“I reckon she’s a-goin’ to be pretty late agin to-night, Jim,” he remarked in a squeaky falsetto. “S’pose it’s the snow?”
“I don’t know,” responded the other man with a shade of annoyance10, speaking from out an astonishing cataract11 of red beard that grew fiercely and thickly in all directions.
The spare man shifted the quill12 toothpick he was chewing to the other side of his mouth. “It ain’t likely that anybody from the East will come with the corpse13, I s’pose,” he went on reflectively.
“I don’t know,” responded the other, more curtly14 than before.
“It’s too bad he didn’t belong to some lodge15 or other. I like an order funeral myself. They seem more appropriate for people of some repytation,” the spare man continued, with an ingratiating concession16 in his shrill17 voice, as he carefully placed his toothpick in his vest pocket. He always carried the flag at the G.A.R. funerals in the town.
The heavy man turned on his heel, without replying, and walked up the siding. The spare man rejoined the uneasy group. “Jim’s ez full ez a tick, ez ushel,” he commented commiseratingly.
Just then a distant whistle sounded, and there was a shuffling18 of feet on the platform. A number of lanky19 boys, of all ages, appeared as, suddenly and slimily as eels20 wakened by the crack of thunder; some came from the waiting-room, where they had been warming themselves by the red stove, or half asleep on the slat benches; others uncoiled themselves from baggage trucks or slid out of express wagons21. Two clambered down from the driver’s seat of a hearse that stood backed up against the siding. They straightened their stooping shoulders and lifted their heads, and a flash of momentary22 animation23 kindled24 their dull eyes at that cold, vibrant25 scream, the worldwide call for men. It stirred them like the note of a trumpet26; just as it had often stirred the man who was coming home tonight, in his boyhood.
The night express shot, red as a rocket, from out the eastward27 marsh28 lands and wound along the river shore under the long lines of shivering poplars that sentinelled the meadows, the escaping steam hanging in grey masses against the pale sky and blotting29 out the Milky30 Way. In a moment the red glare from the headlight streamed up the snow-covered track before the siding and glittered on the wet, black rails. The burly man with the dishevelled red beard walked swiftly up the platform toward the approaching train, uncovering his head as he went. The group of men behind him hesitated, glanced questioningly at one another, and awkwardly followed his example. The train stopped, and the crowd shuffled up to the express car just as the door was thrown open, the man in the G.A.R. suit thrusting his head forward with curiosity. The express messenger appeared in the doorway31, accompanied by a young man in a long ulster and travelling cap.
“Are Mr. Merrick’s friends here?” inquired the young man.
The group on the platform swayed uneasily. Philip Phelps, the banker, responded with dignity: “We have come to take charge of the body. Mr. Merrick’s father is very feeble and can’t be about.”
“Send the agent out here,” growled32 the express messenger, “and tell the operator to lend a hand.”
The coffin33 was got out of its rough-box and down on the snowy platform. The townspeople drew back enough to make room for it and then formed a close semicircle about it, looking curiously34 at the palm leaf which lay across the black cover. No one said anything. The baggage man stood by his truck, waiting to get at the trunks. The engine panted heavily, and the fireman dodged35 in and out among the wheels with his yellow torch and long oil-can, snapping the spindle boxes. The young Bostonian, one of the dead sculptor36’s pupils who had come with the body, looked about him helplessly. He turned to the banker, the only one of that black, uneasy, stoop-shouldered group who seemed enough of an individual to be addressed.
“None of Mr. Merrick’s brothers are here?” he asked uncertainly.
The man with the red beard for the first time stepped up and joined the others. “No, they have not come yet; the family is scattered37. The body will be taken directly to the house.” He stooped and took hold of one of the handles of the coffin.
“Take the long hill road up, Thompson, it will be easier on the horses,” called the liveryman as the undertaker snapped the door of the hearse and prepared to mount to the driver’s seat.
Laird, the red-bearded lawyer, turned again to the stranger: “We didn’t know whether there would be any one with him or not,” he explained. “It’s a long walk, so you’d better go up in the hack38.” He pointed39 to a single battered40 conveyance41, but the young man replied stiffly: “Thank you, but I think I will go up with the hearse. If you don’t object,” turning to the undertaker, “I’ll ride with you.”
