Мартин Иден

Chapter 17

           "Seethat,"Joesaid,holdingupafilmycorset-coverthathecouldhavecrumpledfromviewinonehand. "Scorchthatan’it’stwentydollarsoutofyourwages." 

           SoMartindidnotscorchthat,andeaseddownonhismusculartension,thoughnervoustensionrosehigherthanever,andhelistenedsympatheticallytotheother’sblasphemiesashetoiledandsufferedoverthebeautifulthingsthatwomenwearwhentheydonothavetodotheirownlaundrying. "Fancystarch"wasMartin’snightmare,anditwasJoe’s,too. Itwas"fancystarch"thatrobbedthemoftheirhard-wonminutes. Theytoiledatitallday. Atsevenintheeveningtheybrokeofftorunthehotellinenthroughthemangle. Atteno’clock,whilethehotelguestsslept,thetwolaundrymensweatedonat"fancystarch"tillmidnight,tillone,tilltwo. Athalf-pasttwotheyknockedoff. 

           Saturdaymorningitwas"fancystarch,"andoddsandends,andatthreeintheafternoontheweek’sworkwasdone. 

           "Youain’ta-goin’toridethemseventymilesintoOaklandontopofthis?"Joedemanded,astheysatonthestairsandtookatriumphantsmoke. 

           "Gotto,"wastheanswer. 

           "Whatareyougoin’for?agirl?" 

           "No;tosavetwoandahalfontherailroadticket. Iwanttorenewsomebooksatthelibrary." 

           "Whydon’tyousend’emdownan’upbyexpress? That’llcostonlyaquartereachway." 

           Martinconsideredit. 

           "An’takearestto-morrow,"theotherurged. "Youneedit. IknowIdo. I’mplumbtuckeredout." 

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