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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
Why
don
’
t
you
send
’
em
down
an
’
up
by
express
?
That
’
ll
cost
only
a
quarter
each
way
.
"
Martin
considered
it
.
"
An
’
take
a
rest
to
-
morrow
,
"
the
other
urged
.
"
You
need
it
.
I
know
I
do
.
I
’
m
plumb
tuckered
out
.
"
He
looked
it
.
Indomitable
,
never
resting
,
fighting
for
seconds
and
minutes
all
week
,
circumventing
delays
and
crushing
down
obstacles
,
a
fount
of
resistless
energy
,
a
high
-
driven
human
motor
,
a
demon
for
work
,
now
that
he
had
accomplished
the
week
’
s
task
he
was
in
a
state
of
collapse
.
He
was
worn
and
haggard
,
and
his
handsome
face
drooped
in
lean
exhaustion
.
He
pulled
his
cigarette
spiritlessly
,
and
his
voice
was
peculiarly
dead
and
monotonous
.
All
the
snap
and
fire
had
gone
out
of
him
.
His
triumph
seemed
a
sorry
one
.
"
An
’
next
week
we
got
to
do
it
all
over
again
,
"
he
said
sadly
.
"
An
’
what
’
s
the
good
of
it
all
,
hey
?
Sometimes
I
wish
I
was
a
hobo
.
They
don
’
t
work
,
an
’
they
get
their
livin
’
.
Gee
!
I
wish
I
had
a
glass
of
beer
;
but
I
can
’
t
get
up
the
gumption
to
go
down
to
the
village
an
’
get
it
.
You
’
ll
stay
over
,
an
’
send
your
books
dawn
by
express
,
or
else
you
’
re
a
damn
fool
.
"
"
But
what
can
I
do
here
all
day
Sunday
?
"
Martin
asked
.
"
Rest
.
You
don
’
t
know
how
tired
you
are
.
Why
,
I
’
m
that
tired
Sunday
I
can
’
t
even
read
the
papers
.
I
was
sick
once
—
typhoid
.
In
the
hospital
two
months
an
’
a
half
.
Didn
’
t
do
a
tap
of
work
all
that
time
.
It
was
beautiful
.
"
"
It
was
beautiful
,
"
he
repeated
dreamily
,
a
minute
later
.
Martin
took
a
bath
,
after
which
he
found
that
the
head
laundryman
had
disappeared
.
Most
likely
he
had
gone
for
a
glass
of
beer
Martin
decided
,
but
the
half
-
mile
walk
down
to
the
village
to
find
out
seemed
a
long
journey
to
him
.
He
lay
on
his
bed
with
his
shoes
off
,
trying
to
make
up
his
mind
.
He
did
not
reach
out
for
a
book
.
He
was
too
tired
to
feel
sleepy
,
and
he
lay
,
scarcely
thinking
,
in
a
semi
-
stupor
of
weariness
,
until
it
was
time
for
supper
.
Joe
did
not
appear
for
that
function
,
and
when
Martin
heard
the
gardener
remark
that
most
likely
he
was
ripping
the
slats
off
the
bar
,
Martin
understood
.
He
went
to
bed
immediately
afterward
,
and
in
the
morning
decided
that
he
was
greatly
rested
.
Joe
being
still
absent
,
Martin
procured
a
Sunday
paper
and
lay
down
in
a
shady
nook
under
the
trees
.
The
morning
passed
,
he
knew
not
how
.
He
did
not
sleep
,
nobody
disturbed
him
,
and
he
did
not
finish
the
paper
.
He
came
back
to
it
in
the
afternoon
,
after
dinner
,
and
fell
asleep
over
it
.
So
passed
Sunday
,
and
Monday
morning
he
was
hard
at
work
,
sorting
clothes
,
while
Joe
,
a
towel
bound
tightly
around
his
head
,
with
groans
and
blasphemies
,
was
running
the
washer
and
mixing
soft
-
soap
.