They clambered up over the wheels and drove off in the starlight up the long, white hill toward the town. The lamps in the still village were shining from under the low, snow-burdened roofs; and beyond, on every side, the plains reached out into emptiness, peaceful and wide as the soft sky itself, and wrapped in a tangible42, white silence.
When the hearse backed up to a wooden sidewalk before a naked, weather-beaten frame house, the same composite, ill-defined group that had stood upon the station siding was huddled43 about the gate. The front yard was an icy swamp, and a couple of warped44 planks45, extending from the sidewalk to the door, made a sort of rickety footbridge. The gate hung on one hinge, and was opened wide with difficulty. Steavens, the young stranger, noticed that something black was tied to the knob of the front door.
The grating sound made by the casket, as it was drawn46 from the hearse, was answered by a scream from the house; the front door was wrenched47 open, and a tall, corpulent woman rushed out bareheaded into the snow and flung herself upon the coffin, shrieking48: “My boy, my boy! And this is how you’ve come home to me!”
As Steavens turned away and closed his eyes with a shudder49 of unutterable repulsion, another woman, also tall, but flat and angular, dressed entirely50 in black, darted51 out of the house and caught Mrs. Merrick by the shoulders, crying sharply: “Come, come, mother; you mustn’t go on like this!” Her tone changed to one of obsequious52 solemnity as she turned to the banker: “The parlour is ready, Mr. Phelps.”
The bearers carried the coffin along the narrow boards, while the undertaker ran ahead with the coffin-rests. They bore it into a large, unheated room that smelled of dampness and disuse and furniture polish, and set it down under a hanging lamp ornamented53 with jingling54 glass prisms and before a “Rogers group” of John Alden and Priscilla, wreathed with smilax. Henry Steavens stared about him with the sickening conviction that there had been a mistake, and that he had somehow arrived at the wrong destination. He looked at the clover-green Brussels, the fat plush upholstery, among the hand-painted china placques and panels and vases, for some mark of identification, — for something that might once conceivably have belonged to Harvey Merrick. It was not until he recognized his friend in the crayon portrait of a little boy in kilts and curls, hanging above the piano, that he felt willing to let any of these people approach the coffin.
“Take the lid off, Mr. Thompson; let me see my boy’s face,” wailed55 the elder woman between her sobs57. This time Steavens looked fearfully, almost beseechingly58 into her face, red and swollen59 under its masses of strong, black, shiny hair. He flushed, dropped his eyes, and then, almost incredulously, looked again. There was a kind of power about her face — a kind of brutal60 handsomeness, even; but it was scarred and furrowed61 by violence, and so coloured and coarsened by fiercer passions that grief seemed never to have laid a gentle finger there. The long nose was distended62 and knobbed at the end, and there were deep lines on either side of it; her heavy, black brows almost met across her forehead, her teeth were large and square, and set far apart — teeth that could tear. She filled the room; the men were obliterated63, seemed tossed about like twigs64 in an angry water, and even Steavens felt himself being drawn into the whirlpool.
The daughter — the tall, raw-boned woman in crêpe, with a mourning comb in her hair which curiously lengthened65 her long face — sat stiffly upon the sofa, her hands, conspicuous4 for their large knuckles66, folded in her lap, her mouth and eyes drawn down, solemnly awaiting the opening of the coffin. Near the door stood a mulatto woman, evidently a servant in the house, with a timid bearing and an emaciated67 face pitifully sad and gentle. She was weeping silently, the corner of her calico apron68 lifted to her eyes, occasionally suppressing a long, quivering sob56. Steavens walked over and stood beside her.
Feeble steps were heard on the stairs, and an old man, tall and frail69, odorous of pipe smoke, with shaggy, unkept grey hair and a dingy70 beard, tobacco stained about the mouth, entered uncertainly. He went slowly up to the coffin and stood rolling a blue cotton handkerchief between his hands, seeming so pained and embarrassed by his wife’s orgy of grief that he had no consciousness of anything else.
