His first name was properly James, but that had been long forgotten. “Scuddy” meant nothing in particular, was derived3 from nothing, and was not, apparently4, the invention of any distinct person. Still, it was commonly his only name, and most of his acquaintances had also nicknames of similarly vague origin. Scuddy was a man of fine feelings, capable of a most creditable hour of raptuous misery5 after hearing, perhaps at a singsong, “Put Me in My Little Bed,” or any other ditty that was rank enough in sentiment; wherefore the mission-readers never really despaired of him. He was a small, shabby man of twenty-six, but looking younger; with a runaway6 chin, a sharp, yellow face, and tremulously sly eyes; with but faint traces of hair on his face, he had a great deal of it, straight and ragged7 and dirty, on his head.
Scuddy Lond’s misfortunes began early. Temptation had prevailed against him when he was at school; but that was nothing. He became errand boy in a grocer’s shop, and complications with the till brought him, a howling penitent9, to the police court. Here, while his mother hid her head in the waiting-room, he set forth10 the villainy of older boys who had prompted him to sin, and got away with no worse than a lecture on the evils of bad company. So that a philanthropist found him a better situation at a distance, where the evil influence could no longer move him. Here he stayed a good while — longer than some who had been there before him, but who had to leave because of vanishing postal11 orders. Nevertheless, the postal orders still went, and in the end he confessed to another magistrate12, and fervently13 promised to lead a better life if his false start were only forgiven. Betting, he protested, was this time the author of his fall; and as that pernicious institution was clearly to blame for the unhappy young man’s ruin, the lamenting16 magistrate let him off with a simple month in consideration of his misfortune and the intercession of his employer, who had never heard of the grocer and his till.
After his month Scuddy went regularly into business as a lob-crawler; that is to say, he returned to his first love, the till — not narrowly to any individual till, but broadmindedly to the till as a general institution, to be approached in unattended shops by stealthy groveling on the belly17. This he did until he perceived the greater security and comfort of waiting without while a small boy did the actual work within. From this, and with this, he ventured on peter-claiming — laying hands nonchalantly on unconsidered parcels and bags at railway stations, until a day when, bearing a fat portmanteau, he ran against its owner by the door of a refreshment18 bar. This time the responsibility lay with drink. Strong drink, he declared, with deep emotion, had been his ruin; he dated his downfall from the day when a false friend persuaded him to take a social glass; he would still have been an honest, upright, self-respecting young man but for the cursed drink. From that moment he would never touch it more. The case was met with three months with hard labor19, and for all that Scuddy Lond had so clearly pointed20 out the culpability21 of drink, he had to do the drag himself. But the mission-readers were comforted; for clearly there was hope for one whose eyes were so fully22 opened to the causes of his degradation23.
After the drag, Scuddy for long made a comfortable living, free from injurious overwork, in the several branches of lob-crawling and peter-claiming, with an occasional deviation24 into parlor-jumping. It is true that this last did sometimes involve unpleasant exertion25 when the window was high and the boy heavy to bunk26 up; and it was necessary, at times, to run. But Scuddy was out of work, and hunger drove him to anything, so long as it was light and not too risky27. And it is marvelous to reflect how much may be picked up in the streets and at the side-doors of London and the suburbs without danger or vulgar violence. And so Scuddy’s life went on, with occasional misfortunes in the way of a moon, or another drag, or perhaps a sixer. And the mission-readers never despaired, because the real cause was always hunger or thirst, or betting, or a sudden temptation, or something quite exceptional — never anything like real, hardened, unblushing wickedness; and the man himself was always truly penitent. He made such touching28 references to his innocent childhood, and was so grateful for good advice or anything else you might give him.
One bold attempt Scuddy made to realize his desire for better things. He resolved to depart from his evil ways and become a nark — a copper’s nark — which is a police spy, or informer. The work was not hard, there was no imprisonment29, and he would make amends30 for the past. But hardly had he begun his narking, when some of the Kate Street mob dropped on him in Brick Lane, and bashed him full sore. This would never do; so once more implacable circumstance drove him to his old courses. And there was this added discomfort31: that no boy would parlor-jump nor dip the lob for him. Indeed, they bawled32 aloud, ‘Yah, Scuddy Lond the copper’s nark!’
So that the hand of all Flower and Dean Street was against him. Scuddy grew very sad.
