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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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"
I
beg
your
pardon
?
"
Teddy
said
.
"
How
’
d
it
go
?
Was
it
interesting
?
"
"
At
times
,
yes
.
At
times
,
no
,
"
Teddy
said
.
"
We
stayed
a
little
bit
too
long
.
My
father
wanted
to
get
back
to
New
York
a
little
sooner
than
this
ship
.
But
some
people
were
coming
over
from
Stockholm
,
Sweden
,
and
Innsbruck
,
Austria
,
to
meet
me
,
and
we
had
to
wait
around
.
"
"
It
’
s
always
that
way
.
"
Teddy
looked
at
him
directly
for
the
first
time
.
"
Are
you
a
poet
?
"
he
asked
.
"
A
poet
?
"
Nicholson
said
.
"
Lord
,
no
.
Alas
,
no
.
Why
do
you
ask
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
Poets
are
always
taking
the
weather
so
personally
.
They
’
re
always
sticking
their
emotions
in
things
that
have
no
emotions
.
"
Nicholson
,
smiling
,
reached
into
his
jacket
pocket
and
took
out
cigarettes
and
matches
.
"
I
rather
thought
that
was
their
stock
in
trade
,
"
he
said
.
"
Aren
’
t
emotions
what
poets
are
primarily
concerned
with
?
"
Teddy
apparently
didn
’
t
hear
him
,
or
wasn
’
t
listening
.
He
was
looking
abstractedly
toward
,
or
over
,
the
twin
smokestacks
up
on
the
Sports
Deck
.
Nicholson
got
his
cigarette
lit
,
with
some
difficulty
,
for
there
was
a
light
breeze
blowing
from
the
north
.
He
sat
back
,
and
said
,
"
I
understand
you
left
a
pretty
disturbed
bunch
—
"
