Old Song.
“How very, very sad!” exclaimed Clara; and the eyes of the gentle girl filled with tears as she spoke1,
“Sad — but very curious when you come to look at it arithmetically,” was her aunt’s less romantic reply. “Some of them have lost an arm in their country’s service, some a leg, some an ear, some an eye — ”
“And some, perhaps, all!” Clara murmured dreamily, as they passed the long rows of weather-beaten heroes basking2 in the sun. “Did you notice that very old one, with a red face, who was drawing a map in the dust with his wooden leg, and all the others watching? I think it was a plan of a battle — ”
“The Battle of Trafalgar, no doubt,” her aunt interrupted briskly. “Hardly that, I think,” Clara ventured to say. “You see, in that case, he couldn’t well be alive — ”
“Couldn’t well be alive!” the old lady contemptuously repeated. “He’s as lively as you and me put together! Why, if drawing a map in the dust — with one’s wooden leg — doesn’t prove one to be alive, perhaps you’ll kindly3 mention what does prove it!”
Clara did not see her way out of it. Logic4 had never been her forte5.
“To return to the arithmetic,” Mad Mathesis resumed — the eccentric old lady never let slip an opportunity of driving her niece into a calculation — “what percentage do you suppose must have lost all four — a leg, an arm, an eye, and an ear?”
“How can I tell?” gasped6 the terrified girl. She knew well what was coming.
“You ca’n’t, of course, without data,” her aunt replied: “but I’m just going to give you ”
“Give her a Chelsea bun, miss! That’s what most young ladies like best!” The voice was rich and musical, and the speaker dexterously7 whipped back the snowy cloth that covered his basket, and disclosed a tempting8 array of the familiar square buns, joined together in rows, richly egged and browned and glistening9 in the sun.
“No, sir! I shall give her nothing so indigestible! Be off!” The old lady waved her parasol threateningly: but nothing seemed to disturb the good humour of the jolly old man, who marched on, chanting his melodious10 refrain:
“Far too indigestible, my love!” said the old lady. Percentages will agree with you ever so much better!”
Clara sighed, and there was a hungry look in her eyes as she watched the basket lessening11 in the distance; but she meekly12 listened to the relentless13 old lady, who at once proceeded to count off the data on her fingers.
“Say that 70 per cent have lost an eye — 75 per cent an ear — 80 per cent an arm — 85 per cent a leg — that’ll do it beautifully. Now, my dear, what percentage, at least, must have lost all four?”
No more conversation occurred unless a smothered14 exclamation15 of, “Piping hot!” which escaped from Clara’s lips as the basket vanished round a corner could be counted as such — until they reached the old Chelsea mansion16, where Clara’s father was then staying, with his three sons and their old tutor.
Balbus, Lambert, and Hugh had entered the house only a few minutes before them. They had been out walking, and Hugh had been propounding17 a difficulty which had reduced Lambert to the depths of gloom, and had even puzzled Balbus.
“It changes from Wednesday to Thursday at midnight, doesn’t it?” Hugh had begun.
“Sometimes,” said Balbus cautiously.
“Always,” said Lambert decisively.
“Sometimes,” Balbus gently insisted. “Six midnights out of seven, it changes to some other name.”
“I meant, of course,” Hugh corrected, “when it does change from Wednesday to Thursday, it does it at midnight — and only at midnight.”
“Surely,” said Balbus. Lambert was silent.
“Well, now, suppose it’s midnight here in Chelsea. Then it’s Wednesday west of Chelsea (say in Ireland or America), where midnight hasn’t arrived yet: and it’s Thursday east of Chelsea (say in Germany or Russia), where midnight has just passed by?”
“Surely,” Balbus said again. Even Lambert nodded this time.
“But it isn’t midnight anywhere else; so it ca’n’t be changing from one day to another anywhere else. And yet, if Ireland and America and so on call it Wednesday, and Germany and Russia and so on call it Thursday, there must be some place — not Chelsea — that has different days on the two sides of it. And the worst of it is, people there get their days in the wrong order: they’ve Wednesday east of them, and Thursday west — just as if their day had changed from Thursday to Wednesday!”
“I’ve heard that puzzle before!” cried Lambert. “And I’ll tell you the explanation. When a ship goes round world from east to west, we know that it loses a day in its reckoning: so that when it gets home and calls its day Wednesday, it finds people here calling it Thursday, because we’ve had one more midnight than the ship has had. And when you go the other way round you gain a day.”
“I know all that,” said Hugh, in reply to this not lucid18 explanation: “but it doesn’t help me, because the ship hasn’t proper days. One way round, you get more than twenty-four hours to the day, and the other way you get less: so of course the names get wrong: but people that live on in one place always get twenty-four hours to the day.”
“I suppose there is such a place,” Balbus said, meditatively19, “though I never heard of it, And the people must find it queer, as Hugh says, to have the old day east of them, and the new one west: because, when midnight comes round to them, with the new day in front of it and the old one behind it, one doesn’t see exactly what happens. I must think it over.”
