumbled down the lane. Six men were tumbling baulks of timber out the back of the truck. Following them came a crew of twenty arranging the baulks neatly in rows.
Presteign and his guests watched with amazement. A giant machine, bellowing and pounding, approached, crawling over the ties. Behind it were deposited parallel rails of welded steel. Crews with sledges and pneumatic punches spiked the rails to the timber ties. The track was laid to Presteign's door in a sweeping arc and then curved away. The bellowing engine and crews disappeared into the darkness.
«Good God!» Presteign was distinctly heard to say. Guests poured out of the house to watch.
A shrill whistle sounded in the distance. Down the track came a man on a white horse, carrying a large red flag. Behind him panted a steam locomotive drawing a single observation car. The train stopped before Presteign's door. A conductor swung down from the car followed by a Pullman porter. The porter arranged steps. A lady and gentleman in evening clothes descended.
«Shan't be long,» the gentleman told the conductor. «Come back for me in an hour.»
«Good God!» Presteign exclaimed again.
The train puffed off. The couple mounted the steps.
«Good evening, Presteign,» the gentleman said. «Terribly sorry about that horse messing up your grounds, but the old New York franchise still insists on the red flag in front of trains.»
«Fourmyle!» the guests shouted.
«Fourmyle of Ceres!» the sightseers cheered. Presteign's party was now an assured success.
Inside the vast velvet and plush reception hall, Presteign examined Fourmyle curiously. Foyle endured the keen iron-gray gaze with equanimity, meanwhile nodding and smiling to the enthusiastic admirers he had acquired from Canberra to New York, with whom Robin Wednesbury was chatting.
«Control,» he thought. «Blood, bowels and brain. He grilled me in his office for one hour after that crazy attempt I made on 'Vorga.' Will he recognize me? Your face is familiar, Presteign,» Fourmyle said. «Have we met before?»
«I have not had the honor of meeting a Fourmyle until tonight,» Presteign answered ambiguously.