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- Джек Лондон
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The
day
was
bitter
,
but
they
say
he
swept
me
naked
from
the
wolfskin
,
and
by
my
foot
,
between
thumb
and
forefinger
,
dangled
me
to
the
bite
of
the
wind
.
"
A
roach
!
"
he
ho-ho
'd
.
"
A
shrimp
!
A
sea-louse
!
"
And
he
made
to
squash
me
between
huge
forefinger
and
thumb
,
either
of
which
,
Lingaard
avers
,
was
thicker
than
my
leg
or
thigh
.
But
another
whim
was
upon
him
.
"
The
youngling
is
a-thirst
.
Let
him
drink
.
"
And
therewith
,
head-downward
,
into
the
half-pot
of
mead
he
thrust
me
.
And
might
well
have
drowned
in
this
drink
of
men
--
I
who
had
never
known
a
mother
's
breast
in
the
briefness
of
time
I
had
lived
--
had
it
not
been
for
Lingaard
.
But
when
he
plucked
me
forth
from
the
brew
,
Tostig
Lodbrog
struck
him
down
in
a
rage
.
We
rolled
on
the
deck
,
and
the
great
bear
hounds
,
captured
in
the
fight
with
the
North
Danes
just
past
,
sprang
upon
us
.
"
Ho
!
ho
!
"
roared
Tostig
Lodbrog
,
as
the
old
man
and
I
and
the
wolfskin
were
mauled
and
worried
by
the
dogs
.
But
Lingaard
gained
his
feet
,
saving
me
but
losing
the
wolfskin
to
the
hounds
.
Tostig
Lodbrog
finished
the
mead
and
regarded
me
,
while
Lingaard
knew
better
than
to
beg
for
mercy
where
was
no
mercy
.
"
Hop
o
'
my
thumb
,
"
quoth
Tostig
.
"
By
Odin
,
the
women
of
the
North
Danes
are
a
scurvy
breed
.
They
birth
dwarfs
,
not
men
.
Of
what
use
is
this
thing
?
He
will
never
make
a
man
.
Listen
you
,
Lingaard
,
grow
him
to
be
a
drink-boy
at
Brunanbuhr
.
And
have
an
eye
on
the
dogs
lest
they
slobber
him
down
by
mistake
as
a
meat-crumb
from
the
table
.
"