“There, there, Annie, dear, don’t take on so,” he quavered timidly, putting out a shaking hand and awkwardly patting her elbow. She turned and sank upon his shoulder with such violence that he tottered71 a little. He did not even glance toward the coffin, but continued to look at her with a dull, frightened, appealing expression, as a spaniel looks at the whip. His sunken cheeks slowly reddened and burned with miserable72 shame. When his wife rushed from the room, her daughter strode after her with set lips. The servant stole up to the coffin, bent73 over it for a moment, and then slipped away to the kitchen, leaving Steavens, the lawyer, and the father to themselves. The old man stood looking down at his dead son’s face. The sculptor’s splendid head seemed even more noble in its rigid74 stillness than in life. The dark hair had crept down upon the wide forehead; the face seemed strangely long, but in it there was not that repose75 we expect to find in the faces of the dead. The brows were so drawn that there were two deep lines above the beaked76 nose, and the chin was thrust forward defiantly77. It was as though the strain of life had been so sharp and bitter that death could not at once relax the tension and smooth the countenance78 into perfect peace — as though he were still guarding something precious, which might even yet be wrested79 from him.
The old man’s lips were working under his stained beard. He turned to the lawyer with timid deference: “Phelps and the rest are comin’ back to set up with Harve, ain’t they?” he asked. “Thank’ee, Jim, thank’ee.” He brushed the hair back gently from his son’s forehead. “He was a good boy, Jim; always a good boy. He was ez gentle ez a child and the kindest of ’em all — only we didn’t none of us ever onderstand him.” The tears trickled80 slowly down his beard and dropped upon the sculptor’s coat.
“Martin, Martin! Oh, Martin! come here,” his wife wailed from the top of the stairs. The old man started timorously81: “Yes, Annie, I’m coming.” He turned away, hesitated, stood for a moment in miserable indecision; then reached back and patted the dead man’s hair softly, and stumbled from the room.
“Poor old man, I didn’t think he had any tears left. Seems as if his eyes would have gone dry long ago. At his age nothing cuts very deep,” remarked the lawyer.
Something in his tone made Steavens glance up. While the mother had been in the room, the young man had scarcely seen any one else; but now, from the moment he first glanced into Jim Laird’s florid face and blood-shot eyes, he knew that he had found what he had been heartsick at not finding before — the feeling, the understanding, that must exist in some one, even here.
The man was red as his beard, with features swollen and blurred83 by dissipation, and a hot, blazing blue eye. His face was strained — that of a man who is controlling himself with difficulty — and he kept plucking at his beard with a sort of fierce resentment84. Steavens, sitting by the window, watched him turn down the glaring lamp, still its jangling pendants with an angry gesture, and then stand with his hands locked behind him, staring down into the master’s face. He could not help wondering what link there had been between the porcelain85 vessel86 and so sooty a lump of potter’s clay.
From the kitchen an uproar87 was sounding; when the dining-room door opened, the import of it was clear. The mother was abusing the maid for having forgotten to make the dressing88 for the chicken salad which had been prepared for the watchers. Steavens had never heard anything in the least like it; it was injured, emotional, dramatic abuse, unique and masterly in its excruciating cruelty, as violent and unrestrained as had been her grief of twenty minutes before. With a shudder of disgust the lawyer went into the dining-room and closed the door into the kitchen.
“Poor Roxy’s getting it now,” he remarked when he came back. “The Merricks took her out of the poor-house years ago; and if her loyalty89 would let her, I guess the poor old thing could tell tales that would curdle90 your blood. She’s the mulatto woman who was standing82 in here a while ago, with her apron to her eyes. The old woman is a fury; there never was anybody like her. She made Harvey’s life a hell for him when he lived at home; he was so sick ashamed of it. I never could see how he kept himself sweet.”
“He was wonderful,” said Steavens slowly, “wonderful; but until tonight I have never known how wonderful.”
“That is the eternal wonder of it, anyway; that it can come even from such a dung heap as this,” the lawyer cried, with a sweeping91 gesture which seemed to indicate much more than the four walls within which they stood.
