My father was the practically inactive senior member of his firm, and the reins3 had so far left his hands that when the blow fell it was hard for him to get a grasp on the situation or even credit it.
Rather shockingly, the first word we had of disaster came through the morning paper in a blare-headed column announcing the suicide of Frederic Hutchinson. Suicide without attempt at concealment4. A scrubwoman, entering the private offices of Barbour & Hutchinson early that morning, had fairly trodden in the junior partner’s scattered6 brains.
There followed a week of torment7 — of sordid8 revelations of unwise speculation9, and ever increasing despair. A week that left dad a shaken, tremulous old man, and the firm of Barbour & Hutchinson, grain brokers10, an unpleasant problem to be dealt with by the receivers.
Dad had known his partner for a clever man, and no doubt he was formerly12 a trustable one. But when the disease called speculation takes late root, its run is likely to be more virulent13 than in a younger victim. All Hutchinson’s personal estate had been absorbed. His family were left in worse predicament than ours — or would have been, save that dad’s peculiar14 sense of honor caused him to throw every cent he owned, independent of the firm, into the pit where that firm’s honor had vanished, in an attempt to save it.
Unfortunately he possessed15 not nearly enough to satisfy the creditors16 and re-establish the business. As my mother pointed17 out, the disgrace that had been all Fred Hutchinson’s was now dad’s for impoverishing18 his family when, under the terms of partnership19 and the law of our State, most of his personal investments and realty could have been held free from liability.
And to that dad had only one, and to my mind somewhat appalling20, reply:
“Let Clay go to work in earnest, then. Perhaps some day my son will clear the slate22 of what scores I’ve failed to settle!”
Well, great God, can a young fellow carefully trained to have everything he wants without trying turn financial genius in a week?
If it hadn’t been for Roberta, I think I should have thrown up the sponge and fairly run away from it all. Her faith, though, stirred a chord of ambition that those of my own blood failed to touch, and her stately Charlestonian mother emerged from stateliness into surprising sympathy.
Then Dick Vansittart, the unregenerate youngster who had been my dearest pal21 in college days, got me a job with the Colossus Trust Company, thebank of which his father was president and where he himself loafed about intermittently24.
Even I knew that the salary offered was more commensurate with our needs than with what I was worth. Vansittart, Sr., a gruff old lion of a man, growled25 at me through a personal interview which ended in: “You won’t earn your salt for six months, Barbour, but maybe Terne can put up with you. Try it, anyway!”
Terne was the second vice-president, whose assistant, or secretary, or general errand-boy, it was proposed that I become. I reached for my hat.
“Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Vansittart! I would hardly care to receive pay except on the basis that it was earned.”
The lion roared.
“Sit down! Don’t you try Dick’s high mannerisms with me! If I can tolerate Dick in this bank, I can tolerate you; but there’s going to be one difference. You’ll play the man and work till you do earn your wages, or you’ll go out! Understand?”
“I merely meant-”
“Never mind that.” The savage26 countenance27 before me softened28 to a leonine benevolence29. “Clayton Barbour’s son wants no charity, but, you young fool, don’t I know that? Your father has, swamped himself to pay debts that weren’t his. Now I choose to pay a debt that isn’t mine, but Dick’s!”
I must have looked my bewilderment.
“I mean,” he thundered, “that when my son was expelled from the college he disgraced he nearly took you with him! You cubs30 believe you carry your shame on your own shoulders. You never think of us. I’ve crossed the street three times to avoid meeting your father! Earn your wages here, so that I can shake hands with him next time. Here — take this note to Mr. Terne. His office is next the cashier’s. Go to work!”
I went, but outside the door found Van waiting for me, smiling ironically.
“You heard?” I muttered.
“Not being stone deaf, yes. The governor doesn’t mind publicity31 where I’m concerned, eh? Interested passersby32 in the street might hear, for all he cares. Oh, well — truth is mighty33 and must prevail. Wish you luck, Clay, and there’s Fatty Terne coming now. So long!”
I was left to present my note to a dignified34 person who had just emerged from the Cashier’s office. “Fatty” was a merciless nickname for him, and unfair besides. The second vice-president’s large figure suggested strength rather than overindulgence. Beneath his dignity he proved a kindly35, not domineering man, much overworked himself, but patient with early mistakes from a new helper.
He shared one stenographer36 with another official, and seemed actually grateful when I offered to learn shorthand during spare hours in order to be of more use with the correspondence. I was quite infected with the work fever for a while, and saw little of Van, who let me severely37 alone from the first day I entered the bank.
