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Старик Энтони Рокволл, удалившийся от дел фабрикант и владелец патента на мыло "Эврика", выглянул из окна библиотеки в своем особняке на Пятой авеню и ухмыльнулся. Его сосед справа, аристократ и клубмен Дж. ван Шуйлайт Саффолк-Джонс, садился в ожидавшую его машину, презрительно воротя нос от мыльного палаццо, фасад которого украшала скульптура в стиле итальянского Возрождения.

- Ведь просто старое чучело банкрота, а сколько спеси! - заметил бывший мыльный король. - Берег бы лучше свое здоровье, замороженный Нессельроде, а не то скоро попадет в Эдемский музей. Вот на будущее лето размалюю весь фасад красными, белыми и синими полосами - погляжу тогда, как он сморщит свой голландский нос.

И тут Энтони Рокволл, всю жизнь не одобрявший звонков, подошел к дверям библиотеки и заорал: "Майк!" тем самым голосом, от которого когда-то чуть не лопалось небо над канзасскими прериями.

- Скажите моему сыну, чтоб он зашел ко мне перед уходом из дому, - приказал он явившемуся на зов слуге.

Когда молодой Рокволл вошел в библиотеку, старик отложил газету и, взглянув на него с выражением добродушной суровости на полном и румяном без морщин лице, одной рукой взъерошил свою седую гриву, а другой загремел ключами в кармане.

- Ричард, почем ты платишь за мыло, которым моешься? - спросил Энтони Рокволл.

Ричард, всего полгода назад вернувшийся домой из колледжа, слегка удивился. Он еще не вполне постиг своего папашу, который в любую минуту мог выкинуть что-нибудь неожиданное, словно девица на своем первом балу.

- Кажется, шесть долларов за дюжину, папа.
- А за костюм?
- Обыкновенно долларов шестьдесят.
- Ты джентльмен, - решительно изрек Энтони. - Мне говорили, будто бы молодые аристократы швыряют по двадцать четыре доллара за мыло и больше чем по сотне за костюм. У тебя денег не меньше, чем у любого из них, а ты все-таки держишься того, что умеренно и скромно. Сам я моюсь старой "Эврикой" - не только по привычке, но и потому, что это мыло лучше других. Если ты платишь больше десяти центов за кусок мыла, то лишнее с тебя берут за плохие духи и обертку. А пятьдесят центов вполне прилично для молодого человека твоих лет, твоего положения и состояния. Повторяю, ты - джентльмен. Я слышал, будто нужно три поколения для того, чтобы создать джентльмена. Это раньше так было. А теперь с деньгами оно получается куда легче и скорей. Деньги тебя сделали джентльменом. Да я и сам почти джентльмен, ей-богу! Я ничем не хуже моих соседей - так же вежлив, приятен и любезен, как эти два спесивых голландца справа и слева, которые не могут спать по ночам из-за того, что я купил участок между ними.

- Есть вещи, которых не купишь за деньги, - довольно мрачно заметил молодой Рокволл.
- Нет, ты этого не говори, - возразил обиженный Энтони. - Я всегда стою за деньги Я прочел всю энциклопедию насквозь: все искал чего-нибудь такого, чего нельзя купить за деньги; так на той неделе придется, должно быть, взяться за дополнительные тома. Я за деньги против всего прочего. Ну, скажи мне, чего нельзя купить за деньги?
- Прежде всего, они не могут ввести вас в высший свет, - ответил уязвленный Ричард.
- Ого! Неужто не могут? - прогремел защитник корней зла. - Ты лучше скажи, где был бы весь твой высший свет, если бы у первого из Асторов не хватило денег на проезд в третьем классе?

Ричард вздохнул

- Я вот к чему это говорю, - продолжал старик уже более мягко. - Потому я и попросил тебя зайти. Что-то с тобой неладно, мой мальчик. Вот уже две недели, как я это замечаю. Ну, выкладывай начистоту. Я в двадцать четыре часа могу реализовать одиннадцать миллионов наличными, не считая недвижимости. Если у тебя печень не в порядке, так "Бродяга" стоит под парами у пристани и в два дня доставит тебя на Багамские острова.

- Почти угадали, папа. Это очень близко к истине.
- Ага, так как же ее зовут? - проницательно заметил Энтони.

