"Robert A. Heinlein - Starman Jones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

voluntarily stay in the same county with the man. But how about Maw?
His father had told him, when he had known that he was dying, "Take care
of your mother, son." Well, he had done so. He had made a crop every
year--food in the house and a little money, even if things had been close.
When the mule died, he had made do, borrowing McAllister's team and working it
out in labor.
But had Dad meant that he had to take care of his stepmother even if she
remarried? It had never occurred to him to consider it. Dad had told him to
look out for her and he had done so, even though it had put a stop to school
and did not seem to have any end to it.
But she was no longer Mrs. Jones but Mrs. Montgomery. Had Dad meant for
him to support Mrs. Montgomery?
Of course not! When a woman married, her husband supported her.
Everybody knew that. And Dad wouldn't expect him to put up with Montgomery. He
stood up, his mind suddenly made up.
The only question was what to take with him.
There was little to take. Groping in the dark he found the rucksack he
used for hunting hikes and stuffed into it his other shirt and his socks. He
added Uncle Chet's circular astrogation slide rule and the piece of volcanic
glass his uncle had brought back for him from the Moon. His citizen's
identification card, his toothbrush, and his father's razor--not that he
needed _that_ very often--about completed the plunder.
There was a loose board back of his cot. He felt for it, pulled it out
and groped between the studs--found nothing. He had been hiding a little money
from time to time against a rainy day, as Maw couldn't or wouldn't save. But
apparently she had found it on one of her snooping tours. Well, he still had
to leave; it just made it a little more difficult.
He took a deep breath. There was something he _must_ get . . . Uncle
Chet's books . . . and they were still (presumably) on the shelf against the
wall common with the bedroom. But he _had_ to get them, even at the risk of
meeting Montgomery.
Cautiously, most slowly, he opened the door into the living room, stood
there with sweat pouring down him. There was still a crack of light under the
bedroom door and he hesitated, almost unable to force himself to go on. He
heard Montgomery muttering something and Maw giggle.
As his eyes adjusted he could see by the faint light leaking out under
the bedroom door something piled at the outer door. It was a deadfall alarm of
pots and pans, sure to make a dreadful clatter if the door were opened.
Apparently Montgomery had counted on him coming back and expected to be ready
to take care of him. He was very glad that he had sneaked in the window.
No use putting it off--he crept across the floor, mindful of the squeaky
board near the table. He could not see but he could feel and the volumes were
known to his fingers. Carefully he slid them out, being sure not to knock over
the others.
He was all the way back to his own door when he remembered the library
book. He stopped in sudden panic.
He couldn't go back. They might hear him this time--or Montgomery might
get up for a drink of water or something.
But in his limited horizon, the theft of a public library book--or
failure to return it, which was the same thing--was, if not a mortal sin, at