"Robert F. Young - Thirty Days Had September" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

It was several weeks before Danby felt whole enough to go down to Friendly Fred's
for a beer. Laura had begun speaking to him by then, and the world, while not quite
the same as it had once been, had at least taken on some of the aspects of its former
self. He backed the Baby B. out of the drivette and drove down the street and into
the multicolored boulevard traffic. It was a clear June night and the stars were crystal
pinpoints high above the fluorescent fire of the city. The hot dog stand on the corner
was finished now, and open for business. Several customers were standing at the
gleaming chrome counter and a waitress was turning sizzling wieners over a chrome
charcoal brazier. There was something familiar about her gay rainfall of a dress,
about the way she moved; about the way the gentle sunrise of her hair framed her
gentle face— Her new owner was leaning on the counter some distance away,
chatting with a customer.
There was a tightness in Danby's chest as he parked the Baby B. and got out and
walked across the concrete apron to the counter-a tightness in his chest and a steady
throbbing in his temples. There were some things you couldn't permit to happen
without at least trying to stop them, no matter what the price for trying to stop them
involved.
 He had reached the section of the counter where the owner was standing, and he
was about to lean across the polished chrome and slap the smug fat face, when he
saw the little cardboard sign propped against the chrome mustard jar, the sign that
said, MAN WANTED …
A hot-dog stand was a long way from being a September classroom, and a
schoolteacher dispensing hot-dogs could never quite compare to a schoolteacher
dispensing dreams; but if you wanted something badly enough, you took whatever
you could get of it, and were thankful for even that …
"I could only work nights," Danby said to the owner. "Say from six to twelve—"
"Why, that would be fine," the owner said. "I'm afraid I won't be able to pay you
much at first, though. You see, I'm just starting out and—"
"Never mind that," Danby said. "When do I start?"
"Why, the sooner the better."
Danby walked around to where a section of the counter raised up on hidden
hinges and he stepped into the stand proper and took off his coat. If Laura didn't
like the idea, she could go to hell, but he knew it would be all right because the
additional money he'd be making would make her dream—the Cadillette one—come
true.
He donned the apron the owner handed him and joined Miss Jones in front of the
charcoal brazier. "Good evening, Miss Jones," he said. She turned her head and the
blue eyes seemed to light up and her hair was like the sun coming up on a hazy
September morning. "Good evening, sir," she said, and a September wind sprang up
in the June night and blew through the stand and it was like going back to school
again after an endless empty summer.

Author Biography and Bibliography
Robert F. Young (l9l5-l985) lived his entire life in New York State, except for the three and
a half years he served in the Pacific during World War II. He and his wife owned a house on
Lake Erie. His career spanned more than thirty years, and he was writing fiction even on the
day he died. According to the Locus obituary, Young was a high-school janitor in the Buffalo
system for decades.
He published about one hundred short stories in a wide variety of magazines, including The