Сестра Керрі

Chapter XLI. The Strike

           

           Atlasteveningcame,andwithithungerandadebatewithhimselfastohowheshouldspendthenight.Itwashalf-pastfive.Hemustsooneat.Ifhetriedtogohome,itwouldtakehimtwohoursandahalfofcoldwalkingandriding.Besideshehadorderstoreportatseventhenextmorning,andgoinghomewouldnecessitatehisrisingatanunholyanddisagreeablehour.HehadonlysomethinglikeadollarandfifteencentsofCarrie’smoney,withwhichhehadintendedtopaythetwoweeks’coalbillbeforethepresentideastruckhim.

           “Theymusthavesomeplacearoundhere,”hethought.“WheredoesthatfellowfromNewarkstay?”

           Finallyhedecidedtoask.Therewasayoungfellowstandingnearoneofthedoorsinthecold,waitingalastturn.Hewasamereboyinyears—twenty-oneabout—butwithabodylankandlong,becauseofprivation.Alittlegoodlivingwouldhavemadethisyouthplumpandswaggering.

           “Howdotheyarrangethis,ifamanhasn’tanymoney?”inquiredHurstwood,discreetly.

           Thefellowturnedakeen,watchfulfaceontheinquirer.

           “Youmeaneat?”hereplied.

           “Yes,andsleep.Ican’tgobacktoNewYorkto-night.”

           “Theforeman’llfixthatifyouaskhim,Iguess.Hedidme.”

           “Thatso?”

           “Yes.IjusttoldhimIdidn’thaveanything.Gee,Icouldn’tgohome.IlivewayoverinHoboken.”

           Hurstwoodonlyclearedhisthroatbywayofacknowledgment.

           “They’vegotaplaceupstairshere,Iunderstand.Idon’tknowwhatsortofathingitis.Purtytough,Iguess.Hegavemeamealticketthisnoon.Iknowthatwasn’tmuch.

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