‘This is a time when I do not like to be disturbed,’ he said.
‘I know that,’ returned John; ‘but I have — I want — I’ve made a dreadful mess of it,’ he broke out, and turned to the window.
Mr. Nicholson sat silent for an appreciable5 time, while his unhappy son surveyed the poles in the back green, and a certain yellow cat that was perched upon the wall. Despair sat upon John as he gazed; and he raged to think of the dreadful series of his misdeeds, and the essential innocence6 that lay behind them.
‘Well,’ said the father, with an obvious effort, but in very quiet tones, ‘what is it?’
‘Maclean gave me four hundred pounds to put in the bank, sir,’ began John; ‘and I’m sorry to say that I’ve been robbed of it!’
‘Robbed of it?’ cried Mr. Nicholson, with a strong rising inflection. ‘Robbed? Be careful what you say, John!’
‘I can’t say anything else, sir; I was just robbed of it,’ said John, in desperation, sullenly7.
‘And where and when did this extraordinary event take place?’ inquired the father.
‘On the Calton Hill about twelve last night.’
‘The Calton Hill?’ repeated Mr. Nicholson. ‘And what were you doing there at such a time of the night?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ says John.
Mr. Nicholson drew in his breath.
‘And how came the money in your hands at twelve last night?’ he asked, sharply.
‘I neglected that piece of business,’ said John, anticipating comment; and then in his own dialect: ‘I clean forgot all about it.’
‘Well,’ said his father, ‘it’s a most extraordinary story. Have you communicated with the police?’
‘I have,’ answered poor John, the blood leaping to his face. ‘They think they know the men that did it. I dare say the money will be recovered, if that was all,’ said he, with a desperate indifference8, which his father set down to levity9; but which sprung from the consciousness of worse behind.
‘Your mother’s watch, too?’ asked Mr. Nicholson.
‘Oh, the watch is all right!’ cried John. ‘At least, I mean I was coming to the watch — the fact is, I am ashamed to say, I— I had pawned10 the watch before. Here is the ticket; they didn’t find that; the watch can be redeemed11; they don’t sell pledges.’ The lad panted out these phrases, one after another, like minute guns; but at the last word, which rang in that stately chamber12 like an oath, his heart failed him utterly13; and the dreaded14 silence settled on father and son.
It was broken by Mr. Nicholson picking up the pawn-ticket: ‘John Froggs, 85 Pleasance,’ he read; and then turning upon John, with a brief flash of passion and disgust, ‘Who is John Froggs?’ he cried.
‘Nobody,’ said John. ‘It was just a name.’
‘An ALIAS,’ his father commented.
‘Oh! I think scarcely quite that,’ said the culprit; ‘it’s a form, they all do it, the man seemed to understand, we had a great deal of fun over the name — ’
He paused at that, for he saw his father wince15 at the picture like a man physically16 struck; and again there was silence.
‘I do not think,’ said Mr. Nicholson, at last, ‘that I am an ungenerous father. I have never grudged17 you money within reason, for any avowable purpose; you had just to come to me and speak. And now I find that you have forgotten all decency18 and all natural feeling, and actually pawned — pawned — your mother’s watch. You must have had some temptation; I will do you the justice to suppose it was a strong one. What did you want with this money?’
‘I would rather not tell you, sir,’ said John. ‘It will only make you angry.’
‘I will not be fenced with,’ cried his father. ‘There must be an end of disingenuous19 answers. What did you want with this money?’
‘To lend it to Houston, sir,’ says John.
‘I thought I had forbidden you to speak to that young man?’ asked the father.
‘Yes, sir,’ said John; ‘but I only met him.’
‘Where?’ came the deadly question.
And ‘In a billiard-room’ was the damning answer. Thus, had John’s single departure from the truth brought instant punishment. For no other purpose but to see Alan would he have entered a billiard-room; but he had desired to palliate the fact of his disobedience, and now it appeared that he frequented these disreputable haunts upon his own account.
Once more Mr. Nicholson digested the vile20 tidings in silence, and when John stole a glance at his father’s countenance, he was abashed21 to see the marks of suffering.
‘Well,’ said the old gentleman, at last, ‘I cannot pretend not to be simply bowed down. I rose this morning what the world calls a happy man — happy, at least, in a son of whom I thought I could be reasonably proud — ’
But it was beyond human nature to endure this longer, and John interrupted almost with a scream. ‘Oh, wheest!’ he cried, ‘that’s not all, that’s not the worst of it — it’s nothing! How could I tell you were proud of me? Oh! I wish, I wish that I had known; but you always said I was such a disgrace! And the dreadful thing is this: we were all taken up last night, and we have to pay Colette’s fine among the six, or we’ll be had up for evidence — shebeening it is. They made me swear to tell you; but for my part,’ he cried, bursting into tears, ‘I just wish that I was dead!’ And he fell on his knees before a chair and hid his face.
