were floundering in the muddy ditch beside the highway while the bus roared past us and was gone.
We crawled out and made for Terry’s. The barman stared at us, said, “Whew!” and set up drinks without being asked.
“Unquestionably,” I said, “our lives have just been saved.”
“Yes,” Jackie agreed, scraping mud from her ears. “But it wouldn’t have happened this way to Mr. Henchard.”
The barman shook his head. “Fall in the ditch, Eddie? And you too? Bad luck!”
“Not bad,” Jackie told him feebly. “Good. But sloppy.” She lifted her drink and eyed me with muddy misery. I clinked my glass against hers.
“Well,” I said. “Here’s luck.”
Вы читаете Houseng Problem
