Марсианские хроники

           "Igiveyoumyhorse,sir."

           "Horseain’tlegaltender.Youdon’tmoveuntilIgetmymoney."Teecelaughedinside.Hefeltverywarmandgood.

           Asmallcrowdofdarkpeoplehadgatheredtohearallthis.NowasBelterstood,headdown,trembling,anoldmansteppedforward.

           "Mister?"

           Teeceflashedhimaquicklook."Well?"

           "Howmuchthismanoweyou,mister?"

           "Noneofyourdamnbusiness!"

           TheoldmanlookedatBelter."Howmuch,son?"

           "Fiftydollars."

           Theoldmanputouthisblackhandsatthepeoplearoundhim,"There’stwenty-fiveofyou.Eachgivetwodollars;quicknow,thisnotimeforargument."

           "Here,now!"criedTeece,stiffeningup,tall,tall.

           Themoneyappeared.TheoldmanfingereditintohishatandgavethehattoBelter."Son,"hesaid,"youain’tmissin’norocket."

           Beltersmiledintothehat."No,sir,IguessIain’t!"

           Teeceshouted:"Yougivethatmoneybacktothem!"

           Belterbowedrespectfully,handingthemoneyover,andwhenTeecewouldnottouchithesetitdowninthedustatTeece’sfeet."There’syourmoney,sir,"hesaid."Thankyoukindly."Smiling,hegainedthesaddleofhishorseandwhippedhishorsealong,thankingtheoldman,whorodewithhimnowuntiltheywereoutofsightandhearing.

           "Sonofabitch,"whisperedTeece,staringblindatthesun."Sonofabitch."

           "Pickupthemoney,Samuel,"saidsomeonefromtheporch.

           Itwashappeningallalongtheway.Littlewhiteboys,barefoot,dashedupwiththenews.