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- Джон Стейнбек
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The
martinis
came
,
not
in
little
glasses
but
big
as
bird
baths
with
twists
of
lemon
peel
.
The
first
taste
bit
like
a
vampire
bat
,
made
its
little
anesthesia
,
and
after
that
the
drink
mellowed
and
toward
the
bottom
turned
downright
good
.
"
We
’
re
going
to
have
two
,
"
said
Margie
.
"
The
food
’
s
pretty
good
here
but
not
that
good
.
"
Then
I
told
how
I
had
always
planned
to
open
a
bar
where
you
could
only
get
your
second
martini
.
I
would
make
a
fortune
.
Mr
.
Hartog
laughed
and
four
more
bird
baths
appeared
at
our
table
while
I
was
still
chewing
the
first
lemon
peel
.
With
the
first
taste
of
his
second
drink
,
Mr
.
Hartog
developed
the
power
of
speech
.
He
had
a
low
,
vibrant
voice
,
like
that
of
an
actor
or
a
singer
or
a
salesman
of
some
product
people
don
’
t
want
.
You
might
even
call
it
a
bedside
voice
.
"
Mrs
.
Young
-
Hunt
tells
me
you
’
re
in
business
here
,
"
he
said
.
"
It
’
s
a
fascinating
town
—
unspoiled
.
"
I
was
about
to
tell
him
exactly
what
my
business
consisted
in
when
Margie
took
the
ball
.
"
Mr
.
Hawley
is
the
coming
power
of
this
county
,
"
she
said
.
"
So
?
What
line
are
you
in
,
Mr
.
Hawley
?
"
"
Everything
,
"
said
Margie
.
"
Absolutely
everything
,
but
not
openly
,
you
understand
.
"
Her
eyes
had
a
liquor
shine
.
I
looked
at
Mary
’
s
eyes
and
they
were
just
beginning
to
surface
,
so
I
judged
the
others
had
had
a
couple
before
we
came
,
or
at
least
Margie
had
.
"
Well
,
that
saves
me
from
denying
it
,
"
I
said
.
