Ветер в ивах
The Open Road
Hebreathedshort,hisfaceworeaplacid,satisfiedexpression,andatintervalshefaintlymurmured"Poop-poop!"
TheMolewasbusytryingtoquietthehorse,whichhesucceededindoingafteratime.Thenhewenttolookatthecart,onitssideintheditch.Itwasindeedasorrysight.Panelsandwindowssmashed,axleshopelesslybent,onewheeloff,sardine-tinsscatteredoverthewideworld,andthebirdinthebird-cagesobbingpitifullyandcallingtobeletout.
TheRatcametohelphim,buttheirunitedeffortswerenotsufficienttorightthecart."Hi!Toad!"theycried."Comeandbearahand,can’tyou!"
TheToadneveransweredaword,orbudgedfromhisseatintheroad;sotheywenttoseewhatwasthematterwithhim.Theyfoundhiminasortofatrance,ahappysmileonhisface,hiseyesstillfixedonthedustywakeoftheirdestroyer.Atintervalshewasstillheardtomurmur"Poop-poop!"
TheRatshookhimbytheshoulder."Areyoucomingtohelpus,Toad?"hedemandedsternly.
"Glorious,stirringsight!"murmuredToad,neverofferingtomove."Thepoetryofmotion!Therealwaytotravel!Theonlywaytotravel!Hereto-day—innextweekto-morrow!Villagesskipped,townsandcitiesjumped—alwayssomebodyelse’shorizon!Obliss!Opoop-poop!Omy!Omy!"
"Ostopbeinganass,Toad!"criedtheMoledespairingly.
