Сестра Керри

Chapter XLI. The Strike

           “Theybrokehiscarwindowsandpulledhimoffintothestreet’forethepolicecouldstop’em.”

           “Yes;buttherearemorepolicearoundto-day,”wasaddedbyanother.

           Hurstwoodhearkenedwithoutmuchmentalcomment.Thesetalkersseemedscaredtohim.Theirgabblingwasfeverish—thingssaidtoquiettheirownminds.Helookedoutintotheyardandwaited.

           Twoofthemengotaroundquitenearhim,butbehindhisback.Theywererathersocial,andhelistenedtowhattheysaid.

           “Areyouarailroadman?”saidone.

           “Me?No.I’vealwaysworkedinapaperfactory.”

           “IhadajobinNewarkuntillastOctober,”returnedtheother,withreciprocalfeeling.

           Thereweresomewordswhichpassedtoolowtohear.Thentheconversationbecamestrongagain.

           “Idon’tblamethesefellersforstriking,”saidone.“They’vegottherightofit,allright,butIhadtogetsomethingtodo.”

           “Samehere,”saidtheother.“IfIhadanyjobinNewarkIwouldn’tbeoverheretakin’chanceslikethese.”

           “It’shellthesedays,ain’tit?”saidtheman.“Apoormanain’tnowhere.Youcouldstarve,byGod,rightinthestreets,andthereain’tmostnoonewouldhelpyou.”

           “Rightyouare,”saidtheother.“ThejobIhadIlost’causetheyshutdown.Theyrunallsummerandlayupabigstock,andthenshutdown.”

           Hurstwoodpaidsomelittleattentiontothis.Somehow,hefeltalittlesuperiortothesetwo—alittlebetteroff.Tohimthesewereignorantandcommonplace,poorsheepinadriver’shand.

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