Сестра Керри

Chapter XLI. The Strike

           

           Hurstwoodsmiledgrimly,andtheboylaughed.

           “Itain’tnofun,isit?”heinquired,wishingvainlyforacheeryreply.

           “Notmuch,”answeredHurstwood.

           “I’dtacklehimnow,”volunteeredtheyouth.“Hemaygo’way.”

           Hurstwooddidso.

           “Isn’ttheresomeplaceIcanstayaroundhereto-night?”heinquired.“IfIhavetogobacktoNewYork,I’mafraidIwon’t.”

           “There’resomecotsupstairs,”interruptedtheman,“ifyouwantoneofthem.”

           “That’lldo,”heassented.

           Hemeanttoaskforamealticket,buttheseeminglypropermomentnevercame,andhedecidedtopayhimselfthatnight.

           “I’llaskhiminthemorning.”

           Heateinacheaprestaurantinthevicinity,and,beingcoldandlonely,wentstraightofftoseektheloftinquestion.Thecompanywasnotattemptingtoruncarsafternightfall.Itwassoadvisedbythepolice.

           Theroomseemedtohavebeenaloungingplacefornightworkers.Thereweresomeninecotsintheplace,twoorthreewoodenchairs,asoapbox,andasmall,round-belliedstove,inwhichafirewasblazing.Earlyashewas,anothermanwastherebeforehim.Thelatterwassittingbesidethestovewarminghishands.

           Hurstwoodapproachedandheldouthisowntowardthefire.Hewassickofthebarenessandprivationofallthingsconnectedwithhisventure,butwassteelinghimselftoholdout.Hefanciedhecouldforawhile.

           “Cold,isn’tit?”saidtheearlyguest.

           “Rather.”

           Alongsilence.

           “Notmuchofaplacetosleepin,isit?”saidtheman.

           “Betterthannothing,”repliedHurstwood.

           Anothersilence.

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