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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
I
had
that
door
painted
only
last
week
,
"
Mr
.
Higginbotham
half
whined
,
half
bullied
;
"
and
you
know
what
union
wages
are
.
You
should
be
more
careful
.
"
Martin
had
intended
to
reply
,
but
he
was
struck
by
the
hopelessness
of
it
.
He
gazed
across
the
monstrous
sordidness
of
soul
to
a
chromo
on
the
wall
.
It
surprised
him
.
He
had
always
liked
it
,
but
it
seemed
that
now
he
was
seeing
it
for
the
first
time
.
It
was
cheap
,
that
was
what
it
was
,
like
everything
else
in
this
house
.
His
mind
went
back
to
the
house
he
had
just
left
,
and
he
saw
,
first
,
the
paintings
,
and
next
,
Her
,
looking
at
him
with
melting
sweetness
as
she
shook
his
hand
at
leaving
.
He
forgot
where
he
was
and
Bernard
Higginbotham
’
s
existence
,
till
that
gentleman
demanded
:
-
"
Seen
a
ghost
?
"
Martin
came
back
and
looked
at
the
beady
eyes
,
sneering
,
truculent
,
cowardly
,
and
there
leaped
into
his
vision
,
as
on
a
screen
,
the
same
eyes
when
their
owner
was
making
a
sale
in
the
store
below
—
subservient
eyes
,
smug
,
and
oily
,
and
flattering
.
"
Yes
,
"
Martin
answered
.
"
I
seen
a
ghost
.
Good
night
.
Good
night
,
Gertrude
.
"
He
started
to
leave
the
room
,
tripping
over
a
loose
seam
in
the
slatternly
carpet
.
"
Don
’
t
bang
the
door
,
"
Mr
.
Higginbotham
cautioned
him
.
He
felt
the
blood
crawl
in
his
veins
,
but
controlled
himself
and
closed
the
door
softly
behind
him
.
Mr
.
Higginbotham
looked
at
his
wife
exultantly
.
"
He
’
s
ben
drinkin
’
,
"
he
proclaimed
in
a
hoarse
whisper
.
"
I
told
you
he
would
.
"
She
nodded
her
head
resignedly
.
