Tales From Gavagan's Bar Read Free

than keeping cans of dog food around."
     
                  The professor rubbed his chin. "Hmm," he said. "The rate of absorption of nourishment would vary directly as the intestinal area—which would vary as the square of the dimensions—I'm not sure of the results, but I'm afraid we'd have to provide more concentrated and less conventional food. I presume that we could feed our Elephas micros, as I propose to call him, on lump sugar. No, not Elephas micros, Elephas microtatus, the 'utmost littlest, tiniest elephant'."
     
                  Mr. Cohan, who had been neglecting his only other customer to lean on the bar in their direction, spoke up: "Mr. Considine, that's the salesman, was telling me that the most concentrated food you can get is good malt whiskey."
     
                  "That's it!" The Professor slapped the table. "Not Elephas microtatus but Elephas frumenti, the whiskey elephant, from what he lives on. We'll breed them for a diet of alcohol. High energy content."
     
                  "Oh, but that won't do," protested Mrs. Jonas. "Nobody would want a house pet that had to be fed on whiskey all the time. Especially with children around."
     
                  Said Witherwax: "Look, if you really want these animals, why don't you keep them some place where children aren't around and whiskey is—bars, for instance."
     
                  "Profound observation," said Professor Thott. "And speaking of rounds, Mr. Cohan, let us have another. We have horses as outdoor pets, cats as house pets, canaries as cage pets. Why not an animal especially designed and developed to be a bar pet? Speaking of which—that stuffed owl you keep for a pet, Mr. Cohan, is getting decidedly mangy."
     
                  "They would steal things like that," said Mrs. Jonas dreamily. "They would take things like owls' feathers and pretzel sticks and beer mats to build their nests with, up in the dark corners somewhere near the ceiling. They would come out at night—"
     
                  The Professor bent a benignant gaze on her as Mr. Cohan set out the drinks. "My dear," he said, "either this discussion of the future Elephas frumenti or the actual spiritus frumenti is going to your head. When you become poetical—"
     
                  The brass-blonde had leaned back and was looking upward. "I'm not poetical. That thing right up there on top of the pillar is the nest of one of your bar elephants."
     
                  "What thing up there?" said Thott.
     
                  "That thing up there, where it's so dark."
     
                  "I don't see nothing," said Mr. Cohan, "and if you don't mind my saying so, this is a clean bar, not a rat in the place."
     
                  "They wouldn't be quite tame, ever," said Mrs. Jonas, still looking upward, "and if they didn't feel they were fed enough, they'd come and take for themselves when the bartender wasn't
    looking."
     
                  "That does look funny," said Thott, pushing his chair back and beginning to climb on it.
     
                  "Don't, Alvin," said Mrs. Jonas. "You'll break your neck ... Think of it, they'd feed their children—"
     
                  "Stand by me, then, and let me put my hand on your shoulder."
     
                  "Hey!" said Witherwax suddenly. "Who drank my drink?" Mrs. Jonas lowered her eyes. "Didn't you?" "I didn't even touch it. Mr. Cohan just put it down, didn't you?"
     
                  "I did that. But that would be a couple of minutes back, and maybe you could—"
     
                  "I could not. I definitely, positively did not drink—hey, you people, look at the table!"
     
                  "If I had my other glasses ..." said Thott, swaying somewhat uncertainly as he peered upward into the