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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 245/416
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“
What
do
I
know
?
Is
there
a
DOCTOR
in
this
car
,
that
’
s
what
I
want
to
know
?
”
The
well
-
dressed
young
man
stepped
forward
.
“
I
’
m
a
doctor
,
”
he
said
.
“
Well
,
come
along
then
,
”
returned
the
conductor
,
in
a
surly
voice
,
“
and
the
passengers
in
this
car
,
”
he
added
,
turning
back
at
the
door
and
nodding
his
head
menacingly
,
“
will
go
back
to
bed
and
STAY
there
.
It
’
s
all
over
and
there
’
s
nothing
to
see
.
”
He
went
out
,
followed
by
the
young
doctor
.
Then
ensued
an
interminable
period
of
silence
.
The
entire
train
seemed
deserted
.
Helpless
,
bereft
of
its
engine
,
a
huge
,
decapitated
monster
it
lay
,
half
-
way
around
a
curve
,
rained
upon
,
abandoned
.
There
was
more
fear
in
this
last
condition
of
affairs
,
more
terror
in
the
idea
of
this
prolonged
line
of
sleepers
,
with
their
nickelled
fittings
,
their
plate
glass
,
their
upholstery
,
vestibules
,
and
the
like
,
loaded
down
with
people
,
lost
and
forgotten
in
the
night
and
the
rain
,
than
there
had
been
when
the
actual
danger
threatened
.
What
was
to
become
of
them
now
?
Who
was
there
to
help
them
?
Their
engine
was
gone
;
they
were
helpless
.
What
next
was
to
happen
?
Nobody
came
near
the
car
.
Even
the
porter
had
disappeared
.
The
wait
seemed
endless
,
and
the
persistent
snoring
of
the
whiskered
gentleman
rasped
the
nerves
like
the
scrape
of
a
file
.
“
Well
,
how
long
are
we
going
to
stick
here
now
?
”
began
one
of
the
drummers
.
“
Wonder
if
they
hurt
the
engine
with
their
dynamite
?
”