Whether his father spoke22, or whether he remained long in the room or at once departed, are points lost to history. A horrid23 turmoil24 of mind and body; bursting sobs25; broken, vanishing thoughts, now of indignation, now of remorse26; broken elementary whiffs of consciousness, of the smell of the horse-hair on the chair bottom, of the jangling of church bells that now began to make day horrible throughout the confines of the city, of the hard floor that bruised27 his knees, of the taste of tears that found their way into his mouth: for a period of time, the duration of which I cannot guess, while I refuse to dwell longer on its agony, these were the whole of God’s world for John Nicholson.
When at last, as by the touching28 of a spring, he returned again to clearness of consciousness and even a measure of composure, the bells had but just done ringing, and the Sabbath silence was still marred29 by the patter of belated feet. By the clock above the fire, as well as by these more speaking signs, the service had not long begun; and the unhappy sinner, if his father had really gone to church, might count on near two hours of only comparative unhappiness. With his father, the superlative degree returned infallibly. He knew it by every shrinking fibre in his body, he knew it by the sudden dizzy whirling of his brain, at the mere30 thought of that calamity31. An hour and a half, perhaps an hour and three-quarters, if the doctor was long-winded, and then would begin again that active agony from which, even in the dull ache of the present, he shrunk as from the bite of fire. He saw, in a vision, the family pew, the somnolent32 cushions, the Bibles, the psalm33-books, Maria with her smelling-salts, his father sitting spectacled and critical; and at once he was struck with indignation, not unjustly. It was inhuman34 to go off to church, and leave a sinner in suspense35, unpunished, unforgiven. And at the very touch of criticism, the paternal36 sanctity was lessened37; yet the paternal terror only grew; and the two strands38 of feeling pushed him in the same direction.
And suddenly there came upon him a mad fear lest his father should have locked him in. The notion had no ground in sense; it was probably no more than a reminiscence of similar calamities39 in childhood, for his father’s room had always been the chamber of inquisition and the scene of punishment; but it stuck so rigorously in his mind that he must instantly approach the door and prove its untruth. As he went, he struck upon a drawer left open in the business table. It was the money-drawer, a measure of his father’s disarray40: the money-drawer — perhaps a pointing providence41! Who is to decide, when even divines differ between a providence and a temptation? or who, sitting calmly under his own vine, is to pass a judgment42 on the doings of a poor, hunted dog, slavishly afraid, slavishly rebellious43, like John Nicholson on that particular Sunday? His hand was in the drawer, almost before his mind had conceived the hope; and rising to his new situation, he wrote, sitting in his father’s chair and using his father’s blotting-pad, his pitiful apology and farewell:—
‘MY DEAR FATHER, — I have taken the money, but I will pay it back as soon as I am able. You will never hear of me again. I did not mean any harm by anything, so I hope you will try and forgive me. I wish you would say good-bye to Alexander and Maria, but not if you don’t want to. I could not wait to see you, really. Please try to forgive me. Your affectionate son,
John Nicholson.’
The coins abstracted and the missive written, he could not be gone too soon from the scene of these transgressions44; and remembering how his father had once returned from church, on some slight illness, in the middle of the second psalm, he durst not even make a packet of a change of clothes. Attired45 as he was, he slipped from the paternal doors, and found himself in the cool spring air, the thin spring sunshine, and the great Sabbath quiet of the city, which was now only pointed46 by the cawing of the rooks. There was not a soul in Randolph Crescent, nor a soul in Queensferry Street; in this outdoor privacy and the sense of escape, John took heart again; and with a pathetic sense of leave-taking, he even ventured up the lane and stood awhile, a strange peri at the gates of a quaint47 paradise, by the west end of St. George’s Church. They were singing within; and by a strange chance, the tune48 was ‘St. George’s, Edinburgh,’ which bears the name, and was first sung in the choir49 of that church. ‘Who is this King of Glory?’ went the voices from within; and, to John, this was like the end of all Christian50 observances, for he was now to be a wild man like Ishmael, and his life was to be cast in homeless places and with godless people.
It was thus, with no rising sense of the adventurous51, but in mere desolation and despair, that he turned his back on his native city, and set out on foot for California, with a more immediate52 eye to Glasgow.
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1
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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15
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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disingenuous
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| adj.不诚恳的，虚伪的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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transgressions
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| n.违反，违法，罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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49
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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50
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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51
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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