“I think I’ll see whether I can get a little air. The room is so close I am beginning to feel rather faint,” murmured Steavens, struggling with one of the windows. The sash was stuck, however, and would not yield, so he sat down dejectedly and began pulling at his collar. The lawyer came over, loosened the sash with one blow of his red fist and sent the window up a few inches. Steavens thanked him, but the nausea92 which had been gradually climbing into his throat for the last half hour left him with but one desire — a desperate feeling that he must get away from this place with what was left of Harvey Merrick. Oh, he comprehended well enough now the quiet bitterness of the smile that he had seen so often on his master’s lips!
Once when Merrick returned from a visit home, he brought with him a singularly feeling and suggestive bas-relief of a thin, faded old woman, sitting and sewing something pinned to her knee; while a full-lipped, full-blooded little urchin93, his trousers held up by a single gallows94, stood beside her, impatiently twitching95 her gown to call her attention to a butterfly he had caught. Steavens, impressed by the tender and delicate modelling of the thin, tired face, had asked him if it were his mother. He remembered the dull flush that had burned up in the sculptor’s face.
The lawyer was sitting in a rocking-chair beside the coffin, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Steavens looked at him earnestly, puzzled at the line of the chin, and wondering why a man should conceal96 a feature of such distinction under that disfiguring shock of beard. Suddenly, as though he felt the young sculptor’s keen glance, Jim Laird opened his eyes.
“Was he always a good deal of an oyster97?” he asked abruptly98. “He was terribly shy as a boy.”
“Yes, he was an oyster, since you put it so,” rejoined Stevens. “Although he could be very fond of people, he always gave one the impression of being detached. He disliked violent emotion; he was reflective, and rather distrustful of himself — except, of course, as regarded his work. He was sure enough there. He distrusted men pretty thoroughly99 and women even more, yet somehow without believing ill of them. He was determined100, indeed, to believe the best; but he seemed afraid to investigate.”
“A burnt dog dreads101 the fire,” said the lawyer grimly, and closed his eyes.
Steavens went on and on, reconstructing that whole miserable boyhood. All this raw, biting ugliness had been the portion of the man whose mind was to become an exhaustless gallery of beautiful impressions — so sensitive that the mere102 shadow of a poplar leaf flickering103 against a sunny wall would be etched and held there for ever. Surely, if ever a man had the magic word in his finger tips, it was Merrick. Whatever he touched, he revealed its holiest secret; liberated104 it from enchantment105 and restored it to its pristine106 loveliness. Upon whatever he had come in contact with, he had left a beautiful record of the experience — a sort of ethereal signature; a scent107, a sound, a colour that was his own.
Steavens understood now the real tragedy of his master’s life; neither love nor wine, as many had conjectured108; but a blow which had fallen earlier and cut deeper than anything else could have done — a shame not his, and yet so unescapably his, to bide109 in his heart from his very boyhood. And without — the frontier warfare110; the yearning111 of a boy, cast ashore112 upon a desert of newness and ugliness and sordidness113, for all that is chastened and old, and noble with traditions.
At eleven o’clock the tall, flat woman in black announced that the watchers were arriving, and asked them to “step into the dining-room.” As Steavens rose, the lawyer said dryly: “You go on — it’ll be a good experience for you. I’m not equal to that crowd tonight; I’ve had twenty years of them.”
As Steavens closed the door after him he glanced back at the lawyer, sitting by the coffin in the dim light, with his chin resting on his hand.
The same misty114 group that had stood before the door of the express car shuffled into the dining-room. In the light of the kerosene115 lamp they separated and became individuals. The minister, a pale, feeble-looking man with white hair and blond chin-whiskers, took his seat beside a small side table and placed his Bible upon it. The Grand Army man sat down behind the stove and tilted116 his chair back comfortably against the wall, fishing his quill toothpick from his waistcoat pocket. The two bankers, Phelps and Elder, sat off in a corner behind the dinner-table, where they could finish their discussion of the new usury117 law and its effect on chattel118 security loans. The real estate agent, an old man with a smiling, hypocritical face, soon joined them. The coal and lumber119 dealer120 and the cattle shipper sat on opposite sides of the hard coal-burner, their feet on the nickel-work. Steavens took a book from his pocket and began to read. The talk around him ranged through various topics of local interest while the house was quieting down. When it was clear that the members of the family were in bed, the Grand Army man hitched121 his shoulders and, untangling his long legs, caught his heels on the rounds of his chair.
