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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Американская трагедия
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- Стр. 559/598
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But
just
then
a
voice
from
somewhere
:
"
Hey
!
we
got
a
new
one
wid
us
,
fellers
!
Ground
tier
,
second
cell
,
east
.
"
And
then
a
second
voice
:
"
You
do
n't
say
.
Wot
's
he
like
?
"
And
a
third
:
"
Wot
's
yer
name
,
new
man
?
Do
n't
be
scared
.
You
ai
n't
no
worse
off
than
the
rest
of
us
.
"
And
then
the
first
voice
,
answering
number
two
:
"
Kinda
tall
and
skinny
.
A
kid
.
Looks
a
little
like
mamma
's
boy
,
but
not
bad
at
dat
.
Hey
,
you
!
Tell
us
your
name
!
"
And
Clyde
,
amazed
and
dumb
and
pondering
.
For
how
was
one
to
take
such
an
introduction
as
this
?
What
to
say
--
what
to
do
?
Should
he
be
friendly
with
these
men
?
Yet
,
his
instinct
for
tact
prompting
him
even
here
to
reply
,
most
courteously
and
promptly
:
"
Clyde
Griffiths
.
"
And
one
of
the
first
voices
continuing
:
"
Oh
,
sure
!
We
know
who
you
are
.
Welcome
,
Griffiths
.
We
ai
n't
as
bad
as
we
sound
.
We
been
readin
'
a
lot
about
you
,
up
dere
in
Bridgeburg
.
We
thought
you
'd
be
along
pretty
soon
now
.
"
And
another
voice
:
"
You
do
n't
want
to
be
too
down
.
It
ai
n't
so
worse
here
.
At
least
de
place
is
all
right
--
a
roof
over
your
head
,
as
dey
say
.
"
And
then
a
laugh
from
somewhere
.
But
Clyde
,
too
horrified
and
sickened
for
words
,
was
sadly
gazing
at
the
walls
and
door
,
then
over
at
the
Chinaman
,
who
,
silent
at
his
door
,
was
once
more
gazing
at
him
.
Horrible
!
Horrible
!
And
they
talked
to
each
other
like
that
,
and
to
a
stranger
among
them
so
familiarly
.
No
thought
for
his
wretchedness
,
his
strangeness
,
his
timidity
--
the
horror
he
must
be
suffering
.
But
why
should
a
murderer
seem
timid
to
any
one
,
perhaps
,
or
miserable
?
Worst
of
all
they
had
been
speculating
HERE
as
to
how
long
it
would
be
before
he
would
be
along
which
meant
that
everything
concerning
him
was
known
here
.
Would
they
nag
--
or
bully
--
or
make
trouble
for
one
unless
one
did
just
as
they
wished
?
If
Sondra
,
or
any
one
of
all
the
people
he
had
known
,
should
see
or
even
dream
of
him
as
he
was
here
now
...
God
!
--
And
his
own
mother
was
coming
to-morrow
.
And
then
an
hour
later
,
now
evening
,
a
tall
,
cadaverous
guard
in
a
more
pleasing
uniform
,
putting
an
iron
tray
with
food
on
it
through
that
hole
in
the
door
.
Food
!
And
for
him
here
.
And
that
sallow
,
rickety
Chinaman
over
the
way
taking
his
.
Whom
had
he
murdered
?
How
?
And
then
the
savage
scraping
of
iron
trays
in
the
various
cells
!
Sounds
that
reminded
him
more
of
hungry
animals
being
fed
than
men
.
And
some
of
these
men
were
actually
talking
as
they
ate
and
scraped
.
It
sickened
him
.
"
Gee
!
It
's
a
wonder
them
guys
in
the
mush
gallery
could
n't
think
of
somepin
else
besides
cold
beans
and
fried
potatoes
and
coffee
.
"
"
The
coffee
tonight
...
oh
,
boy
!
...
Now
in
the
jail
at
Buffalo
--
though
...
"
"
Oh
,
cut
it
out
,
"
came
from
another
corner
.
"
We
've
heard
enough
about
the
jail
at
Buffalo
and
your
swell
chow
.
You
do
n't
show
any
afternoon
tea
appetite
around
here
,
I
notice
.
"
