The dog was a Boston bull terrier, and Hedger explained his surly disposition2 by the fact that he had been bred to the point where it told on his nerves. His name was Caesar III, and he had taken prizes at very exclusive dog shows. When he and his master went out to prowl about University Place or to promenade3 along West Street, Caesar III was invariably fresh and shining. His pink skin showed through his mottled coat, which glistened4 as if it had just been rubbed with olive oil, and he wore a brass5-studded collar, bought at the smartest saddler’s. Hedger, as often as not, was hunched6 up in an old striped blanket coat, with a shapeless felt hat pulled over his bushy hair, wearing black shoes that had become grey, or brown ones that had become black, and he never put on gloves unless the day was biting cold.
Early in May, Hedger learned that he was to have a new neighbour in the rear apartment — two rooms, one large and one small, that faced the west. His studio was shut off from the larger of these rooms by double doors, which, though they were fairly tight, left him a good deal at the mercy of the occupant. The rooms had been leased, long before he came there, by a trained nurse who considered herself knowing in old furniture. She went to auction7 sales and bought up mahogany and dirty brass and stored it away here, where she meant to live when she retired8 from nursing. Meanwhile, she sub-let her rooms, with their precious furniture, to young people who came to New York to “write” or to “paint” — who proposed to live by the sweat of the brow rather than of the hand, and who desired artistic9 surroundings.
When Hedger first moved in, these rooms were occupied by a young man who tried to write plays, — and who kept on trying until a week ago, when the nurse had put him out for unpaid10 rent.
A few days after the playwright11 left, Hedger heard an ominous12 murmur13 of voices through the bolted double doors: the lady-like intonation14 of the nurse — doubtless exhibiting her treasures — and another voice, also a woman’s, but very different; young, fresh, unguarded, confident. All the same, it would be very annoying to have a woman in there. The only bath-room on the floor was at the top of the stairs in the front hall, and he would always be running into her as he came or went from his bath. He would have to be more careful to see that Caesar didn’t leave bones about the hall, too; and she might object when he cooked steak and onions on his gas burner.
As soon as the talking ceased and the women left, he forgot them. He was absorbed in a study of paradise fish at the Aquarium16, staring out at people through the glass and green water of their tank. It was a highly gratifying idea; the incommunicability of one stratum17 of animal life with another, — though Hedger pretended it was only an experiment in unusual lighting19. When he heard trunks knocking against the sides of the narrow hall, then he realized that she was moving in at once. Toward noon, groans20 and deep gasps21 and the creaking of ropes, made him aware that a piano was arriving. After the tramp of the movers died away down the stairs, somebody touched off a few scales and chords on the instrument, and then there was peace. Presently he heard her lock her door and go down the hall humming something; going out to lunch, probably. He stuck his brushes in a can of turpentine and put on his hat, not stopping to wash his hands. Caesar was smelling along the crack under the bolted doors; his bony tail stuck out hard as a hickory withe, and the hair was standing22 up about his elegant collar.
Hedger encouraged him. “Come along, Caesar. You’ll soon get used to a new smell.”
In the hall stood an enormous trunk, behind the ladder that led to the roof, just opposite Hedger’s door. The dog flew at it with a growl23 of hurt amazement24. They went down three flights of stairs and out into the brilliant May afternoon.
Behind the Square, Hedger and his dog descended25 into a basement oyster26 house where there were no tablecloths27 on the tables and no handles on the coffee cups, and the floor was covered with sawdust, and Caesar was always welcome, — not that he needed any such precautionary flooring. All the carpets of Persia would have been safe for him. Hedger ordered steak and onions absentmindedly, not realizing why he had an apprehension28 that this dish might be less readily at hand hereafter. While he ate, Caesar sat beside his chair, gravely disturbing the sawdust with his tail.