These and other matters were heavy upon his heart on an evening when, with nothing in his pockets but a piece of coal that he carried for luck, he turned aimlessly up Baker’s Row. Things were very bad; it was as though the whole world knew him — and watched. Shop-keepers stood frowningly at their doors. People sat defiantly33 on piles of luggage at the railway stations, and there was never a peter to touch for. All the areas were empty, and there were no side-doors left unguarded, where, failing the more-desirable wedge, one might claim a pair or two of daisies put out for cleaning. All the hundred trifling34 things that commonly come freely to hand in a mile or two of streets were somehow swept out of the world’s economy, and Scuddy tramped into Baker’s Row in melting mood. Why were things so hard for some and so easy for others? It was not as though he were to blame — he, a man of feeling and sentiment. Why were others living comfortable lives unvexed of any dread35 of the police? And apart from that, why did other gonophs get lucky touches for half a century of quids at a time, while he! . . . But there, the world was one brutal36 oppression and he was its most pitiable victim; and he slunk along, dank with the pathos37 of things.
At a corner a group was standing38 about a woman, whose voice was uplifted to a man’s accompaniment on a stand-accordion. Scuddy listened. She sung, with a harsh tremble:
“— An’ sang a song of ‘ome, sweet ‘ome,
The song that reached my ‘art.
‘Ome, ‘ome, sweet, sweet ‘ome,
She sang the song of ‘ome, sweet ‘ome,
The song that reached my ‘art.”
Here, indeed, was something in tune8 with Scuddy’s fine feelings. He looked up. From the darkening sky the evening star winked39 through the smoke from a factory chimney. From a-near came an exquisite40 scent41 of saveloys. Plaintive42 influences all. He tried to think of ‘ome himself — of ‘ome strictly43 in the abstract, so that it might reach his ‘art. He stood for some minutes torpid44 and mindless, oozing45 with sentiment, till the song ended, and he went on. Fine feelings — fine!
He crossed the road, and took a turning. A lame15 old woman sat in a recess46 selling trotters, where a dark passage led back to a mission-hall. About the opening a man hovered47 — fervent14, watchful48 — and darted49 forth on passers-by. He laid his hand on Scuddy’s shoulder, and said: “My dear friend, will you come in an’ ‘ear the word of the Lord Jesus Christ?”
Scuddy turned; the sound of a harmonium and many strenuous50 voices came faintly down the passage. It was his mood. Why not give his fine feelings another little run? He would; he would go in.
“Trotters!” quavered the lame old woman, looking up wistfully. “Two a penny! Two a penny!” But no; he went up the passage, and she turned patiently to her board.
Along the passage the singing grew louder, and burst on his ears unchecked as he pushed open the door at the end:
“—‘oosoever will, ‘oosoever will,
Send the proclamation over vale an’ ‘ill;
’Tis a lovin’ Father calls the wand’rer ‘ome,
‘Oosoever will may come!”
A man by the door knew him at once for a stranger, and found him a seat. The hymn51 went quavering to an end, and the preacher in charge, a small, bright-eyed man with rebellious52 hair and a surprisingly deep voice, announced that Brother Spyers would offer a prayer.
The man prayed with his every faculty53. He was a sturdy, red-necked artisan, great of hand and wiry of beard — a smith, perhaps, or a bricklayer. He spread his arms wide, and his head thrown back, brought forth, with passion and pain, his fervid54, disordered sentences. As he went on, his throat swelled55 and convulsed in desperate knots, and the sweat hung thick on his face. He called for grace, that every unsaved soul there might come to the fold and believe that night. Or if not all, then some — even a few. That at least one, only one, poor soul might be plucked as a brand from the burning. And as he flung together, with clumsy travail56, his endless, formless, unconsidered vehemences of uttermost cockney, the man stood transfigured, admirable.
From here and there came deep amens. Then more, with gasps57, groans58 and sobs59. Scuddy Lond, carried away luxuriously60 on a tide of grievous sensation, groaned61 with the others. The prayer ended in a chorus of ejaculations. Then there was a hymn. Somebody stuffed an open hymn-book into Scuddy’s hand, but he scarce saw it. Abandoning himself to the mesmeric influence of the many who were singing about him be plunged62 and reveled in a debauch63 of emotion. He heard, he even joined in; but understood nothing, for his feelings filled him to overflowing64.
“I ‘ave a robe; ’tis resplendent in w’iteness,
Awaitin’ in glory my wonderin’ view.