“S’pose there’ll be a will, Phelps?” he queried123 in his weak falsetto.
The banker laughed disagreeably, and began trimming his nails with a pearl-handled pocket-knife.
“There’ll scarcely be any need for one, will there?” he queried in his turn.
The restless Grand Army man shifted his position again, getting his knees still nearer his chin. “Why, the ole man says Harve’s done right well lately,” he chirped124.
The other banker spoke125 up. “I reckon he means by that Harve ain’t asked him to mortgage any more farms lately, so as he could go on with his education.”
“Seems like my mind don’t reach back to a time when Harve wasn’t bein’ edycated,” tittered the Grand Army man.
There was a general chuckle126. The minister took out his handkerchief and blew his nose sonorously127. Banker Phelps closed his knife with a snap. “It’s too bad the old man’s sons didn’t turn out better,” he remarked with reflective authority. “They never hung together. He spent money enough on Harve to stock a dozen cattle-farms, and he might as well have poured it into Sand Creek128. If Harve had stayed at home and helped nurse what little they had, and gone into stock on the old man’s bottom farm, they might all have been well fixed129. But the old man had to trust everything to tenants130 and was cheated right and left.”
“Harve never could have handled stock none,” interposed the cattleman. “He hadn’t it in him to be sharp. Do you remember when he bought Sander’s mules131 for eight-year olds, when everybody in town knew that Sander’s father-inlaw give ’em to his wife for a wedding present eighteen years before, an’ they was full-grown mules then?”
The company laughed discreetly132, and the Grand Army man rubbed his knees with a spasm133 of childish delight.
“Harve never was much account for anything practical, and he shore was never fond of work,” began the coal and lumber dealer. “I mind the last time he was home; the day he left, when the old man was out to the barn helpin’ his hand hitch122 up to take Harve to the train, and Cal Moots134 was patchin’ up the fence; Harve, he come out on the step and sings out, in his lady-like voice: ‘Cal Moots, Cal Moots! please come cord my trunk.’”
“That’s Harve for you,” approved the Grand Army man. “I kin6 hear him howlin’ yet, when he was a big feller in long pants and his mother used to whale him with a rawhide135 in the barn for lettin’ the cows git foundered136 in the cornfield when he was drivin’ ’em home from pasture. He killed a cow of mine that-a-way onct — a pure Jersey137 and the best milker I had, an’ the ole man had to put up for her. Harve, he was watchin’ the sun set acrost the marshes138 when the anamile got away.”
“Where the old man made his mistake was in sending the boy East to school,” said Phelps, stroking his goatee and speaking in a deliberate, judicial139 tone. “There was where he got his head full of nonsense. What Harve needed, of all people, was a course in some first-class Kansas City business college.”
The letters were swimming before Steavens’s eyes. Was it possible that these men did not understand, that the palm on the coffin meant nothing to them? The very name of their town would have remained for ever buried in the postal140 guide had it not been now and again mentioned in the world in connection with Harvey Merrick’s. He remembered what his master had said to him on the day of his death, after the congestion141 of both lungs had shut off any probability of recovery, and the sculptor had asked his pupil to send his body home. “It’s not a pleasant place to be lying while the world is moving and doing and bettering,” he had said with a feeble smile, “but it rather seems as though we ought to go back to the place we came from, in the end. The townspeople will come in for a look at me; and after they have had their say, I shan’t have much to fear from the judgment142 of God!”
The cattleman took up the comment. “Forty’s young for a Merrick to cash in; they usually hang on pretty well. Probably he helped it along with whisky.”
