Сестра Керри

Chapter XLVII. The Way Of The Beaten: A Harp In The Wind

           Therewasmuchjerkingofheads,andlookingdowntheline.

           “Itdon’tmatterhownearyougettothefront,solongasyou’reinthefirsttwenty-five,”commentedoneofthefirsttwenty-five.“Youallgointogether.”

           “Humph!”ejaculatedHurstwood,whohadbeensosturdilydisplaced.

           “ThishereSingleTaxisthething,”saidanother.“Thereain’tgoingtobenoordertillitcomes.”

           Forthemostparttherewassilence;gauntmenshuffling,glancing,andbeatingtheirarms.

           Atlastthedooropenedandthemotherly-lookingsisterappeared.Sheonlylookedanorder.Slowlythelinemovedupand,onebyone,passedin,untiltwenty-fivewerecounted.Thensheinterposedastoutarm,andthelinehalted,withsixmenonthesteps.Ofthesetheex-managerwasone.Waitingthus,sometalked,someejaculatedconcerningthemiseryofit;somebrooded,asdidHurstwood.Atlasthewasadmitted,and,havingeaten,cameaway,almostangeredbecauseofhispainsingettingit.

           Ateleveno’clockofanotherevening,perhapstwoweekslater,hewasatthemidnightofferingofaloaf—waitingpatiently.Ithadbeenanunfortunatedaywithhim,butnowhetookhisfatewithatouchofphilosophy.Ifhecouldsecurenosupper,orwashungrylateintheevening,herewasaplacehecouldcome.Afewminutesbeforetwelve,agreatboxofbreadwaspushedout,andexactlyonthehouraportly,round-facedGermantookpositionbyit,calling“Ready.”Thewholelineatoncemovedforwardeachtakinghisloafinturnandgoinghisseparateway.

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