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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 213/241
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The
hostile
gang
was
temporarily
disconcerted
by
the
manoeuvre
,
then
it
dashed
from
the
train
in
pursuit
.
The
staid
and
sober
Oakland
folk
who
sat
upon
the
car
scarcely
noted
the
young
fellow
and
the
girl
who
ran
for
it
and
found
a
seat
in
front
on
the
outside
.
They
did
not
connect
the
couple
with
Jimmy
,
who
sprang
on
the
steps
,
crying
to
the
motorman
:
-
"
Slam
on
the
juice
,
old
man
,
and
beat
it
outa
here
!
"
The
next
moment
Jimmy
whirled
about
,
and
the
passengers
saw
him
land
his
fist
on
the
face
of
a
running
man
who
was
trying
to
board
the
car
.
But
fists
were
landing
on
faces
the
whole
length
of
the
car
.
Thus
,
Jimmy
and
his
gang
,
strung
out
on
the
long
,
lower
steps
,
met
the
attacking
gang
.
The
car
started
with
a
great
clanging
of
its
gong
,
and
,
as
Jimmy
’
s
gang
drove
off
the
last
assailants
,
they
,
too
,
jumped
off
to
finish
the
job
.
The
car
dashed
on
,
leaving
the
flurry
of
combat
far
behind
,
and
its
dumfounded
passengers
never
dreamed
that
the
quiet
young
man
and
the
pretty
working
-
girl
sitting
in
the
corner
on
the
outside
seat
had
been
the
cause
of
the
row
.
Martin
had
enjoyed
the
fight
,
with
a
recrudescence
of
the
old
fighting
thrills
.
But
they
quickly
died
away
,
and
he
was
oppressed
by
a
great
sadness
.
He
felt
very
old
—
centuries
older
than
those
careless
,
care
-
free
young
companions
of
his
others
days
.
He
had
travelled
far
,
too
far
to
go
back
.
Their
mode
of
life
,
which
had
once
been
his
,
was
now
distasteful
to
him
.
He
was
disappointed
in
it
all
.
He
had
developed
into
an
alien
.
As
the
steam
beer
had
tasted
raw
,
so
their
companionship
seemed
raw
to
him
.
He
was
too
far
removed
.
Too
many
thousands
of
opened
books
yawned
between
them
and
him
.
He
had
exiled
himself
.
He
had
travelled
in
the
vast
realm
of
intellect
until
he
could
no
longer
return
home
.
On
the
other
hand
,
he
was
human
,
and
his
gregarious
need
for
companionship
remained
unsatisfied
.
He
had
found
no
new
home
.
As
the
gang
could
not
understand
him
,
as
his
own
family
could
not
understand
him
,
as
the
bourgeoisie
could
not
understand
him
,
so
this
girl
beside
him
,
whom
he
honored
high
,
could
not
understand
him
nor
the
honor
he
paid
her
.
His
sadness
was
not
untouched
with
bitterness
as
he
thought
it
over
.
"
Make
it
up
with
him
,
"
he
advised
Lizzie
,
at
parting
,
as
they
stood
in
front
of
the
workingman
’
s
shack
in
which
she
lived
,
near
Sixth
and
Market
.
He
referred
to
the
young
fellow
whose
place
he
had
usurped
that
day
.
"
I
can
’
t
—
now
,
"
she
said
.
"
Oh
,
go
on
,
"
he
said
jovially
.
"
All
you
have
to
do
is
whistle
and
he
’
ll
come
running
.
"
"
I
didn
’
t
mean
that
,
"
she
said
simply
.
And
he
knew
what
she
had
meant
.
She
leaned
toward
him
as
he
was
about
to
say
good
night
.
But
she
leaned
not
imperatively
,
not
seductively
,
but
wistfully
and
humbly
.
He
was
touched
to
the
heart
.
His
large
tolerance
rose
up
in
him
.
He
put
his
arms
around
her
,
and
kissed
her
,
and
knew
that
upon
his
own
lips
rested
as
true
a
kiss
as
man
ever
received
.
"
My
God
!
"
she
sobbed
.
"
I
could
die
for
you
.
I
could
die
for
you
.
"