Oh, w’en I receive it, all shinin’ in brightness,
Dear friend, could I see you receivin’ one too!
For you I am prayin’! For you I am prayin’!
For you I am prayin’, I’m prayin’ for you.”
The hymn ceased; all sat down, and the preacher began his discourse65 — quietly at first, and then, though in a different way, with all the choking fervor66 of the man who had prayed. For the preacher was fluent as well as zealous67, and his words, except when emotion stayed them, poured in a torrent68. He preached faith — salvation69 in faith — declaiming, beseeching70, commanding. “Come — come! Now is the appointed time! Only believe — only come! Only — only come!” To impassioned, broken entreaty71 he added sudden command and the menace of eternity72, but broke away pitifully again in urgent pleadings, pantings, gasps; pointing above, spreading his arms abroad, stretching them forth imploringly73. Come, only come!
Sobs broke out in more than one place. A woman bowed her head and rocked, while her shoulders shook again. Brother Spyers’ face was alight with joy. A tremor74, a throe of the senses, ran through the assembly as through a single body.
The preacher, nearing his peroration75, rose to a last frenzy76 of adjuration77. Then, ending in a steadier key, he summoned any stand forth which had found grace that night.
His bright, strenuous eyes were on the sobbers, charging them, drawing them. First rose the woman who had bowed her head. Her face uncovered but distorted and twitching78, still weeping, but rapt and unashamed, she tottered79 out between the seats, and sunk at last on the vacant form in front. Next a child, a little maid of ten, lank-legged and outgrown80 of her short skirts, her eyes squeezed down on a tight knot of pocket-handkerchief, crying wildly, broken-heartedly, sobbed81 and blundered over seatcorners and toes, and sat down forlorn and solitary82 at the other end of the form. And after her came Scuddy Lond.
Why, he knew not — nor cared. In the full enjoyment83 of a surfeit84 of indefinite emotion, tearful, rapturous, he had accepted the command put on him by the preacher, and he had come forth, walking on clouds, regenerate85, compact of fine feelings. There was a short prayer of thanks, and then a final hymn:
“Ring the bells of ‘eaven, there is joy today,
For a soul returnin’ from the wild!”
Scuddy felt a curious equable lightness of spirits — a serene86 cheerfulness. His emotional organism was spent, and in its place was a numb87 calm, pleasant enough.
“— Gloryl glory! ‘ow the angels sing —
Glory! glory ‘ow the loud ‘arps ring!
’Tis the ransomed88 army, like a mighty89 sea,
Pealin’ forth the anthem90 of the free!”
The service ended. The congregation trooped forth into the evening; but Scuddy sat where he was, for the preacher wanted a few words with his converts ere he would let them go. He shook hands with Scuddy Lond, and spoke91 with grave, smiling confidence about his soul. Brother Spyers also shook hands with him and bespoke92 his return on Sunday.
In the cool air of the empty passage, Scuddy’s ordinary faculties93 began to assert themselves; still in an atmosphere of calm cheer. Fine feelings — fine. And as he turned the piece of coal in his pocket, he reflected that, after all, the day had not been altogether unlucky — not in every sense a blank. Emerging into the street, he saw that the lame old woman, who was almost alone in view, had risen on her crutch94 and turned her back to roll her white cloth over her remaining trotters. On the ledge95 behind stood her little pile of coppers96, just reckoned. Scuddy Lond’s practiced eye took the case in a flash. With two long tip-toed steps he reached the coppers, lifted them silently, and hurried away up the street. He did not run, for the woman was lame and had not heard him. No; decidedly the day had not been blank. For here was a hot supper.
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收听单词发音
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1
scuddy
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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synonym
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| n.同义词，换喻词 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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7
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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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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9
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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17
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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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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20
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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culpability
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| n.苛责，有罪 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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24
deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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25
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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27
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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28
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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30
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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31
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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32
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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33
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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34
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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35
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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36
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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38
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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39
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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40
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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41
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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42
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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43
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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44
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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45
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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46
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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47
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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48
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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49
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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50
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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51
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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52
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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53
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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54
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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55
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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56
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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58
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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59
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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60
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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62
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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64
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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65
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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regenerate
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| vt.使恢复，使新生；vi.恢复，再生；adj.恢复的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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ransomed
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| 付赎金救人，赎金( ransom的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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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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bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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