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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
I
never
wanted
to
drink
when
I
was
in
hospital
.
Funny
,
ain
’
t
it
?
But
when
I
’
ve
ben
workin
’
like
a
slave
all
week
,
I
just
got
to
bowl
up
.
Ever
noticed
that
cooks
drink
like
hell
?
—
an
’
bakers
,
too
?
It
’
s
the
work
.
They
’
ve
sure
got
to
.
Here
,
lemme
pay
half
of
that
telegram
.
"
"
I
’
ll
shake
you
for
it
,
"
Martin
offered
.
"
Come
on
,
everybody
drink
,
"
Joe
called
,
as
they
rattled
the
dice
and
rolled
them
out
on
the
damp
bar
.
Monday
morning
Joe
was
wild
with
anticipation
.
He
did
not
mind
his
aching
head
,
nor
did
he
take
interest
in
his
work
.
Whole
herds
of
moments
stole
away
and
were
lost
while
their
careless
shepherd
gazed
out
of
the
window
at
the
sunshine
and
the
trees
.
"
Just
look
at
it
!
"
he
cried
.
"
An
’
it
’
s
all
mine
!
It
’
s
free
.
I
can
lie
down
under
them
trees
an
’
sleep
for
a
thousan
’
years
if
I
want
to
.
Aw
,
come
on
,
Mart
,
let
’
s
chuck
it
.
What
’
s
the
good
of
waitin
’
another
moment
.
That
’
s
the
land
of
nothin
’
to
do
out
there
,
an
’
I
got
a
ticket
for
it
—
an
’
it
ain
’
t
no
return
ticket
,
b
’
gosh
!
"
A
few
minutes
later
,
filling
the
truck
with
soiled
clothes
for
the
washer
,
Joe
spied
the
hotel
manager
’
s
shirt
.
He
knew
its
mark
,
and
with
a
sudden
glorious
consciousness
of
freedom
he
threw
it
on
the
floor
and
stamped
on
it
.
"
I
wish
you
was
in
it
,
you
pig
-
headed
Dutchman
!
"
he
shouted
.
"
In
it
,
an
’
right
there
where
I
’
ve
got
you
!
Take
that
!
an
’
that
!
an
’
that
!
damn
you
!
Hold
me
back
,
somebody
!
Hold
me
back
!
"
Martin
laughed
and
held
him
to
his
work
.
On
Tuesday
night
the
new
laundrymen
arrived
,
and
the
rest
of
the
week
was
spent
breaking
them
into
the
routine
.
Joe
sat
around
and
explained
his
system
,
but
he
did
no
more
work
.
"
Not
a
tap
,
"
he
announced
.
"
Not
a
tap
.
They
can
fire
me
if
they
want
to
,
but
if
they
do
,
I
’
ll
quit
.
No
more
work
in
mine
,
thank
you
kindly
.
Me
for
the
freight
cars
an
’
the
shade
under
the
trees
.
Go
to
it
,
you
slaves
!
That
’
s
right
Slave
an
’
sweat
!
Slave
an
’
sweat
!
An
’
when
you
’
re
dead
,
you
’
ll
rot
the
same
as
me
,
an
’
what
’
s
it
matter
how
you
live
?
—
eh
?
Tell
me
that
—
what
’
s
it
matter
in
the
long
run
?
"
On
Saturday
they
drew
their
pay
and
came
to
the
parting
of
the
ways
.