“His mother’s people were not long lived, and Harvey never had a robust143 constitution,” said the minister mildly. He would have liked to say more. He had been the boy’s Sunday-school teacher, and had been fond of him; but he felt that he was not in a position to speak. His own sons had turned out badly, and it was not a year since one of them had made his last trip home in the express car, shot in a gambling-house in the Black Hills.
“Nevertheless, there is no disputin’ that Harve frequently looked upon the wine when it was red, also variegated144, and it shore made an oncommon fool of him,” moralized the cattleman.
Just then the door leading into the parlour rattled145 loudly and every one started involuntarily, looking relieved when only Jim Laird came out. The Grand Army man ducked his head when he saw the spark in his blue, blood-shot eye. They were all afraid of Jim; he was a drunkard, but he could twist the law to suit his client’s needs as no other man in all western Kansas could do, and there were many who tried. The lawyer closed the door behind him, leaned back against it and folded his arms, cocking his head a little to one side. When he assumed this attitude in the court-room, ears were always pricked146 up, as it usually foretold147 a flood of withering148 sarcasm149.
“I’ve been with you gentlemen before,” he began in a dry, even tone, “when you’ve sat by the coffins150 of boys born and raised in this town; and, if I remember rightly, you were never any too well satisfied when you checked them up. What’s the matter, anyhow? Why is it that reputable young men are as scarce as millionaires in Sand City? It might almost seem to a stranger that there was some way something the matter with your progressive town. Why did Ruben Sayer, the brightest young lawyer you ever turned out, after he had come home from the university as straight as a die, take to drinking and forge a check and shoot himself? Why did Bill Merrit’s son die of the shakes in a saloon in Omaha? Why was Mr. Thomas’s son, here, shot in a gambling-house? Why did young Adams burn his mill to beat the insurance companies and go to the pen?”
The lawyer paused and unfolded his arms, laying one clenched151 fist quietly on the table. “I’ll tell you why. Because you drummed nothing but money and knavery152 into their ears from the time they wore knickerbockers; because you carped away at them as you’ve been carping here tonight, holding our friends Phelps and Elder up to them for their models, as our grandfathers held up George Washington and John Adams. But the boys were young, and raw at the business you put them to, and how could they match coppers153 with such artists as Phelps and Elder? You wanted them to be successful rascals154; they were only unsuccessful ones — that’s all the difference. There was only one boy ever raised in this borderland between ruffianism and civilization who didn’t come to grief, and you hated Harvey Merrick more for winning out than you hated all the other boys who got under the wheels. Lord, Lord, how you did hate him! Phelps, here, is fond of saying that he could buy and sell us all out any time he’s a mind to; but he knew Harve wouldn’t have given a tinker’s damn for his bank and all his cattlefarms put together; and a lack of appreciation155, that way, goes hard with Phelps.
“Old Nimrod thinks Harve drank too much; and this from such as Nimrod and me!
“Brother Elder says Harve was too free with the old man’s money — fell short in filial consideration, maybe. Well, we can all remember the very tone in which brother Elder swore his own father was a liar156, in the county court; and we all know that the old man came out of that partnership157 with his son as bare as a sheared158 lamb. But maybe I’m getting personal, and I’d better be driving ahead at what I want to say.”
The lawyer paused a moment, squared his heavy shoulders, and went on: “Harvey Merrick and I went to school together, back East. We were dead in earnest, and we wanted you all to be proud of us some day. We meant to be great men. Even I, and I haven’t lost my sense of humour, gentlemen, I meant to be a great man. I came back here to practise, and I found you didn’t in the least want me to be a great man. You wanted me to be a shrewd lawyer — oh, yes! Our veteran here wanted me to get him an increase of pension, because he had dyspepsia; Phelps wanted a new county survey that would put the widow Wilson’s little bottom farm inside his south line; Elder wanted to lend money at 5 per cent, a month, and get it collected; and Stark159 here wanted to wheedle160 old women up in Vermont into investing their annuities161 in real-estate mortgages that are not worth the paper they are written on. Oh, you needed me hard enough, and you’ll go on needing me!
