|в порыве жертвенности|. His face was getting more lined |появлялось больше морщин| each year, but his little black necktie was in as jaunty a bow as ever |так же элегантен|, and the linen |буквально – белье, здесь же имеется в виду сорочка| was beautiful and white, and his gray mustache was curled carefully at the ends. And then Stuffy made a noise that sounded like peas bubbling in a pot. Speech was intended; and as the Old Gentleman had heard the sounds nine times before, he rightly construed |истолковал| them into Stuffy’s old formula of acceptance.

“Thankee, sir. I’ll go with ye, and much obliged. I’m very hungry, sir.”

The coma of repletion had not prevented from entering Stuffy’s mind the conviction that he was the basis of an Institution |Прострация от переедания, не помешала… он является участником создания традиции|. His Thanksgiving appetite was not his own |ему не принадлежал|; it belonged by all the sacred rights of established custom, if not, by the actual Statute of Limitations |по официальному своду законов|, to this |его аппетит принадлежал…| kind old gentleman who bad preempted it |который первый заявил права нанего|. True, America is free; but in order to establish tradition some one must be a repetend —a repeating decimal |повторяющейсяцифройвпериодическойдроби|. The heroes are not all heroes of steel and gold. See one here that wielded |владеют| only weapons of iron, badly silvered, and tin |изплохопосеребренногожелезаиолова|.

The Old Gentleman led |вёл| his annual protege southward to the restaurant, and to the table where the feast had always occurred. They were recognized |Их узнали|.

“Here comes de |манера произносить артикль the| old guy,” said a waiter, “dat |that| blows dat same bum |бродягу| to a meal every Thanksgiving.”

The Old Gentleman sat across the table glowing like a smoked pearl at his corner-stone of future ancient Tradition |в сторону краеугольного камня – Стаффи – будущей древней традиции|. The waiters heaped |завалили| the table with holiday food – and Stuffy, with a sigh that was mistaken |со вздохом, который был ошибочно принят за…| for hunger’s expression, raised knife and fork and carved for himself a crown of imperishable bay |идиома. Русский аналог – ринулся в бой стяжать себе бессмертные лавры|.

No more valiant hero ever fought his way through the ranks |сквозь ряды| of an enemy. Turkey, chops, soups, vegetables, pies, disappeared before him as fast as they could be served. Gorged nearly to the uttermost |сытый по горло| when he entered the restaurant, the smell of food had almost caused him to lose his honor as a gentleman, but he rallied |поборол слабость| like a true knight. He saw the look of beneficent happiness on the Old Gentleman’s face – a happier look than even the fuchsias and the ornithoptera amphrisius had ever brought to it – and he had not the heart |не осмелился| to see it wane |ослабнуть|.

In an hour Stuffy leaned back |откинулся| with a battle won. “Thankee kindly, sir,” he puffed like a leaky steam pipe |пропыхтел он как дырявая паровая труба|; “thankee kindly for a hearty meal.” Then he arose heavily with glazed eyes and started toward the kitchen. A waiter turned him about like a top |крутанул его как волчок|, and pointed him toward the door. The Old Gentleman carefully counted out $1.30 in silver change, leaving three nickels |a nickel – это 5 центов| for the waiter.

They parted |расстались| as they did each year at the door, the Old Gentleman going south, Stuffy north.

Around the first corner Stuffy turned, and stood for one minute. Then