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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
Do
you
?
"
was
snarled
back
at
him
so
savagely
as
to
startle
him
.
"
I
—
I
write
,
or
,
rather
,
try
to
write
,
for
the
magazines
,
"
Martin
faltered
.
"
That
’
s
better
,
"
was
the
mollified
rejoinder
.
"
You
try
to
write
,
but
you
don
’
t
succeed
.
I
respect
and
admire
your
failure
.
I
know
what
you
write
.
I
can
see
it
with
half
an
eye
,
and
there
’
s
one
ingredient
in
it
that
shuts
it
out
of
the
magazines
.
It
’
s
guts
,
and
magazines
have
no
use
for
that
particular
commodity
.
What
they
want
is
wish
-
wash
and
slush
,
and
God
knows
they
get
it
,
but
not
from
you
.
"
"
I
’
m
not
above
hack
-
work
,
"
Martin
contended
.
"
On
the
contrary
—
"
Brissenden
paused
and
ran
an
insolent
eye
over
Martin
’
s
objective
poverty
,
passing
from
the
well
-
worn
tie
and
the
saw
-
edged
collar
to
the
shiny
sleeves
of
the
coat
and
on
to
the
slight
fray
of
one
cuff
,
winding
up
and
dwelling
upon
Martin
’
s
sunken
cheeks
.
"
On
the
contrary
,
hack
-
work
is
above
you
,
so
far
above
you
that
you
can
never
hope
to
rise
to
it
.
Why
,
man
,
I
could
insult
you
by
asking
you
to
have
something
to
eat
.
"
Martin
felt
the
heat
in
his
face
of
the
involuntary
blood
,
and
Brissenden
laughed
triumphantly
.
"
A
full
man
is
not
insulted
by
such
an
invitation
,
"
he
concluded
.
"
You
are
a
devil
,
"
Martin
cried
irritably
.
"
Anyway
,
I
didn
’
t
ask
you
.
"
"
You
didn
’
t
dare
.
"
"
Oh
,
I
don
’
t
know
about
that
.
I
invite
you
now
.
"
