"Шервуд Андерсен. Сын Винди МакФерсон (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

from a gold chain, and a cane lightly swinging from his hand, he made a
figure that might have passed unnoticed on the promenade before some
fashionable summer hotel, but that seemed a breach of the laws of nature
when seen on the streets of a corn-shipping town in Iowa. And Telfer was
aware of the extraordinary figure he cut; it was a part of his programme
of life. Now as Sam approached he laid a hand on Freedom Smith's shoulder
to check the song, and, with his eyes twinkling with good-humour, began
thrusting with his cane at the boy's feet.

"He will never be ruler of the queen's navee," he declared, laughing and
following the dancing boy about in a wide circle. "He is a little mole
that works underground intent upon worms. The trick he has of tilting up
his nose is only his way of smelling out stray pennies. I have it from
Banker Walker that he brings a basket of them into the bank every day. One
of these days he will buy the town and put it into his vest pocket."

Circling about on the stone sidewalk and dancing to escape the flying
cane, Sam dodged under the arm of Valmore, a huge old blacksmith with
shaggy clumps of hair on the back of his hands, and sought refuge between
him and Freedom Smith. The blacksmith's hand stole out and lay upon the
boy's shoulder. Telfer, his legs spread apart and the cane hooked upon his
arm, began rolling a cigarette; Geiger, a yellow skinned man with fat
cheeks and with hands clasped over his round paunch, smoked a black cigar,
and as he sent each puff into the air, grunted forth his satisfaction with
life. He was wishing that Telfer, Freedom Smith, and Valmore, instead of
moving on to their nightly nest at the back of Wildman's grocery, would
come into his place for the evening. He thought he would like to have the
three of them there night after night discussing the doings of the world.

Quiet once more settled down upon the sleepy street. Over Sam's shoulder,
Valmore and Freedom Smith talked of the coming corn crop and the growth
and prosperity of the country.

"Times are getting better about here, but the wild things are almost
gone," said Freedom, who in the winter bought hides and pelts.

The men sitting on the stone beneath the window watched with idle interest
Telfer's labours with paper and tobacco. "Young Henry Kerns has got
married," observed one of them, striving to make talk. "He has married a
girl from over Parkertown way. She gives lessons in painting--china
painting--kind of an artist, you know."

An ejaculation of disgust broke from Telfer: his fingers trembled and the
tobacco that was to have been the foundation of his evening smoke rained
on the sidewalk.

"An artist!" he exclaimed, his voice tense with excitement. "Who said
artist? Who called her that?" He glared fiercely about. "Let us have an
end to this blatant misuse of fine old words. To say of one that he is an
artist is to touch the peak of praise."