"Шервуд Андерсен. Сын Винди МакФерсон (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

astonished at the folly of these other men in accepting his statement and
handing over the important place for the big day. He knew that his father
must have had some part in the war as he was a member of the G. A. R., but
he had no faith at all in the stories he had heard him relate of his
experiences in the war. Sometimes he caught himself wondering if there
ever had been such a war and thought that it must be a lie like everything
else in the life of Windy McPherson. For years he had wondered why some
sensible solid person like Valmore or Wildman did not rise, and in a
matter-of-fact way tell the world that no such thing as the Civil War had
ever been fought, that it was merely a figment in the minds of pompous old
men demanding unearned glory of their fellows. Now hurrying along the
street with burning cheeks, he decided that after all there must have been
such a war. He had had the same feeling about birthplaces and there could
be no doubt that people were born. He had heard his father claim as his
birthplace Kentucky, Texas, North Carolina, Louisiana and Scotland. The
thing had left a kind of defect in his mind. To the end of his life when
he heard a man tell the place of his birth he looked up suspiciously, and
a shadow of doubt crossed his mind.

From the mass meeting Sam went home to his mother and presented the case
bluntly. "The thing will have to be stopped," he declared, standing with
blazing eyes before her washtub. "It is too public. He can't blow a bugle;
I know he can't. The whole town will have another laugh at our expense."

Jane McPherson listened in silence to the boy's outburst, then, turning,
went back to rubbing clothes, avoiding his eyes.

With his hands thrust into his trousers pocket Sam stared sullenly at the
ground. A sense of justice told him not to press the matter, but as he
walked away from the washtub and out at the kitchen door, he hoped there
would be plain talk of the matter at supper time. "The old fool!" he
protested, addressing the empty street. "He is going to make a show of
himself again."

When Windy McPherson came home that evening, something in the eyes of the
silent wife, and the sullen face of the boy, startled him. He passed over
lightly his wife's silence but looked closely at his son. He felt that he
faced a crisis. In the emergency he was magnificent. With a flourish, he
told of the mass meeting, and declared that the citizens of Caxton had
arisen as one man to demand that he take the responsible place as official
bugler. Then, turning, he glared across the table at his son.

Sam, openly defiant, announced that he did not believe his father capable
of blowing a bugle.

Windy roared with amazement. He rose from the table declaring in a loud
voice that the boy had wronged him; he swore that he had been for two
years bugler on the staff of a colonel, and launched into a long story of
a surprise by the enemy while his regiment lay asleep in their tents, and
of his standing in the face of a storm of bullets and blowing his comrades