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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 162/241
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"
Sure
.
"
"
Then
let
’
s
go
and
get
something
to
eat
.
"
"
I
’
ll
go
you
,
"
Martin
answered
,
attempting
to
pay
for
the
current
Scotch
and
soda
with
the
last
change
from
his
two
dollars
and
seeing
the
waiter
bullied
by
Brissenden
into
putting
that
change
back
on
the
table
.
Martin
pocketed
it
with
a
grimace
,
and
felt
for
a
moment
the
kindly
weight
of
Brissenden
’
s
hand
upon
his
shoulder
.
Promptly
,
the
next
afternoon
,
Maria
was
excited
by
Martin
’
s
second
visitor
.
But
she
did
not
lose
her
head
this
time
,
for
she
seated
Brissenden
in
her
parlor
’
s
grandeur
of
respectability
.
"
Hope
you
don
’
t
mind
my
coming
?
"
Brissenden
began
.
"
No
,
no
,
not
at
all
,
"
Martin
answered
,
shaking
hands
and
waving
him
to
the
solitary
chair
,
himself
taking
to
the
bed
.
"
But
how
did
you
know
where
I
lived
?
"
"
Called
up
the
Morses
.
Miss
Morse
answered
the
’
phone
.
And
here
I
am
.
"
He
tugged
at
his
coat
pocket
and
flung
a
thin
volume
on
the
table
.
"
There
’
s
a
book
,
by
a
poet
.
Read
it
and
keep
it
.
"
And
then
,
in
reply
to
Martin
’
s
protest
:
"
What
have
I
to
do
with
books
?
I
had
another
hemorrhage
this
morning
.
Got
any
whiskey
?
No
,
of
course
not
.
Wait
a
minute
.
"
He
was
off
and
away
.
Martin
watched
his
long
figure
go
down
the
outside
steps
,
and
,
on
turning
to
close
the
gate
,
noted
with
a
pang
the
shoulders
,
which
had
once
been
broad
,
drawn
in
now
over
,
the
collapsed
ruin
of
the
chest
.
Martin
got
two
tumblers
,
and
fell
to
reading
the
book
of
verse
,
Henry
Vaughn
Marlow
’
s
latest
collection
.
"
No
Scotch
,
"
Brissenden
announced
on
his
return
.
"
The
beggar
sells
nothing
but
American
whiskey
.
But
here
’
s
a
quart
of
it
.
"
