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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Сестра Керри
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- Стр. 438/524
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Hurstwood
,
warmed
and
excited
,
gazed
steadily
ahead
.
It
was
an
astonishing
experience
for
him
.
He
had
read
of
these
things
,
but
the
reality
seemed
something
altogether
new
.
He
was
no
coward
in
spirit
.
The
fact
that
he
had
suffered
this
much
now
rather
operated
to
arouse
a
stolid
determination
to
stick
it
out
.
He
did
not
recur
in
thought
to
New
York
or
the
flat
.
This
one
trip
seemed
a
consuming
thing
.
They
now
ran
into
the
business
heart
of
Brooklyn
uninterrupted
.
People
gazed
at
the
broken
windows
of
the
car
and
at
Hurstwood
in
his
plain
clothes
.
Voices
called
“
scab
”
now
and
then
,
as
well
as
other
epithets
,
but
no
crowd
attacked
the
car
.
At
the
downtown
end
of
the
line
,
one
of
the
officers
went
to
call
up
his
station
and
report
the
trouble
.
“
There
’
s
a
gang
out
there
,
”
he
said
,
“
laying
for
us
yet
.
Better
send
some
one
over
there
and
clean
them
out
.
”
The
car
ran
back
more
quietly
—
hooted
,
watched
,
flung
at
,
but
not
attacked
.
Hurstwood
breathed
freely
when
he
saw
the
barns
.
“
Well
,
”
he
observed
to
himself
,
“
I
came
out
of
that
all
right
.
”
The
car
was
turned
in
and
he
was
allowed
to
loaf
a
while
,
but
later
he
was
again
called
.
This
time
a
new
team
of
officers
was
aboard
.
Slightly
more
confident
,
he
sped
the
car
along
the
commonplace
streets
and
felt
somewhat
less
fearful
.
On
one
side
,
however
,
he
suffered
intensely
.
The
day
was
raw
,
with
a
sprinkling
of
snow
and
a
gusty
wind
,
made
all
the
more
intolerable
by
the
speed
of
the
car
.
His
clothing
was
not
intended
for
this
sort
of
work
.
He
shivered
,
stamped
his
feet
,
and
beat
his
arms
as
he
had
seen
other
motormen
do
in
the
past
,
but
said
nothing
.
The
novelty
and
danger
of
the
situation
modified
in
a
way
his
disgust
and
distress
at
being
compelled
to
be
here
,
but
not
enough
to
prevent
him
from
feeling
grim
and
sour
.
This
was
a
dog
’
s
life
,
he
thought
.
It
was
a
tough
thing
to
have
to
come
to
.
The
one
thought
that
strengthened
him
was
the
insult
offered
by
Carrie
.
He
was
not
down
so
low
as
to
take
all
that
,
he
thought
.
He
could
do
something
—
this
,
even
—
for
a
while
.
It
would
get
better
.
He
would
save
a
little
.
A
boy
threw
a
clod
of
mud
while
he
was
thus
reflecting
and
hit
him
upon
the
arm
.
It
hurt
sharply
and
angered
him
more
than
he
had
been
any
time
since
morning
.
“
The
little
cur
!
”
he
muttered
.
“
Hurt
you
?
”
asked
one
of
the
policemen
.
