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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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The
gray
-
haired
man
turned
his
head
to
see
what
the
girl
was
doing
.
She
had
picked
up
the
ashtray
and
was
putting
it
between
them
.
"
You
lose
,
then
,
or
what
?
"
he
said
into
the
phone
.
"
What
?
"
"
I
said
,
Did
you
lose
?
"
"
Yeah
.
I
was
gonna
tell
you
about
it
.
I
didn
’
t
get
a
chance
at
the
party
,
with
all
the
ruckus
.
You
think
Junior
’
ll
hit
the
ceiling
?
Not
that
I
give
a
good
goddam
,
but
what
do
you
think
?
Think
he
will
?
"
With
his
left
hand
,
the
gray
-
haired
man
shaped
the
ash
of
his
cigarette
on
the
rim
of
the
ashtray
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
he
’
ll
necessarily
hit
the
ceiling
,
Arthur
,
"
he
said
quietly
.
"
Chances
are
very
much
in
favor
,
though
,
that
he
’
s
not
going
to
be
overjoyed
about
it
.
You
know
how
long
we
’
ve
handled
those
three
bloody
hotels
?
Old
man
Shanley
himself
started
the
whole
—
"
"
I
know
,
I
know
.
Junior
’
s
told
me
about
it
at
least
fifty
times
.
It
’
s
one
of
the
most
beautiful
stories
I
ever
heard
in
my
life
.
All
right
,
so
I
lost
the
goddam
case
.
In
the
first
place
,
it
wasn
’
t
my
fault
.
First
,
this
lunatic
Vittorio
baits
me
all
through
the
trial
.
Then
this
moron
chambermaid
starts
passing
out
sheets
full
of
bedbug
—
"
"
Nobody
’
s
saying
it
’
s
your
fault
,
Arthur
,
"
the
grayhaired
man
said
.
"
You
asked
me
if
I
thought
Junior
would
hit
the
ceiling
.
I
simply
gave
you
an
honest
—
"
"
I
know
—
I
know
that
.
.
.
.
I
don
’
t
know
.
What
the
hell
.
I
may
go
back
in
the
Army
anyway
.
I
tell
you
about
that
?
"
The
gray
-
haired
man
turned
his
head
again
toward
the
girl
,
perhaps
to
show
her
how
forbearing
,
even
stoic
,
his
countenance
was
.
But
the
girl
missed
seeing
it
.