Ричард начал прохаживаться взад и вперед по библиотеке. Неотесанный старик отец проявил достаточно внимания и сочувствия, чтобы вызвать доверие сына.

- Почему ты не делаешь предложения? - спросил старик-Энтони. - Она будет рада-радехонька. У тебя и деньги и красивая наружность, ты славный малый. Руки у тебя чистые, они не запачканы мылом "Эврика". Правда, ты учился в колледже, но на это она не посмотрит.
- Все случая не было, - вздохнул Ричард.
- Устрой так, чтоб был, - сказал Энтони. - Ступай с ней на прогулку в парк или повези на пикник, а не то проводи ее домой из церкви. Случай! Тьфу!
- Вы не знаете, что такое свет, папа. Она из тех, которые вертят колесо светской мельницы. Каждый час, каждая минута ее времени распределены на много дней вперед. Я не могу жить без этой девушки, папа: без нее этот город ничем не лучше гнилого болота. А написать ей я не могу - просто не в состоянии.
- Ну, вот еще! - сказал старик. - Неужели при тех средствах, которые я тебе даю, ты не можешь добиться, чтобы девушка уделила тебе час-другой времени?
- Я слишком долго откладывал. Послезавтра в полдень она уезжает в Европу и пробудет там два года. Я увижусь с ней завтра вечером на несколько минут. Сейчас она гостит в Ларчмонте у своей тетки. Туда я поехать не могу. Но мне разрешено встретить ее завтра вечером на Центральном вокзале, к поезду восемь тридцать. Мы проедем галопом по Бродвею до театра Уоллока, где ее мать и остальная компания будут ожидать нас в вестибюле. Неужели вы думаете, что она станет выслушивать мое признание в эти шесть минут? Нет, конечно. А какая возможность объясниться в театре или после спектакля? Никакой! Нет, папа, это не так просто, ваши деньги тут не помогут. Ни одной минуты времени нельзя купить за наличные; если б было можно, богачи жили бы дольше других. Нет никакой надежды поговорить с мисс Лэнтри до ее отъезда.

- Ладно, Ричард, мой мальчик, - весело отвечал Энтони. - Ступай теперь в свой клуб. Я очень рад, что это у тебя не печень. Не забывай только время от времени воскурять фимиам на алтаре великого бога Маммона. Ты говоришь, деньги не могут купить времени? Ну, разумеется, нельзя заказать, чтобы вечность завернули тебе в бумажку и доставили на дом за такую-то цену, но я сам видел, какие мозоли на пятках натер себе старик Хронос, гуляя по золотым приискам.

В этот вечер к братцу Энтони, читавшему вечернюю газету, зашла тетя Эллен, кроткая, сентиментальная, старенькая, словно пришибленная богатством, и, вздыхая, завела речь о страданиях влюбленных.

- Все это я от него уже слышал, - зевая, ответил братец Энтони. - Я ему сказал, что мой текущий счет к его услугам. Тогда он начал отрицать пользу денег. Говорит, будто бы деньги ему не помогут. Будто бы светский этикет не спихнуть с места даже целой упряжке миллионеров.

- Ах, Энтони, - вздохнула тетя Эллен. - Напрасно ты придаешь такое значение деньгам. Богатство ничего не значит там, где речь идет об истинной любви. Любовь всесильна. Если б он только объяснился раньше! Она бы не смогла отказать нашему Ричарду. А теперь, я боюсь, уже поздно. У него не будет случая поговорить с ней. Все твое золото не может дать счастья нашему мальчику.

На следующий вечер ровно в восемь часов тетя Эллен достала старинное золотое кольцо из футляра, побитого молью, и вручила его племяннику.

- Надень его сегодня, Ричард, - попросила она. - Твоя мать подарила мне это кольцо и сказала, что оно приносит счастье в любви. Она велела передать его тебе, когда ты найдешь свою суженую.

Молодой Рокволл принял кольцо с благоговением и попробовал надеть его на мизинец. Оно дошло до второго сустава и застряло там. Ричард сиял его и засунул в жилетный карман, по свойственной мужчинам привычке. А потом вызвал по телефону кэб.

