"Lester Del Rey - The Pipes of Pan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Del Rey Lester)

"Social Security Number?"

"Eh?" He had been hearing that asked of the applicants, but it still meant nothing to him. "I don't have
one."

"Sorry." She nodded. "Naturally you wouldn't, as a farmhand. You'll have to have a card, though. Get
that as soon as you find work."

Finally it was done, and he was sent into a cubbyhole where a man asked more questions and made
marks on a piece of paper. Some of his answers were true; Hermes was his father, at least. Even that
questioning came to a final end that left him sweating and cursing the underclothes that itched again in
the hot room. The man leaned back and surveyed him.

"We haven't much of a job for you, Mr. Faunus. As a matter of fact, you'd probably do much better in
the country where you came from. But"—he searched through his records—"this call just came in for an
office boy, and they want someone of your age, for some reason. It pays only $12.50 a week, but they
didn't mention experience. Want to try it?"

Pan nodded emphatically and blessed the luck that had opened the job at precisely the right moment;
he'd seen enough others turned away to know how small his chances were. He wasted no time in taking
the little address slip and tracking the job to its lair.

Late afternoon found him less enthusiastic about the work. The air in the office was thick and stuffy, and
there was an incessant thudding from the typewriters, jarring of the comptometer, and the general buzz
that men think necessary to business. He leaned over on the table, taking some of the ache from his tired
feet and cursing the endless piles of envelopes that needed sealing and stamping.

This was work for a fool or one of the machines men were so proud of. Pick up an envelope, draw one
finger under the flap to lift it, roll the flap over the wet roller, and close it with the other hand as it came
off. Lift, roll, seal, lift, roll, seal. No wonder men shut themselves in tight houses, away from the good,

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clean winds and light of the sun; they were ashamed of what served for life among them, and with good
reason.

But if it had to be done, he was willing to try. At first, the exultation of getting the work had served to
keep his mind from it. Lying and deceit were not his specialty, and only a driving urge to adapt himself
had made him use them to the extent that had been necessary. Now the men had put him on work that
shriveled the mind, and did the muscles no good.

The old office boy came up to inspect his work, and Pan understood, looking at him, why the manager
no longer wanted boys. The kid didn't know as yet that his job was being taken over, but thought he was
in line for promotion, and was cocky enough for two. He seized the envelope rudely and ran it over the
roller with a flourish.

"Awful dumb help they're sending out these days," he told the air. "Now I told you these had to go out
tonight, and I find you loafing. Keep moving. You don't catch me laying down on the job. Ain't you
never had work before?"