"Шервуд Андерсен. Белый бедняк (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

England towns and people, and contrasted the life lived there with that
lived by the people of his own place.

Hugh decided not to try to explain away the mistake made by his new
acquaintance, and to accept the offer of assistance in getting the
appointment as telegraph operator.

The two men walked out of the station and stood again in the darkness. The
railroad man felt like one who has been given the privilege of plucking a
human soul out of the darkness of despair. He was full of words that poured
from his lips and he assumed a knowledge of Hugh and his character entirely
unwarranted by the circumstances. "Well," he exclaimed heartily, "you see
I've given you a send-off. I have told them you're a good man and a good
operator, but that you will take the place with its small salary because
you've been sick and just now can't work very hard." The excited man
followed Hugh along the street. It was late and the store lights had been
put out. From one of the town's two saloons that lay in their way arose a
clatter of voices. The old boyhood dream of finding a place and a people
among whom he could, by sitting still and inhaling the air breathed by
others, come into a warm closeness with life, came back to Hugh. He stopped
before the saloon to listen to the voices within, but the railroad man
plucked at his coat sleeve and protested. "Now, now, you're going to cut it
out, eh?" he asked anxiously and then hurriedly explained his anxiety. "Of
course I know what's the matter with you. Didn't I tell you I've been there
myself? You've been working around. I know why that is. You don't have to
tell me. If there wasn't something the matter with him, no man who knows
telegraphy would work in a sawmill.

"Well, there's no good talking about it," he added thoughtfully. "I've
given you a send-off. You're going to cut it out, eh?"

Hugh tried to protest and to explain that he was not addicted to the habit
of drinking, but the Ohio man would not listen. "It's all right," he said
again, and then they came to the hotel where Hugh lived and he turned to
go back to the station and wait for the midnight train that would carry
the letter away and that would, he felt, carry also his demand that a
fellow-human, who had slipped from the modern path of work and progress
should be given a new chance. He felt magnanimous and wonderfully gracious.
"It's all right, my boy," he said heartily. "No use talking to me. To-night
when you came to the station to ask the fare to that hole of a place in
Michigan I saw you were embarrassed. 'What's the matter with that fellow?'
I said to myself. I got to thinking. Then I came up town with you and right
away you bought me a drink. I wouldn't have thought anything about that if
I hadn't been there myself. You'll get on your feet. Bidwell, Ohio, is full
of good men. You get in with them and they'll help you and stick by you.
You'll like those people. They've got get-up to them. The place you'll work
at there is far out of town. It's away out about a mile at a little kind of
outside-like place called Pickleville. There used to be a saloon there and
a factory for putting up cucumber pickles, but they've both gone now. You
won't be tempted to slip in that place. You'll have a chance to get on your