В восемь часов тридцать две минуты он выловил мисс Лэнтри из говорливой толпы на вокзале.

- Нам нельзя задерживать маму и остальных, - сказал она.
- К театру Уоллока, как можно скорей! - честно передал кэбмену Ричард.

С Сорок второй улицы они влетели на Бродвей и помчались по звездному пути, ведущему от мягких лугов Запада к скалистым утесам Востока. Не доезжая Тридцать четвертой улицы Ричард быстро поднял окошечко и приказал кэбмену остановиться.

- Я уронил кольцо, - сказал он в извинение. - Оно принадлежало моей матери, и мне было бы жаль его потерять. Я не задержу вас, - я видел, куда оно упало.

Не прошло и минуты, как он вернулся с кольцом. Но за эту минуту перед самым кэбом остановился поперек дороги вагон трамвая. Кэбмен хотел объехать его слева, но тяжелый почтовый фургон загородил ему путь. Он попробовал свернуть вправо, но ему пришлось попятиться назад от подводы с мебелью, которой тут было вовсе не место. Он хотел было повернуть назад - и только выругался, выпустив из рук вожжи. Со всех сторон его окружала невообразимая путаница экипажей и лошадей.
Создалась одна из тех уличных пробок, которые иногда совершенно неожиданно останавливают все движение в этом огромном городе.

- Почему вы не двигаетесь с места? - сердито спросила мисс Лэнтри. - Мы опоздаем.

Ричард встал в кэбе и оглянулся по сторонам. Застывший поток фургонов, подвод, кэбов, автобусов и трамваев заполнял обширное пространство в том месте, где Бродвей перекрещивается с Шестой авеню и Тридцать четвертой улицей, заполнял так тесно, как девушка с талией в двадцать шесть дюймов заполняет двадцатидвухдюймовый пояс. И по всем этим улицам к месту их пересечения с грохотом катились еще экипажи, на полном ходу врезываясь в эту путаницу, цепляясь колесами и усиливая общий шум громкой бранью кучеров. Все движение Манхэттена будто застопорилось вокруг их экипажа. Ни один из нью-йоркских старожилов, стоявших в тысячной толпе на тротуарах, не мог припомнить уличного затора таких размеров.

- Простите, но мы, кажется, застряли, - сказал Ричард, усевшись на место. - Такая пробка и за час не рассосется. И виноват я. Если бы я не выронил кольца...
- Покажите мне ваше кольцо, - сказала мисс Лэнтри. - Теперь уже ничего не поделаешь, так что мне все равно. Да и вообще театр это, по-моему, такая скука.

В одиннадцать часов вечера кто-то легонько постучался в дверь Энтони Рокволла.

- Войдите! - крикнул Энтони, который читал книжку о приключениях пиратов, облачившись в красный бархатный халат.

Это была тетя Эллен, похожая на седовласого ангела, по ошибке забытого на земле.

- Они обручились, Энтони, - кротко сказала тетя. - Она дала слово нашему Ричарду. По дороге в театр они попали в уличную пробку и целых два часа не могли двинуться с места.

И знаешь ли, братец Энтони, никогда больше не хвастайся силой твоих денег. Маленькая эмблема истинной любви, колечко, знаменующее собой бесконечную и бескорыстную преданность, помогло нашему Ричарду завоевать свое счастье. Он уронил кольцо на улице и вышел из кэба, чтобы поднять его. Но не успели они тронуться дальше, как создалась пробка. И вот, пока кэб стоял, Ричард объяснился в любви и добился ее согласия. Деньги просто мусор по сравнению с истинной любовью, Энтони.

- Ну ладно, - ответил старик. - Я очень рад, что наш мальчик добился своего. Говорил же я ему, что никаких денег не пожалею на это дело, если...
- Но чем же тут могли помочь твои деньги, братец Энтони?
- Сестра, - сказал Энтони Рокволл. - У меня пират попал черт знает в какую переделку. Корабль у него только что получил пробоину, а сам он слишком хорошо знает цену деньгам, чтобы дать ему затонуть. Дай ты мне ради бога дочитать главу.