His new standoffishness didn’t please me exactly, but I was too busy to think much of him one way or the other. At home, however, things went not so well. Since the house had been sold over our heads, we were forced into painfully small quarters. There was a little place near by that belonged to my mother. It had stood empty for a year, and though not much better than a cottage, her ownership of it solved the rent problem, and, as she bitterly explained, we no longer needed servants’ rooms nor space for the entertainment of guests.
Mother and Cathy undertook the housework, while dad fooled about with paint-pots and the like, trying to delude38 himself into the belief that paint, varnish39, and a few new shelves here and there would make a real home for us out of this wretched shack40; for that is what Cathy and I called it privately41.
All the problems of home life had taken on new, ugly, uncomfortable angles, and I spent as little time among them as I decently could.
Roberta had no more complaints to make of “sixty miles an hour and never touched the horn.” My car had gone with the rest. We went on sedate42 little walks, like a country pair, tried to prefer movies to grand opera, and piled up heart-breaking dream-castles for consolation43.
Two months slid by, and in that while our adventure at the “dead-alive house,” as Roberta had named Moore’s place, was hardly mentioned between us. Once or twice, indeed, she referred to it, but there was for me an oppressive distastefulness in the subject that made me lead our conversations elsewhere.
On the very heels of the catastrophic passing of my father’s firm I had received a brief note from Moore. He expressed concern and sympathy, adding in the same breath, as it were, that he hoped I had been well enough interested the other evening to wish to walk farther along the path of Psychical44 research.
I regarded his concern as impertinent and his hope as impudent45, considering my unpleasant memories of the first visit. I tore the letter up without answering it. After that I heard no more from him, and it was not until the second month’s ending that a thing occurred which forced the whole matter vividly46 upon my recollection.
“If dear Serapion had not been taken from us,” said my mother, “we should be living in a civilized47 manner, and my children and I would not have been driven to manual labor48!”
Dad kept his eyes on his plate, refraining from answer. He had been guilty of an ill-advised criticism on Cathy’s cooking, and, from that, discussion had run through all the ramifications49 of domestic misery50 until I was tempted51 to leave dinner unfinished and escape to my usual refuge, the Whitingfields.
But the mention of my uncle’s name had a peculiar effect on me. A slight swimming sensation behind the eyes, a gripping tightness at the back of my neck — Serapion!
The feeling passed, but left me trembling so that I remained in my place, fearing to rise lest I betray myself. As before, some deep-seated instinct fought that. The weakness was like a shameful52 wound, to be at all costs hidden.
“Had he lived,” continued my mother, “he would have seen to it that we weren’t brought to this. No one near poor Serapion was ever allowed to be uncomfortable!”
Dad’s eyes flashed up with a glint of spirit that he had never before showed in this connection.
“Is that so? I know he kept remarkably53 comfortable himself, but I can’t recall his feathering anyone’s nest but his own.”
“Don’t slander54 the dead!” came her sharp retort. “Why, you owe the very house over your head to him! And if it hadn’t been that his thoughtfulness left it in my name you wouldn’t have that. You would have robbed your children and me of even this pitiful shelter-”
“Evelyn — please!”
“It’s true! And then you dare cast slurs55 and innuendoes56 at poor Serapion-”
“I gave him the house in the first place,” dad muttered.
She rose, eyes flashing and filled with tears. “Yes, you did! And this shameful little hole was all he had to live in — and die in! Serapion was a saint!” she declared. “A saint! He was — he was universally loved!”
And with that, my mother swept from the room. Cathy followed, though with a sneaking57 glance of sympathy for dad. Tempestuous58 exits on mother’s part had been frequent as far back as I could remember, and as they were invariably followed by hours in which someone must sit with her and the house must be kept dead silent, we other three had the fellow-feeling of victims.
Dad eyed me across the table. “Son,” he said, “what is your middle name?”
“Ser–Ser-Samuel!” I ended desperately59. My heart, for no obvious reason, had begun a palpitation. Why couldn’t they let that name alone?
He looked surprised, and then laughed. “You are right, son. I was about to give you warning — to forbid your becoming such a saint as your esteemed60 namesake. But I guess that isn’t needed. The Samuels of the world stand on their own feet, as you do now, thank Heaven! A Samuel for the Serapion in you, then, and never forget it!”
He could not guess the frantic61 struggle going on beneath my calm exterior62. There is, I believe, a psychopathic condition in which sound-waves produce visual sensations; a musical note, for example, being seen as a blob of scarlet63, or the sustained blast of a bugle64 as a ribbony, orange-colored streak65. Some such confusion of the senses seemed to have occurred in me, only in my case one single sound produced it, and the result was not color but a feeling of pressure, dizziness, suffocation66.
Fighting for control, I knew that another iteration of the sound in question would cost me the battle. Dad’s mouth opened, and simultaneously67 I rose. Opinions on my uncle’s character, pro11 or con5, didn’t interest me half so much as the problem of excusing myself in a steady voice, walking from table to doorway68 without a stagger, and finally escaping from that room before the fatal name could be spoken again.
