"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 319 - Murder on Main Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

This was a ritual. Like walking on all the cracks in the cement on the street. If he didn't do this, then
something awful would happen like being left back and having the same teacher next term.

Holding the handkerchief, he walked to the bronze tablet on which was inscribed a message that already
was little read. It said, 'Honor Roll.' That was way up on top, far over Bobby's head. Under this was a
list of names. At the bottom of the tablet it said, and Bobby could recite it better than the Gettysburg
address, "These are the honored dead, who, leaving the peaceful and fruitful pursuits of our town, gave
up their lives in foreign climes that freedom might not die."

The names were listed alphabetically and Bobby sometimes wished they weren't, for it meant that he had
to reach way over his head to polish his friend's name.

Bobby crumpled his handkerchief in his hand preparatory to rubbing his friend's name. That Tommy
Archer, what a swell guy! Not like some of the other big guys that gave you a push and told you to stop
hanging around. Nah... Tommy had always taken time out to talk to him.

Bobby sighed and looked up over his head. The name was gone.

Looking at it for a moment, the thought didn't strike home. Bobby was only ten and at ten the very
foundations of your world don't rock under your feet... not often, anyway. It had been bad enough when
the report came that Tommy was dead... but this...

The name was gone. Scars, bright in the sun, were all that remained of the name of Thomas Archer...
'who gave his life that freedom might not die.'

The marks of the chisel were deep.

If Bobby had been a little kid of... say nine, he might have cried, but he was all grown up now. Last year
he had cried... but men don't cry. Of course, it might have been saliva from the handkerchief that he
wiped across his eyes that left a glint on his cheeks. He snuffled, but then, he could have had a head cold.


Then he ran. He ran as if all the fears of adulthood had been made manifest in one awful jolt. He ran and
he ran as though he were trying to escape his destiny.

He ran so hard that he landed right in the center of three men. He bounced back and would have run on
if one of the men hadn't grabbed him.

The man said, "Bobby! What's wrong? You hurt?"

Bobby looked up. He wouldn't have said anything, he would have pulled free and run on if it hadn't been
young Sheriff Tennan who held him.

The sheriff was nice. Almost as nice as Tommy had been. Besides, the sheriff had been to war, too. He'd
know what to do about all this.

"The monument." Let it be stated that when Bobby spoke, he did not cry. The tears on his cheeks were
drying and somehow he had snuffled enough so that his voice was clear. "Somebody went and... and..."
He pointed at the memorial.