На этом рассказ должен бы кончиться. Автор стремится к концу всей душой, так же как стремится к нему читатель. Но нам надо еще спуститься на дно колодца за истиной.
На следующий день субъект с красными руками и в синем горошчатом галстуке, назвавшийся Келли, явился на дом к Энтони Рокволлу и был немедленно допущен в библиотеку.

- Ну что же, - сказал Энтони, доставая чековую книжку, - неплохо сварили мыло. Посмотрим, - вам было выдано пять тысяч?
- Я приплатил триста долларов своих, - сказал Келли. - Пришлось немножко превысить смету. Фургоны и кэбы я нанимал по пяти долларов; подводы и двуконные упряжки запрашивали по десяти. Шоферы требовали не меньше десяти долларов, а фургоны с грузом и все двадцать. Всего дороже обошлись полицейские - двоим я заплатил по полсотне, а прочим по двадцать и по двадцать пять. А ведь здорово получилось, мистер Рокволл? Я очень рад, что Уильям А. Брэди не видел этой небольшой массовой сценки на колесах; я ему зла не желаю, а беднягу, верно, хватил бы удар от зависти. И ведь без единой репетиции! Ребята были на месте секунда в секунду. И целых два часа ниже памятника Грили даже пальца негде было просунуть.

- Вот вам тысяча триста, Келли, - сказал Энтони, отрывая чек. - Ваша тысяча да те триста, что вы потратили из своих. Вы ведь не презираете денег, Келли?
- Я? - сказал Келли. - Я бы убил того, кто выдумал бедность.

Келли был уже в дверях, когда Энтони окликнул его.

- Вы не заметили там где-нибудь в толпе этакого пухлого мальчишку с луком и стрелами и совсем раздетого? - спросил он.
- Что-то не видал, - ответил озадаченный Келли. - Если он был такой, как вы говорите, так, верно, полиция забрала его еще до меня.
- Я так и думал, что этого озорника на месте не окажется, - ухмыльнулся Энтони. - Всего наилучшего, Келли

