Tales From Gavagan's Bar by L. Sprague de Camp, Fletcher Pratt Page A
Authors: L. Sprague de Camp, Fletcher Pratt
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"You smile at him and listen to everything he says and never interrupt, and if he puts his hand on your knee, go right on eating. He can't really get fresh in a restaurant, and he'll take you out again." There are girls that get a big kick out of that—persuading an older man to make a play for them, especially if he's in a dignified position, and not the kind you'd expect to take an interest in legs. Polly worked on old Mestor that way, and the operation was a success.
Anyway, about the tablet. On this day I had been out to lunch with Mestor, and as we came in through the lobby, there was Polly Rixey, arranging the reading and writing exhibit. Of course, he had to stop to talk to her, and glanced at the tablet. "My dear," he said, "do you know you're perpetrating a fraud on the public? Your card says that's a hymn to the sun, but it isn't anything of the kind. That's the legend of the childhood of Sargon the Great. Here—"
He picked it up and began to read: "Sharrukin, the mighty king, the king of Agade, am I! Lowly was my mother—" I forget how it all went, but he read it off as though it were in English. He was perfectly right, of course. When Polly took the tablet back to Professor Olmstead at the university, who had furnished the translation, he said he didn't know how such a stupid mistake had been made, probably because the other text had been on his desk at the time.
She went out to dinner with him that night, and let him feel her knee I suppose. The next day I met her in the stacks, and she giggled and said: "Do you know what it is now? I asked him how he could read that Babylonian tablet, and he said he spent two years on an archaeological expedition in Mesopotamia. We ought to keep track."
"Let's," said I. So we did. We not only put down all the places he'd been and times he said he'd been there as he told them to us, but we went around and got lists from the rest, too. I think I still have the general compilation.
[Keating fumbled in his pocket and produced a somewhat worn piece of paper, which he passed to Brenner. It was in tabular form.
Whaling voyage to Greenland 3 years
Living among the Tlingits IV2 years
Studying in Vienna 9 months (?)
In the Argentine 1 year
There were sub-totals as the list went on, and a final "Grand total — 228 years, 7 months."]
That's why we called him "Methuselah" Mestor [Keating continued]. You'd say he was just an amiable old liar, and so would I. So did I, and so did Polly. But there were two odd things about the list that didn't impress me till later. One was that there was never anything you could check in these travels of Mestor's. He didn't say what ship he'd been to Greenland in, for instance, and when you tried to press him on a point like that, he'd just talk about something else. You can't come down too roughly on the man you're having a sociable drink with, just to make him out a liar.
The other thing, I've mentioned already. About the information that accompanied the accounts of these imaginary travels being always accurate. I didn't think anyone ever caught him out.
[Brenner coughed: "Mr. Cohan, I'll have another, and so will Mr. Keating here. Are you going to tell me that he said he'd been to Atlantis? Or had some information about it?"]
No [said Keating], I'm not. Thanks for the drink. I'm going to tell you first about what happened one night when we were in here. Mr. Cohan will remember about it. Mestor and I had been having maybe three or four drinks. As we went out, he was saying something to me, looking at me as he did
Anyway, about the tablet. On this day I had been out to lunch with Mestor, and as we came in through the lobby, there was Polly Rixey, arranging the reading and writing exhibit. Of course, he had to stop to talk to her, and glanced at the tablet. "My dear," he said, "do you know you're perpetrating a fraud on the public? Your card says that's a hymn to the sun, but it isn't anything of the kind. That's the legend of the childhood of Sargon the Great. Here—"
He picked it up and began to read: "Sharrukin, the mighty king, the king of Agade, am I! Lowly was my mother—" I forget how it all went, but he read it off as though it were in English. He was perfectly right, of course. When Polly took the tablet back to Professor Olmstead at the university, who had furnished the translation, he said he didn't know how such a stupid mistake had been made, probably because the other text had been on his desk at the time.
She went out to dinner with him that night, and let him feel her knee I suppose. The next day I met her in the stacks, and she giggled and said: "Do you know what it is now? I asked him how he could read that Babylonian tablet, and he said he spent two years on an archaeological expedition in Mesopotamia. We ought to keep track."
"Let's," said I. So we did. We not only put down all the places he'd been and times he said he'd been there as he told them to us, but we went around and got lists from the rest, too. I think I still have the general compilation.
[Keating fumbled in his pocket and produced a somewhat worn piece of paper, which he passed to Brenner. It was in tabular form.
Whaling voyage to Greenland 3 years
Living among the Tlingits IV2 years
Studying in Vienna 9 months (?)
In the Argentine 1 year
There were sub-totals as the list went on, and a final "Grand total — 228 years, 7 months."]
That's why we called him "Methuselah" Mestor [Keating continued]. You'd say he was just an amiable old liar, and so would I. So did I, and so did Polly. But there were two odd things about the list that didn't impress me till later. One was that there was never anything you could check in these travels of Mestor's. He didn't say what ship he'd been to Greenland in, for instance, and when you tried to press him on a point like that, he'd just talk about something else. You can't come down too roughly on the man you're having a sociable drink with, just to make him out a liar.
The other thing, I've mentioned already. About the information that accompanied the accounts of these imaginary travels being always accurate. I didn't think anyone ever caught him out.
[Brenner coughed: "Mr. Cohan, I'll have another, and so will Mr. Keating here. Are you going to tell me that he said he'd been to Atlantis? Or had some information about it?"]
No [said Keating], I'm not. Thanks for the drink. I'm going to tell you first about what happened one night when we were in here. Mr. Cohan will remember about it. Mestor and I had been having maybe three or four drinks. As we went out, he was saying something to me, looking at me as he did
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