Mr. Adams Comes

Mr. Adams Comes

The room entered that fat man with iron body, whom we saw in at the reception at the consulate.

– Misters, – he said straight from the shoulder. – I want to help you. No-no-no. You don’t understand. I have a positive duty to help every soviet man who came to America.

After several minutes of dialoque with Mr. Adams it became clear that don’t understand America at all, don’t understand Soviet Univercity at all and don’t understand anything at all, like newborn calves.

But it was unpossible to be angry with Mr. Adams. When we reported him we’re going to make autotrip across States, he cried ‘Shurli! ’ and became so excited that unexpectedly opened umbrella which he had under his arm and stood under it some time as if he took cover from the rain.

– No, no, misters! You don’t understand anything! You need a plan! Plan of the journey! Is’s the main. And I’ll make this plan. No! No! Don’t tell. You may not know about that, sirs!

Suddently he took off his coat, tore off his glasses, threw them to the sofa (next 10 minutes he researhes them from his pocket), put automap of America on his lap and started plot some lines on it.

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