Мартин Иден

Chapter 16

           "Ican’tunderstand,"hemurmured. "Ormaybeit’stheeditorswhocan’tunderstand. There’snothingwrongwiththat. Theypublishworseeverymonth. Everythingtheypublishisworsenearlyeverything,anyway." 

           Afterbreakfastheputthetype-writerinitscaseandcarrieditdownintoOakland. 

           "Ioweamonthonit,"hetoldtheclerkinthestore. "ButyoutellthemanagerI’mgoingtoworkandthatI’llbeininamonthorsoandstraightenup." 

           HecrossedontheferrytoSanFranciscoandmadehiswaytoanemploymentoffice. "Anykindofwork,notrade,"hetoldtheagent;andwasinterruptedbyanew-comer,dressedratherfoppishly,assomeworkingmendresswhohaveinstinctsforfinerthings. Theagentshookhisheaddespondently. 

           "Nothin’doin’eh?"saidtheother. "Well,Igottogetsomebodyto-day." 

           HeturnedandstaredatMartin,andMartin,staringback,notedthepuffedanddiscoloredface,handsomeandweak,andknewthathehadbeenmakinganightofit. 

           "Lookin’forajob?"theotherqueried. "Whatcanyoudo?" 

           "Hardlabor,sailorizing,runatype-writer,noshorthand,cansitonahorse,willingtodoanythingandtackleanything,"wastheanswer. 

           Theothernodded. 

           "Soundsgoodtome. Myname’sDawson,JoeDawson,an’I’mtryin’toscareupalaundryman." 

           "Toomuchforme." Martincaughtanamusingglimpseofhimselfironingfluffywhitethingsthatwomenwear. Buthehadtakenalikingtotheother,andheadded:"Imightdotheplainwashing. Ilearnedthatmuchatsea." JoeDawsonthoughtvisiblyforamoment. 

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