A bad road is usually one on which a short time previously one or several trainmen have been killed by tramps. Heaven pity the tramp who is caught «underneath» on such a road – for caught he is, though the train be going sixty miles an hour.
The «shack» (brakeman) takes a coupling-pin and a length of bell-cord to the platform in front of the truck in which the tramp is riding. The shack fastens the coupling-pin to the bell-cord, drops the former down between the platforms, and pays out the latter. The coupling-pin strikes the ties between the rails, rebounds against the bottom of the car, and again strikes the ties.
The shack plays it back and forth, now to this side, now to the other, lets it out a bit and hauls it in a bit, giving his weapon opportunity for every variety of impact and rebound. Every blow of that flying coupling-pin is freighted with death, and at sixty miles an hour it beats a veritable tattoo of death.
The next day the remains of that tramp are gathered up along the right of way, and a line in the local paper mentions the unknown man, undoubtedly a tramp, assumably drunk, who had probably fallen asleep on the track.
As a characteristic illustration of how a capable hobo can hold her down, I am minded to give the following experience. I was in Ottawa, bound west over the Canadian Pacific. Three thousand miles of that road stretched before me; it was the fall of the year, and I had to cross Manitoba and the Rocky Mountains. I could expect «crimpy» weather, and every moment of delay increased the frigid hardships of the journey. Furthermore, I was disgusted.
The distance between Montreal and Ottawa is one hundred and twenty miles. I ought to know, for I had just come over it and it had taken me six days. By mistake I had missed the main line and come over a small «jerk» with only two locals a day on it. And during these six days I had lived on dry crusts, and not enough of them, begged from the French peasants.
Furthermore, my disgust had been heightened by the one day I had spent in Ottawa trying to get an outfit of clothing for my long journey. Let me put it on record right here that Ottawa, with one exception, is the hardest town in the United States and Canada to beg clothes in; the one exception is Washington, D.C. The latter fair city is the limit. I spent two weeks there trying to beg a pair of shoes, and then had to go on to Jersey City before I got them.
But to return to Ottawa. At eight sharp in the morning I started out after clothes. I worked energetically all day. I swear I walked forty miles. I interviewed the housewives of a thousand homes. I did not even knock off work for dinner. And at six in the afternoon, after ten hours of unremitting and depressing toil, I was still shy one shirt, while the pair of trousers I had managed to acquire was tight and, moreover, was showing all the signs of an early disintegration.
At six I quit work and headed for the railroad yards, expecting to pick up something to eat on the way. But my hard luck was still with me. I was refused food at house after house. Then I got a «hand-out.» My spirits soared, for it was the largest hand-out I had ever seen in a long and varied experience. It was a parcel wrapped in newspapers and as big as a mature suit-case.
I hurried to a vacant lot and opened it. First, I saw cake, then more cake, all kinds and makes of cake, and then some. It was all cake. No bread and butter with thick firm slices of meat between – nothing but cake; and I who of all things abhorred cake most! In another age and clime they sat down by the waters of Babylon and wept. And in a vacant lot in Canada’s proud capital, I, too, sat down and wept… over a mountain of cake.
As one looks upon the face of his dead son, so looked I upon that multitudinous pastry. I suppose I was an ungrateful tramp, for I refused to partake of the bounteousness of the house that had had a party the night before. Evidently the guests hadn’t liked cake either.
That cake marked the crisis in my fortunes. Than it nothing could be worse; therefore things must begin to mend. And they did. At the very next house I was given a «set-down.» Now a «set-down» is the height of bliss. One is taken inside, very often is given a chance to wash, and is then «set-down» at a table.
Часть 2 (820 слов, идиом и американизмов)
Упражнение 1
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Но ведь (now) зайти посидеть (a «set-down») это вершина блаженства (be..* the height of bliss/ am, is, are). Тому, кого (one) приглашают в дом (be..* taken inside/ am, is, are), зачастую (very often) предоставляют возможность (be..* given a chance) помыться (to wash), ну а потом (and be..* then/ is) посидеть («set-down») за столом (at a table). Бродяги (tramps) любят (love) вытянуть ноги (to throw their legs) под столом (under a table) / посидеть за столом.
Дом (the house) был большим (be..* was large/ was, were) и уютным (and comfortable), в центре (in the midst) большой усадьбы (of spacious grounds) и с ухоженными деревьями (and fine trees), и находился в удалении (and sat well back) от улицы (from the street). Его обитатели (they) только что поели (just finish.. eating), а (and) меня провели (I be..* taken/ was, were) прямо в столовую (right into the dining room) – что уже само по себе (in itself) невероятное событие (a most unusual happening),
ибо (for) бродяга (the tramp) которому (who) посчастливилось (be..* lucky enough/ am, is, are) выиграть (to win) шанс зайти посидеть (a set-down), обычно столуется и получает подарки (usually receive.. it) на кухне (in the kitchen). Седеющий (a grizzled) и грациозный англичанин (and gracious Englishman), его матрона-жена (his matronly wife), и (and) красивая (a beautiful) молодая француженка (young Frenchwoman) разговаривали со мной (talk.. with me/ Past Simple) пока я ел (while I eat..*/ ate/ eaten// Past Simple).
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