After lunch Hedger strolled about the Square for the dog’s health and watched the stages pull out; — that was almost the very last summer of the old horse stages on Fifth Avenue. The fountain had but lately begun operations for the season and was throwing up a mist of rainbow water which now and then blew south and sprayed a bunch of Italian babies that were being supported on the outer rim18 by older, very little older, brothers and sisters. Plump robins30 were hopping31 about on the soil; the grass was newly cut and blindingly green. Looking up the Avenue through the Arch, one could see the young poplars with their bright, sticky leaves, and the Brevoort glistening32 in its spring coat of paint, and shining horses and carriages, — occasionally an automobile33, misshapen and sullen34, like an ugly threat in a stream of things that were bright and beautiful and alive.
While Caesar and his master were standing by the fountain, a girl approached them, crossing the Square. Hedger noticed her because she wore a lavender cloth suit and carried in her arms a big bunch of fresh lilacs. He saw that she was young and handsome, — beautiful, in fact, with a splendid figure and good action. She, too, paused by the fountain and looked back through the Arch up the Avenue. She smiled rather patronizingly as she looked, and at the same time seemed delighted. Her slowly curving upper lip and half-closed eyes seemed to say: “You’re gay, you’re exciting, you are quite the right sort of thing; but you’re none too fine for me!”
In the moment she tarried, Caesar stealthily approached her and sniffed35 at the hem15 of her lavender skirt, then, when she went south like an arrow, he ran back to his master and lifted a face full of emotion and alarm, his lower lip twitching36 under his sharp white teeth and his hazel eyes pointed37 with a very definite discovery. He stood thus, motionless, while Hedger watched the lavender girl go up the steps and through the door of the house in which he lived.
“You’re right, my boy, it’s she! She might be worse looking, you know.”
When they mounted to the studio, the new lodger’s door, at the back of the hall, was a little ajar, and Hedger caught the warm perfume of lilacs just brought in out of the sun. He was used to the musty smell of the old hall carpet. (The nurse-lessee had once knocked at his studio door and complained that Caesar must be somewhat responsible for the particular flavour of that mustiness, and Hedger had never spoken to her since.) He was used to the old smell, and he preferred it to that of the lilacs, and so did his companion, whose nose was so much more discriminating38. Hedger shut his door vehemently39, and fell to work.
Most young men who dwell in obscure studios in New York have had a beginning, come out of something, have somewhere a home town, a family, a paternal40 roof. But Don Hedger had no such background. He was a foundling, and had grown up in a school for homeless boys, where book-learning was a negligible part of the curriculum. When he was sixteen, a Catholic priest took him to Greensburg, Pennsylvania, to keep house for him. The priest did something to fill in the large gaps in the boy’s education, — taught him to like “Don Quixote” and “The Golden Legend,” and encouraged him to mess with paints and crayons in his room up under the slope of the mansard. When Don wanted to go to New York to study at the Art League, the priest got him a night job as packer in one of the big department stores. Since then, Hedger had taken care of himself; that was his only responsibility. He was singularly unencumbered; had no family duties, no social ties, no obligations toward any one but his landlord. Since he travelled light, he had travelled rather far. He had got over a good deal of the earth’s surface, in spite of the fact that he never in his life had more than three hundred dollars ahead at any one time, and he had already outlived a succession of convictions and revelations about his art.
Though he was now but twenty-six years old, he had twice been on the verge41 of becoming a marketable product; once through some studies of New York streets he did for a magazine, and once through a collection of pastels he brought home from New Mexico, which Remington, then at the height of his popularity, happened to see, and generously tried to push. But on both occasions Hedger decided42 that this was something he didn’t wish to carry further, — simply the old thing over again and got nowhere, — so he took enquiring43 dealers44 experiments in a “later manner,” that made them put him out of the shop. When he ran short of money, he could always get any amount of commercial work; he was an expert draughtsman and worked with lightning speed. The rest of his time he spent in groping his way from one kind of painting into another, or travelling about without luggage, like a tramp, and he was chiefly occupied with getting rid of ideas he had once thought very fine.