So they had entered the house in the state I have described — Balbus puzzled, and Lambert buried in gloomy thought.
“Yes, m’m, Master is at home, m’m,” said the stately old butler. (N.B. — It is only a butler of experience who can manage a series of three M’s together, without any interjacent vowels20.) “And the ole party is a-waiting for you in the libery.”
“I don’t like his calling your father an old party,” Mad Mathesis whispered to her niece, as they crossed the hall. And Clara had only just time to whisper in reply, “He meant the whole party,” before they were ushered21 into the library, and the sight of the five solemn faces there assembled chilled her into silence.
Her father sat at the head of the table, and mutely signed to the ladies to take the two vacant chairs, one on each side of him. His three sons and Balbus completed the party. Writing materials had been arranged round the table, after the fashion of a ghostly banquet: the butler had evidently bestowed22 much thought on the grim device. Sheets of quarto paper, each flanked by a pen on One side and a pencil on the other, represented the plates — penwipers did duty for rolls of bread — while ink-bottles stood in the places usually occupied by wine-glasses. The piece de resistance was a large green baize bag, which gave forth23, as the old man restlessly lifted it from side to side, a charming jingle24, as of innumerable golden guineas,
“Sister, daughter, sons and Balbus — “ the old man began, so nervously25 that Balbus put in a gentle “Hear, hear!” while Hugh drummed on the table with his fists. This disconcerted the unpractised orator26. “Sister — “ he began again, then paused a moment, moved the bag to the other side, and went on with a rush, “I mean — this being — a critical occasion — more or less — being the year, when one of my sons comes of age — “ he paused again, in some confusion, having evidently got into the middle of his speech sooner than he intended: but it was too late, to go back. “Hear, hear!” cried Balbus. “Quite so,” said the old gentleman, recovering his self-possession a little: “when first I began this annual custom — my friend Balbus will correct me if I am wrong — “ (Hugh whispered, “With a strap27!” but nobody heard him except Lambert, who only frowned and shook his head at him) “ — this annual custom of giving each of my sons as many guineas, as would represent his age — it was a critical time — so Balbus informed me — as the ages of two of you were together equal to that of the third — so on that occasion I made a speech — He paused so long that Balbus thought it well to come to the rescue with the words, “It was a most — ” but the old man checked him with a warning look: “yes, made a speech,” he repeated. “A few years after that, Balbus pointed28 out — I say pointed out — “ (“Hear, hear!” cried Balbus. “Quite so,” said the grateful old man.) “ — that it was another critical occasion. The ages of two of you were together double that of the third. So I made another speech — another speech. And now again it’s a critical occasion — so Balbus says — and I am making — “ (here Mad Mathesis pointedly29 referred to her watch) “all the haste I can!” the old man cried, with wonderful presence of mind. “Indeed, sister, I’m coming to the point now! The number of years that have passed since that first occasion is just two-thirds of the numbers of guineas I then gave you. Now, my boys, calculate your ages from the data, and you shall have the money!”
“But we know our ages!” cried Hugh.
“Silence, sir!” thundered the old man, rising to his full height (he was exactly five-foot five) in his indignation. “I say you must use the data only! You mustn’t even assume which it is that comes of age!” He clutched the bag as he spoke, and with tottering30 steps (it was about as much as he could do to carry it) he left the room.
“And you shall have a similar cadeau” the old lady whispered to her niece, “when you’ve calculated that percentage!” And she followed her brother.
Nothing could exceed the solemnity with which the old couple had risen from the table, and yet was it as it a grin with which the father turned away from his unhappy sons? Could it be — could it be a wink31 with which the aunt abandoned her despairing niece? And were those — were those sounds of suppressed chuckling32 which floated into the room, just before Balbus (who had followed them out) closed the door? Surely not: and yet the butler told the cook — but no — that was merely idle gossip, and I will not repeat it.
The shades of evening granted their unuttered petition, and “closed not o’er” them (for the butler brought in the lamp): the same obliging shades left them a “lonely bark” (the wail33 of a dog, in the back-yard, baying the moon) for “a while”: but neither “morn, alas”, nor any other epoch34, seemed likely to “restore” them — to that peace of Mind which had once been theirs ere ever these problems had swooped35 upon them, and crushed them with a load of unfathomable mystery!
“It’s hardly fair,” muttered Hugh, “to give us such a jumble36 as this to work out!”
“Fair?” Clara echoed bitterly. “Well!”
And to all my readers I can but repeat the last words of gentle Clara:
FARE-WELL!
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1
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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2
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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3
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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4
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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5
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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6
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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7
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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8
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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9
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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10
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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11
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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12
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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13
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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14
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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15
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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16
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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17
propounding
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的现在分词 ) | |
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18
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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19
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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20
vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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21
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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24
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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25
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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26
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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27
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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28
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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29
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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30
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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31
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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32
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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33
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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34
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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35
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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