Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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This didn’t seem to require any answer.

“When I heard Carhart was back of this,” he continued, “I gave up.”

“Mr. Carhart is—” began Samuel, but McIntyre waved him silent.

“Don’t talk about the dirty sneak-thief!”

“Mr. McIntyre,” said Samuel briskly, “if this half-hour is to be devoted to that sort of talk——”

“Oh, dry up, young man,” McIntyre interrupted, “you can’t abuse a man who’d do a thing like this.”

Samuel made no answer.

“It’s simply a dirty filch. There just are skunks like him too big to handle.”

“You’re being paid liberally,” offered Samuel.

“Shut up!” roared McIntyre suddenly. “I want the privilege of talking.” He walked to the door and looked out across the land, the sunny, steaming pasturage that began almost at his feet and ended with the gray-green of the distant mountains. When he turned around his mouth was trembling.

“Do you fellows love Wall Street?” he said hoarsely, “or wherever you do your dirty scheming—” He paused. “I suppose you do. No critter gets so low that he doesn’t sort of love the place he’s worked, where he’s sweated out the best he’s had in him.”