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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 197/241
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But
no
answer
came
the
next
day
,
nor
the
next
.
"
Overdue
"
lay
untouched
upon
the
table
,
and
each
day
the
heap
of
returned
manuscripts
under
the
table
grew
larger
.
For
the
first
time
Martin
’
s
glorious
sleep
was
interrupted
by
insomnia
,
and
he
tossed
through
long
,
restless
nights
.
Three
times
he
called
at
the
Morse
home
,
but
was
turned
away
by
the
servant
who
answered
the
bell
.
Brissenden
lay
sick
in
his
hotel
,
too
feeble
to
stir
out
,
and
,
though
Martin
was
with
him
often
,
he
did
not
worry
him
with
his
troubles
.
For
Martin
’
s
troubles
were
many
.
The
aftermath
of
the
cub
reporter
’
s
deed
was
even
wider
than
Martin
had
anticipated
.
The
Portuguese
grocer
refused
him
further
credit
,
while
the
greengrocer
,
who
was
an
American
and
proud
of
it
,
had
called
him
a
traitor
to
his
country
and
refused
further
dealings
with
him
—
carrying
his
patriotism
to
such
a
degree
that
he
cancelled
Martin
’
s
account
and
forbade
him
ever
to
attempt
to
pay
it
.
The
talk
in
the
neighborhood
reflected
the
same
feeling
,
and
indignation
against
Martin
ran
high
.
No
one
would
have
anything
to
do
with
a
socialist
traitor
.
Poor
Maria
was
dubious
and
frightened
,
but
she
remained
loyal
.
The
children
of
the
neighborhood
recovered
from
the
awe
of
the
grand
carriage
which
once
had
visited
Martin
,
and
from
safe
distances
they
called
him
"
hobo
"
and
"
bum
.
"
The
Silva
tribe
,
however
,
stanchly
defended
him
,
fighting
more
than
one
pitched
battle
for
his
honor
,
and
black
eyes
and
bloody
noses
became
quite
the
order
of
the
day
and
added
to
Maria
’
s
perplexities
and
troubles
.
Once
,
Martin
met
Gertrude
on
the
street
,
down
in
Oakland
,
and
learned
what
he
knew
could
not
be
otherwise
—
that
Bernard
Higginbotham
was
furious
with
him
for
having
dragged
the
family
into
public
disgrace
,
and
that
he
had
forbidden
him
the
house
.
"
Why
don
’
t
you
go
away
,
Martin
?
"
Gertrude
had
begged
.
"
Go
away
and
get
a
job
somewhere
and
steady
down
.
Afterwards
,
when
this
all
blows
over
,
you
can
come
back
.
"
Martin
shook
his
head
,
but
gave
no
explanations
.
How
could
he
explain
?
He
was
appalled
at
the
awful
intellectual
chasm
that
yawned
between
him
and
his
people
.
He
could
never
cross
it
and
explain
to
them
his
position
,
—
the
Nietzschean
position
,
in
regard
to
socialism
.
There
were
not
words
enough
in
the
English
language
,
nor
in
any
language
,
to
make
his
attitude
and
conduct
intelligible
to
them
.
Their
highest
concept
of
right
conduct
,
in
his
case
,
was
to
get
a
job
.
That
was
their
first
word
and
their
last
.
It
constituted
their
whole
lexicon
of
ideas
.
Get
a
job
!
Go
to
work
!
Poor
,
stupid
slaves
,
he
thought
,
while
his
sister
talked
.
Small
wonder
the
world
belonged
to
the
strong
.
The
slaves
were
obsessed
by
their
own
slavery
.
A
job
was
to
them
a
golden
fetich
before
which
they
fell
down
and
worshipped
.
He
shook
his
head
again
,
when
Gertrude
offered
him
money
,
though
he
knew
that
within
the
day
he
would
have
to
make
a
trip
to
the
pawnbroker
.
"
Don
’
t
come
near
Bernard
now
,
"
she
admonished
him
.
"
After
a
few
months
,
when
he
is
cooled
down
,
if
you
want
to
,
you
can
get
the
job
of
drivin
’
delivery
-
wagon
for
him
.
Any
time
you
want
me
,
just
send
for
me
an
’
I
’
ll
come
.
Don
’
t
forget
.
"
She
went
away
weeping
audibly
,
and
he
felt
a
pang
of
sorrow
shoot
through
him
at
sight
of
her
heavy
body
and
uncouth
gait
.
As
he
watched
her
go
,
the
Nietzschean
edifice
seemed
to
shake
and
totter
.
The
slave
-
class
in
the
abstract
was
all
very
well
,
but
it
was
not
wholly
satisfactory
when
it
was
brought
home
to
his
own
family
.
And
yet
,
if
there
was
ever
a
slave
trampled
by
the
strong
,
that
slave
was
his
sister
Gertrude
.
He
grinned
savagely
at
the
paradox
.
A
fine
Nietzsche
-
man
he
was
,
to
allow
his
intellectual
concepts
to
be
shaken
by
the
first
sentiment
or
emotion
that
strayed
along
—
ay
,
to
be
shaken
by
the
slave
-
morality
itself
,
for
that
was
what
his
pity
for
his
sister
really
was
.
The
true
noble
men
were
above
pity
and
compassion
.
Pity
and
compassion
had
been
generated
in
the
subterranean
barracoons
of
the
slaves
and
were
no
more
than
the
agony
and
sweat
of
the
crowded
miserables
and
weaklings
.
"
Overdue
"
still
continued
to
lie
forgotten
on
the
table
.
Every
manuscript
that
he
had
had
out
now
lay
under
the
table
.
Only
one
manuscript
he
kept
going
,
and
that
was
Brissenden
’
s
"
Ephemera
.
"
His
bicycle
and
black
suit
were
again
in
pawn
,
and
the
type
-
writer
people
were
once
more
worrying
about
the
rent
.
But
such
things
no
longer
bothered
him
.
He
was
seeking
a
new
orientation
,
and
until
that
was
found
his
life
must
stand
still
.
