Марсианские хроники

           Grandpaturnedhisheadawayandshutuphismouth.

           "Holdonthere!"SamuelTeeceleapedofftheporch.HereachedupandseizedthereinsofahorseriddenbyatallNegroman."You,Belter,comedownoffthere!"

           "Yes,sir."Beltersliddown.

           Teecelookedhimover."Now,justwhatyouthinkyou’redoin’?"

           "Well,Mr.Teece…"

           "Ireckonyouthinkyou’regoin’,justlikethatsong—what’sthewords?«Wayupinthemiddleoftheair»;ain’tthatit?"

           "Yes,sir."TheNegrowaited.

           "Yourecollectyouowemefiftydollars,Belter?"

           "Yes,sir."

           "Youtryin’tosneakout?ByGod,I’llhorsewhipyou!"

           "Alltheexcitement,anditslippedmymind,sir."

           "Itslippedhismind."Teecegaveaviciouswinkathismenonthehardwareporch."Goddamn,mister,youknowwhatyou’regoin’todo?"

           "No,sir."

           "You’restayin’heretoworkoutthatfiftybucks,ormynameain’tSamuelW.Teece."Heturnedagaintosmileconfidentlyatthemenintheshade.

           Belterlookedattherivergoingalongthestreet,thatdarkriverflowingandflowingbetweentheshops,thedarkriveronwheelsandhorsesandindustyshoes,thedarkriverfromwhichhehadbeensnatchedonhisjourney.Hebegantoshiver."Letmego,Mr.Teece.I’llsendyourmoneyfromupthere,Ipromise!"

           "Listen,Belter."Teecegraspedtheman’ssuspendersliketwoharpstrings,playingthemnowandagain,contemptuously,snortingatthesky,pointingonebonyfingerstraightatGod.