Mammon and the Archer -Золото и любовь | Old Anthony Rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor of Rockwall's Eureka Soap, looked out the library window of his Fifth Avenue mansion and grinned. His neighbour to the right–the aristocratic clubman, G. Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones–came out to his waiting motor-car, wrinkling a contumelious nostril, as usual, at the Italian renaissance sculpture of the soap palace's front elevation. "Stuck-up old statuette of nothing doing!" commented the ex-Soap King. "The Eden Musee'll get that old frozen Nesselrode yet if he don't watch out. I'll have this house painted red, white, and blue next summer and see if that'll make his Dutch nose turn up any higher." And then Anthony Rockwall, who never cared for bells, went to the door of his library and shouted "Mike!" in the same voice that had once chipped off pieces of the welkin on the Kansas prairies. "Tell my son," said Anthony to the answering menial, "to come in here before he leaves the house." When young Rockwall entered the library the old man laid aside his newspaper, looked at him with a kindly grimness on his big, smooth, ruddy countenance, rumpled his mop of white hair with one hand and rattled the keys in his pocket with the other. "Richard," said Anthony Rockwail, "what do you pay for the soap that you use?" Richard, only six months home from college, was startled a little. He had not yet taken the measure of this sire of his, who was as full of unexpectednesses as a girl at her first party. "Six dollars a dozen, I think, dad." "And your clothes?" "I suppose about sixty dollars, as a rule." "You're a gentleman," said Anthony, decidedly. "I've heard of these young bloods spending $24 a dozen for soap, and going over the hundred mark for clothes. You've got as much money to waste as any of 'em, and yet you stick to what's decent and moderate. Now I use the old Eureka–not only for sentiment, but it's the purest soap made. Whenever you pay more than 10 cents a cake for soap you buy bad perfumes and labels. But 50 cents is doing very well for a young man in your generation, position and condition. As I said, you're a gentleman. They say it takes three generations to make one. They're off. Money'll do it as slick as soap grease. It's made you one. By hokey! it's almost made one of me. I'm nearly as impolite and disagreeable and ill-mannered as these two old Knickerbocker gents on each side of me that can't sleep of nights because I bought in between 'em." "There are some things that money can't accomplish," remarked young Rockwall, rather gloomily. "Now, don't say that," said old Anthony, shocked. "I bet my money on money every time. I've been through the encyclopaedia down to Y looking for something you can't buy with it; and I expect to have to take up the appendix next week. I'm for money against the field. Tell me something money won't buy." "For one thing," answered Richard, rankling a little, "it won't buy one into the exclusive circles of society." "Oho! won't it?" thundered the champion of the root of evil. "You tell me where your exclusive circles would be if the first Astor hadn't had the money to pay for his steerage passage over?" Richard sighed. "And that's what I was coming to," said the old man, less boisterously. "That's why I asked you to come in. There's something going wrong with you, boy. I've been noticing it for two weeks. Out with it. I guess I could lay my hands on eleven millions within twenty-four hours, besides the real estate. If it's your liver, there's the Rambler down in the bay, coaled, and ready to steam down to the Bahamas in two days." "Not a bad guess, dad; you haven't missed it far." "Ah," said Anthony, keenly; "what's her name?" Richard began to walk up and down the library floor. There was enough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his to draw his confidence. "Why don't you ask her?" demanded old Anthony. "She'll jump at you. You've got the money and the looks, and you're a decent boy. Your hands are clean. You've got no Eureka soap on 'em. You've been to college, but she'll overlook that." "I haven't had a chance," said Richard. "Make one," said Anthony. "Take her for a walk in the park, or a straw ride, or walk home with her from church Chance! Pshaw!" "You don't know the social mill, dad. She's part of the stream that turns it. Every hour and minute of her time is arranged for days in advance. I must have that girl, dad, or this town is a blackjack swamp forevermore. And I can't write it–I can't do that." "Tut!" said the old man. "Do you mean to tell me that with all the money I've got you can't get an hour or two of a girl's time for yourself?" "I've put it off too late. She's going to sail for Europe at noon day after tomorrow for a two years' stay. I'm to see her alone tomorrow evening for a few minutes. She's at Larchmont now at her aunt's. I can't go there. But I'm allowed to meet her with a cab at the Grand Central Station tomorrow evening at the 8.30 train. We drive down Broadway to Wallack's at a gallop, where her mother and a box party will be waiting for us in the lobby. Do you think she would listen to a declaration from me during that six or eight minutes under those circumstances? No. And what chance would I have in the theatre or afterward? None. No, dad, this is one tangle that your money can't unravel. We can't buy one minute of time with cash; if we could, rich people would live longer. There's no hope of getting a talk with Miss Lantry before she sails." "All right, Richard, my boy," said old Anthony, cheerfully. "You may run along down to your club now. I'm glad it ain't your liver. But don't forget to burn a few punk sticks in the joss house to the great god Mazuma from time to time. You say money won't buy time? Well, of course, you can't order eternity wrapped up and delivered at your residence for a price, but I've seen Father Time get pretty bad stone bruises on his heels when he walked through the gold diggings." That night came Aunt Ellen, gentle, sentimental, wrinkled, sighing, oppressed by wealth, in to Brother Anthony at his evening paper, and began discourse on the subject of lovers' woes. "He told me all about it," said brother Anthony, yawning. "I told him my bank account was at his service. And then he began to knock money. Said money couldn't help. Said the rules of