Hedger’s circumstances, since he had moved to Washington Square, were affluent46 compared to anything he had ever known before. He was now able to pay advance rent and turn the key on his studio when he went away for four months at a stretch. It didn’t occur to him to wish to be richer than this. To be sure, he did without a great many things other people think necessary, but he didn’t miss them, because he had never had them. He belonged to no clubs, visited no houses, had no studio friends, and he ate his dinner alone in some decent little restaurant, even on Christmas and New Year’s. For days together he talked to nobody but his dog and the janitress and the lame47 oysterman.
After he shut the door and settled down to his paradise fish on that first Tuesday in May, Hedger forgot all about his new neighbour. When the light failed, he took Caesar out for a walk. On the way home he did his marketing48 on West Houston Street, with a one-eyed Italian woman who always cheated him. After he had cooked his beans and scallopini, and drunk half a bottle of Chianti, he put his dishes in the sink and went up on the roof to smoke. He was the only person in the house who ever went to the roof, and he had a secret understanding with the janitress about it. He was to have “the privilege of the roof,” as she said, if he opened the heavy trapdoor on sunny days to air out the upper hall, and was watchful49 to close it when rain threatened. Mrs. Foley was fat and dirty and hated to climb stairs, — besides, the roof was reached by a perpendicular50 iron ladder, definitely inaccessible51 to a woman of her bulk, and the iron door at the top of it was too heavy for any but Hedger’s strong arm to lift. Hedger was not above medium height, but he practised with weights and dumb-bells, and in the shoulders he was as strong as a gorilla52.
So Hedger had the roof to himself. He and Caesar often slept up there on hot nights, rolled in blankets he had brought home from Arizona. He mounted with Caesar under his left arm. The dog had never learned to climb a perpendicular ladder, and never did he feel so much his master’s greatness and his own dependence53 upon him, as when he crept under his arm for this perilous54 ascent55. Up there was even gravel29 to scratch in, and a dog could do whatever he liked, so long as he did not bark. It was a kind of Heaven, which no one was strong enough to reach but his great, paint-smelling master.
On this blue May night there was a slender, girlish looking young moon in the west, playing with a whole company of silver stars. Now and then one of them darted56 away from the group and shot off into the gauzy blue with a soft little trail of light, like laughter. Hedger and his dog were delighted when a star did this. They were quite lost in watching the glittering game, when they were suddenly diverted by a sound, — not from the stars, though it was music. It was not the Prologue57 to Pagliacci, which rose ever and anon on hot evenings from an Italian tenement58 on Thompson Street, with the gasps of the corpulent baritone who got behind it; nor was it the hurdy-gurdy man, who often played at the corner in the balmy twilight59. No, this was a woman’s voice, singing the tempestuous60, over-lapping phrases of Signor Puccini, then comparatively new in the world, but already so popular that even Hedger recognized his unmistakable gusts61 of breath. He looked about over the roofs; all was blue and still, with the well-built chimneys that were never used now standing up dark and mournful. He moved softly toward the yellow quadrangle where the gas from the hall shone up through the half-lifted trapdoor. Oh yes! It came up through the hole like a strong draught45, a big, beautiful voice, and it sounded rather like a professional’s. A piano had arrived in the morning, Hedger remembered. This might be a very great nuisance. It would be pleasant enough to listen to, if you could turn it on and off as you wished; but you couldn’t. Caesar, with the gas light shining on his collar and his ugly but sensitive face, panted and looked up for information. Hedger put down a reassuring62 hand.
“I don’t know. We can’t tell yet. It may not be so bad.”
He stayed on the roof until all was still below, and finally descended, with quite a new feeling about his neighbour. Her voice, like her figure, inspired respect, — if one did not choose to call it admiration63. Her door was shut, the transom was dark; nothing remained of her but the obtrusive64 trunk, unrightfully taking up room in the narrow hall.
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1
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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7
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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8
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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10
unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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16
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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19
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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20
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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21
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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22
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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23
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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24
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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28
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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30
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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31
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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32
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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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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34
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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35
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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36
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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40
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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41
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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42
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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44
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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45
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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46
affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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47
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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48
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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49
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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50
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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51
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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52
gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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53
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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54
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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55
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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56
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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57
prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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58
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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59
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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60
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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61
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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62
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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63
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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64
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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