The God of His Fathers: Tales of the Klondyke

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Джек Лондон. The God of His Fathers: Tales of the Klondyke

THE GOD OF HIS FATHERS

THE GREAT INTERROGATION

WHICH MAKE MEN REMEMBER

SIWASH

THE MAN WITH THE GASH

JAN, THE UNREPENTANT

GRIT OF WOMEN

WHERE THE TRAIL FORKS

A DAUGHTER OF THE AURORA

AT THE RAINBOW’S END

THE SCORN OF WOMEN

Отрывок из книги

To say the least, Mrs. Sayther’s career in Dawson was meteoric. She arrived in the spring, with dog sleds and French-Canadian voyageurs, blazed gloriously for a brief month, and departed up the river as soon as it was free of ice. Now womanless Dawson never quite understood this hurried departure, and the local Four Hundred felt aggrieved and lonely till the Nome strike was made and old sensations gave way to new. For it had delighted in Mrs. Sayther, and received her wide-armed. She was pretty, charming, and, moreover, a widow. And because of this she at once had at heel any number of Eldorado Kings, officials, and adventuring younger sons, whose ears were yearning for the frou-frou of a woman’s skirts.

The mining engineers revered the memory of her husband, the late Colonel Sayther, while the syndicate and promoter representatives spoke awesomely of his deals and manipulations; for he was known down in the States as a great mining man, and as even a greater one in London. Why his widow, of all women, should have come into the country, was the great interrogation. But they were a practical breed, the men of the Northland, with a wholesome disregard for theories and a firm grip on facts. And to not a few of them Karen Sayther was a most essential fact. That she did not regard the matter in this light, is evidenced by the neatness and celerity with which refusal and proposal tallied off during her four weeks’ stay. And with her vanished the fact, and only the interrogation remained.

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“Yes, you promised, but as I neither asked nor answered, it was unratified. So I do not know of any such promise. But I do know of another, which you, too, may remember. It was very long ago.” He dropped the axe-handle to the floor and raised his head. “It was so very long ago, yet I remember it distinctly, the day, the time, every detail. We were in a rose garden, you and I, – your mother’s rose garden. All things were budding, blossoming, and the sap of spring was in our blood. And I drew you over – it was the first – and kissed you full on the lips. Don’t you remember?”

“Don’t go over it, Dave, don’t! I know every shameful line of it. How often have I wept! If you only knew how I have suffered – ”

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