Сестра Керри

Chapter XLI. The Strike

           Heputonhisshoesinthecoldandstoodup,shakinghimselfinhisstiffness.Hisclothesfeltdisagreeable,hishairbad.

           “Hell!”hemuttered,asheputonhishat.

           Downstairsthingswerestirringagain.

           Hefoundahydrant,withatroughwhichhadoncebeenusedforhorses,buttherewasnotowelhere,andhishandkerchiefwassoiledfromyesterday.Hecontentedhimselfwithwettinghiseyeswiththeice-coldwater.Thenhesoughttheforeman,whowasalreadyontheground.

           “Hadyourbreakfastyet?”inquiredthatworthy.

           “No,”saidHurstwood.

           “Bettergetit,then;yourcarwon’tbereadyforalittlewhile.”

           Hurstwoodhesitated.

           “Couldyouletmehaveamealticket?”heaskedwithaneffort.

           “Hereyouare,”saidtheman,handinghimone.

           Hebreakfastedaspoorlyasthenightbeforeonsomefriedsteakandbadcoffee.Thenhewentback.

           “Here,”saidtheforeman,motioninghim,whenhecamein.“Youtakethiscaroutinafewminutes.”

           Hurstwoodclimbedupontheplatforminthegloomybarnandwaitedforasignal.Hewasnervous,andyetthethingwasarelief.Anythingwasbetterthanthebarn.

           Onthisthefourthdayofthestrike,thesituationhadtakenaturnfortheworse.Thestrikers,followingthecounseloftheirleadersandthenewspapers,hadstruggledpeaceablyenough.Therehadbeennogreatviolencedone.Carshadbeenstopped,itistrue,andthemenarguedwith.Somecrewshadbeenwonoverandledaway,somewindowsbroken,somejeeringandyellingdone;butinnomorethanfiveorsixinstanceshadmenbeenseriouslyinjured.

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