society couldn't be bucked for a yard by a team of ten-millionaires." "Oh, Anthony," sighed Aunt Ellen, "I wish you would not think so much of money. Wealth is nothing where a true affection is concerned. Love is all-powerful. If he only had spoken earlier! She could not have refused our Richard. But now I fear it is too late. He will have no opportunity to address her. All your gold cannot bring happiness to your son." At eight o'clock the next evening Aunt Ellen took a quaint old gold ring from a moth-eaten case and gave it to Richard. "Wear it to-night, nephew," she begged. "Your mother gave it to me. Good luck in love she said it brought. She asked me to give it to you when you had found the one you loved." Young Rockwall took the ring reverently and tried it on his smallest finger. It slipped as far as the second joint and stopped. He took it off and stuffed it into his vest pocket, after the manner of man. And then he 'phoned for his cab. At the station he captured Miss Lantry out of the gadding mob at eight thirty-two. "We mustn't keep mamma and the others waiting," said she. "To Wallack's Theatre as fast as you can drive!" said Richard loyally. They whirled up Forty-second to Broadway, and then down the white- starred lane that leads from the soft meadows of sunset to the rocky hills of morning. At Thirty-fourth Street young Richard quickly thrust up the trap and ordered the cabman to stop. "I've dropped a ring," he apo1ogised, as he climbed out. "It was my mother's, and I'd hate to lose it. I won't detain you a minute–I saw where it fell." In less than a minute he was back in the cab with the ring. But within that minute a crosstown car had stopped directly in front of the cab. The cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavy express wagon cut him off. He tried the right, and had to back away from a furniture van that had no business to be there. He tried to back out, but dropped his reins and swore dutifully. He was blockaded in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses. One of those street blockades had occurred that sometimes tie up commerce and movement quite suddenly in the big city. "Why don't you drive on?" said Miss Lantry, impatiently. "We'll be late." Richard stood up in the cab and looked around. He saw a congested flood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and street cars filling the vast space where Broadway, Sixth Avenue and Thirly-fourth street cross one another as a twenty-six inch maiden fills her twenty-two inch girdle. And still from all the cross streets they were hurrying and rattling toward the converging point at full speed, and hurling thcmselves into the struggling mass, locking wheels and adding their drivers' imprecations to the clamour. The entire traffic of Manhattan seemed to have jammed itself around them. The oldest New Yorker among the thousands of spectators that lined the sidewalks had not witnessed a street blockade of the proportions of this one. "I'm very sorry," said Richard, as he resumed his seat, "but it looks as if we are stuck. They won't get this jumble loosened up in an hour. It was my fault. If I hadn't dropped the ring we –"Let me see the ring," said Miss Lantry. "Now that it can't be helped, I don't care. I think theatres are stupid, anyway." At 11 o'clock that night somebody tapped lightly on Anthony Rockwall's door. "Come in," shouted Anthony, who was in a red dressing-gown, reading a book of piratical adventures. Somebody was Aunt Ellen, looking like a grey-haired angel that had been left on earth by mistake. "They're engaged, Anthony," she said, softly. "She has promised to marry our Richard. On their way to the theatre there was a street blockade, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it. "And oh, brother Anthony, don't ever boast of the power of money again. A little emblem of true love–a little ring that symbolised unending and unmercenary affection–was the cause of our Richard finding his happiness. He dropped it in the street, and got out to recover it. And before they could continue the blockade occurred. He spoke to his love and won her there while the cab was hemmed in. Money is dross compared with true love, Anthony." "All right," said old Anthony. "I'm glad the boy has got what he wanted. I told him I wouldn't spare any expense in the matter if–" "But, brother Anthony, what good could your money have done?" "Sister," said Anthony Rockwall. "I've got my pirate in a devil of a scrape. His ship has just been scuttled, and he's too good a judge of the value of money to let drown. I wish you would let me go on with this chapter." The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily as you who read it wish it did. But we must go to the bottom of the well for truth. The next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie, who called himself Kelly, called at Anthony Rockwall's house, and was at once received in the library. "Well," said Anthony, reaching for his chequebook, "it was a good bilin' of soap. Let's see–you had $5,000 in cash." "I paid out $3OO more of my own," said Kelly. "I had to go a little above the estimate. I got the express wagons and cabs mostly for $5; but the trucks and two-horse teams mostly raised me to $10. The motormen wanted $10, and some of the loaded teams $20. The cops struck me hardest–$50 I paid two, and the rest $20 and $25. But didn't it work beautiful, Mr. Rockwall? I'm glad William A. Brady wasn't onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene. I wouldn't want William to break his heart with jealousy. And never a rehearsal, either! The boys was on time to the fraction of a second. It was two hours before a snake could get below Greeley's statue." "Thirteen hundred–there you are, Kelly," said Anthony, tearing off a check. "Your thousand, and the $300 you were out. You don't despise money, do you, Kelly?" "Me?" said Kelly. "I can lick the man that invented poverty." Anthony called Kelly when he was at the door. "You didn't notice," said he, "anywhere in the tie-up, a kind of a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows around with a bow, did you?" "Why, no," said Kelly, mystified. "I didn't. If he was like you say, maybe the cops pinched him before I got there." "I thought the little rascal wouldn't be on hand," chuckled Anthony. "Good-by, Kelly." |

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