“Well, I came back here and became the damned shyster you wanted me to be. You pretend to have some sort of respect for me; and yet you’ll stand up and throw mud at Harvey Merrick, whose soul you couldn’t dirty and whose hands you couldn’t tie. Oh, you’re a discriminating162 lot of Christians163! There have been times when the sight of Harvey’s name in some Eastern paper has made me hang my head like a whipped dog; and, again, times when I liked to think of him off there in the world, away from all this hog-wallow, climbing the big, clean up-grade he’d set for himself.
“And we? Now that we’ve fought and lied and sweated and stolen, and hated as only the disappointed strugglers in a bitter, dead little Western town know how to do, what have we got to show for it? Harvey Merrick wouldn’t have given one sunset over your marshes for all you’ve got put together, and you know it. It’s not for me to say why, in the inscrutable wisdom of God, a genius should ever have been called from this place of hatred164 and bitter waters; but I want this Boston man to know that the drivel he’s been hearing here tonight is the only tribute any truly great man could have from such a lot of sick, side-tracked, burnt-dog, land-poor sharks as the here-present financiers of Sand City — upon which town may God have mercy!”
The lawyer thrust out his hand to Steavens as he passed him, caught up his overcoat in the hall, and had left the house before the Grand Army man had had time to lift his ducked head and crane his long neck about at his fellows.
Next day Jim Laird was drunk and unable to attend the funeral services. Steavens called twice at his office, but was compelled to start East without seeing him. He had a presentiment165 that he would hear from him again, and left his address on the lawyer’s table; but if Laird found it, he never acknowledged it. The thing in him that Harvey Merrick had loved must have gone under ground with Harvey Merrick’s coffin; for it never spoke again, and Jim got the cold he died of driving across the Colorado mountains to defend one of Phelps’s sons who had got into trouble out there by cutting government timber.
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overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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12
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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13
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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14
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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15
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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16
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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17
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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18
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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19
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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20
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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21
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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22
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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23
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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24
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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25
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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26
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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27
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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28
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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29
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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30
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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31
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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32
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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33
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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34
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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35
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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36
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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37
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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38
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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39
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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40
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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41
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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42
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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43
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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45
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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46
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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47
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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48
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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49
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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50
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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51
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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52
obsequious
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|
| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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53
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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55
wailed
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|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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57
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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58
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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59
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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60
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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61
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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64
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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65
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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67
emaciated
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|
| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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68
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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69
frail
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|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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70
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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71
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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72
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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73
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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74
rigid
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|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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75
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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76
beaked
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|
| adj.有喙的，鸟嘴状的 | |
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77
defiantly
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|
| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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78
countenance
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|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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79
wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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80
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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81
timorously
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|
| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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82
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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83
blurred
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|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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84
resentment
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|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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85
porcelain
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|
| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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86
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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87
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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88
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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89
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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90
curdle
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| v.使凝结，变稠 | |
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91
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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92
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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93
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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94
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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95
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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96
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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97
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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98
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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99
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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100
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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101
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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103
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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104
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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105
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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106
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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107
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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108
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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110
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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111
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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112
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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113
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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114
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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115
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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116
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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117
usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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118
chattel
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| n.动产；奴隶 | |
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119
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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120
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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121
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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122
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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123
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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124
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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125
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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126
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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127
sonorously
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| adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；堂皇地；朗朗地 | |
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128
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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129
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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130
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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131
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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132
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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133
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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134
moots
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| v.提出…供讨论( moot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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135
rawhide
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| n.生牛皮 | |
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136
foundered
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| v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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138
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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139
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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140
postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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141
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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142
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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143
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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145
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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146
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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147
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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149
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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150
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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151
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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152
knavery
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| n.恶行，欺诈的行为 | |
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153
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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154
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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155
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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156
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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157
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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158
sheared
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| v.剪羊毛( shear的过去式和过去分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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159
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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160
wheedle
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| v.劝诱，哄骗 | |
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161
annuities
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| n.养老金；年金( annuity的名词复数 )；（每年的）养老金；年金保险；年金保险投资 | |
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162
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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163
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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