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- Джон Стейнбек
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White
-
forehead
:
"
If
London
has
a
head
on
him
,
why
in
hell
are
we
sitting
around
here
?
This
strike
’
s
screwy
.
Somebody
’
s
making
money
out
of
it
.
When
it
gets
tough
somebody
’
ll
sell
out
and
leave
the
rest
of
us
to
take
it
on
the
chin
.
"
A
broad
,
muscular
man
got
to
his
knees
and
crouched
there
like
an
animal
.
His
lips
snarled
away
from
his
teeth
and
his
eyes
blazed
with
a
red
light
.
"
That
’
s
enough
from
you
,
wise
guy
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
’
ve
knew
London
for
a
long
time
.
If
you
’
re
gettin
’
around
to
sayin
’
London
’
s
fixin
’
to
sell
out
,
me
an
’
you
’
s
goin
’
round
and
round
,
right
now
!
I
don
’
t
know
nothin
’
about
this
here
strike
.
I
’
m
doin
’
it
’
cause
London
says
it
’
s
O
.
K
.
But
you
lay
off
the
smart
cracks
.
"
White
-
forehead
looked
coldly
at
him
.
"
You
’
re
pretty
hard
,
aren
’
t
you
?
"
"
Hard
enough
to
beat
the
ass
off
you
anyway
,
mister
.
"
"
Lay
off
,
"
Jim
broke
in
.
"
What
do
we
want
to
get
fighting
for
?
If
you
guys
want
to
fight
,
there
’
s
going
to
be
plenty
of
it
for
everybody
.
"
The
square
man
grunted
and
sat
back
on
his
blankets
.
"
Nobody
’
s
sayin
’
nothin
’
behind
London
’
s
back
when
l
’
m
there
,
"
he
said
.
The
little
stout
man
looked
at
Jim
.
"
How
’
d
you
get
shot
,
kid
?
"
"
Running
,
"
said
Jim
.
"
I
got
winged
running
.
"
"
I
heard
a
guy
say
you
all
beat
hell
out
of
some
scabs
.
"
"
That
’
s
right
.
"