These feats69 accomplished70, I managed to get up the stairs and into my own room, where I locked the door and dropped, face downward, across the bed. Though the evening was cool, my whole body was drenched71 with sweat and my brain reeled sickeningly.
One may get help from queer sources. Van, in our gay junior year — his last at college — had initiated72 me into a device for keeping steady when the last drink has been one too many. You mentally recite a poem or speech or the multiplication73 table — any old thing will do. Fixing the mind in that way seems to soothe74 the gyrating interior and enables a fellow at least to fall asleep like a gentleman.
In my present distress75 that came back to me. Still fighting off the unknown with one-half of my mind, I scrabbled around in the other half for some definite memorization to take hold of.
There was none. The very multiplication table swam a jumble76 of numbers. Then I caught a rhyme beginning in the back of my head, and fixed77 my attention on it feverishly78. Over and over the words said themselves, first haltingly, then with increasing certainty. It was a simple, jingling79 little prayer that every child in the English-speaking world, I suppose, has learned past forgetfulness. “Now I lay me down to Sleep-”
Again — again — by the tenth repetition of “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” I had wrenched80 my mind away from — that other — and had its whole attention on the rhyme. At last, following a paroxysm of trembling, I knew myself the victor. Once more the Fifth Presence had released me.
Panting and weak from reaction, I sat up. What ailed23 me? How, in reason and common sense, could the sound of any man’s name have this effect on me?
Hypnotism? Nearly two months had elapsed since my first trouble of this kind, and without recurrence82 in the interim83. No, and come to think of it, I couldn’t recall having heard the name spoken in that while, either. Serapion! It was only when uttered aloud that the word had power over me. I could think of it without any evil effect. And that name on Alicia’s lips had been my last vivid impression before I lost self-consciousness and walked out of, Moore’s house, an intelligent automaton84 for sixty minutes after.
Scraps85 of psychology86 came back to me. Hypnotism — hypnotic suggestion. Could a man be shocked into hypnotic sleep, awaken87, and weeks later be swayed by a sound that had accompanied the first lapse81?
One way, I set myself very firmly. In cool judgment88 I was no believer in ghosts. The very thought brought a smile to my lips. My uncle had died before I was born; but, though dad had for some reason disliked him, by all accounts my namesake had been a genial89, easy-going, agreeable gentleman, rather characterless, perhaps, and inclined to let the other fellow work, but not a man whose spirit could be imagined as a half-way efficient “haunt.”
Serapion! No, and neither would he probably have flung away his own and his family’s comfort for a point of fine-drawn honor. Was dad in the right? I had tried to reserve criticism there, and in action I had certainly backed him to the limit. Inevitably90, though from yet far-off, I could see the loss of Roberta grinding down upon me. She couldn’t wait my convenience forever, you know. Some other fellow-some free, unburdened chap —
I buried my head in my hands.
Then I dropped them and sprang erect91, every nerve alert.
I had closed my eyes, and in that instant, a face had leaped into being behind their shut lids. The face was not Roberta’s, though I had been thinking of her. Moreover, it had lacked any dreamlike quality. It had come real — real as if the man had entered my bedroom and thrust his face close to mine.
As my eyes flicked92 open, it had vanished, leaving me quivering with a strange resentment93 — an anger, as if some intimate privacy had been invaded. I stood with clenched94 fists, more angry than amazed at first, but not daring to shut my eyes lest it return.
What had there been about the queer vision that was so loathsome95?
The face of a man around forty years it had seemed, smooth-shaven, boyish in a manner, with a little inward twist at the mouth corners, an amused slyness to the clear, light-blue eyes, The face of an easygoing, take-life’s-jokes-as-they-come sort of fellow, amiable96, pleasant, and, in some indefinite fashion — horrible.
I was sure I had never seen the man in real life, though there had been a vague familiarity about him, too.
About him! A dream — a vision.
“Clayton Barbour,” I muttered through shut teeth, “if it has reached the point where a word throws you into spasm97 and you are afraid to close your eyes, you’d better consult a doctor; and that is exactly what I shall do!”
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1
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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impoverishing
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| v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的现在分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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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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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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passersby
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| n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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41
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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42
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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43
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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44
psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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45
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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46
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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47
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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48
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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49
ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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50
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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51
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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52
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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53
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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54
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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55
slurs
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| 含糊的发音( slur的名词复数 )； 玷污； 连奏线； 连唱线 | |
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56
innuendoes
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| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
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57
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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58
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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60
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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61
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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62
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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63
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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64
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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72
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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75
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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81
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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85
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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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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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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