HE young man stood in the field road giving directions to a robust1 negro who was ploughing the corn, which, in parallel rows, stretched on to the main road a quarter of a mile distant. The negro placed the point of his ploughshare a few inches from the first stalk of corn, wound the line around his wrist, and clucked to his horse. With a jangling jerk of the trace-chains the animal lunged ahead: the polished ploughshare cut into the mellow2 soil and sped onward3, curling the gray earth like shavings, and uprooting4 and burying the tenacious5 crab-grass and succulent purslane.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, but the atmosphere had dropped a dim veil over the near-by mountain. Even the two-storied farm-house, with its veranda6 and white columns, to which the field road led up a gradual slope, showed only its outlines. However, Alan Bishop7, as he steadied his gaze upon the house, saw the figure of an elderly woman come out of the gate and with a quick step hurry down to him. It was his mother; she was tall and angular, and had high cheek-bones and small blue eyes. She had rather thin gray hair, which was wound into a knot behind her head, and over it she wore only a small red breakfast shawl which she held in place by one of her long hands.
"Alan," she said, panting from her brisk walk, "I want you to come to the house right off. Mr. Trabue has come to see yore pa again an' I can't do a thing with 'im."
"Well, what does he want with him?" asked the young man. His glance was on the ploughman and his horse. They had turned the far end of the corn-row and were coming back, only the nodding head of the animal being visible beyond a little rise.
"He's come to draw up the papers fer another land trade yore pa's makin'. He's the lawyer fer the Tompkins estate. Yore pa tried to buy the land a yeer ago, but it wasn't in shape to dispose of. Oh, Alan, don't you see he's goin' to ruin us with his fool notions? Folks all about are a-laughin' at him fer buyin' so much useless mountain-land. I'm powerful afeered his mind is wrong."
"Well, mother, what could I do?" Alan Bishop asked impatiently. "You know he won't listen to me."
"I reckon you can' t stop 'im," sighed the woman, "but I wish you'd come on to the house. I knowed he was up to some 'n'. Ever'day fer the last week he's been ridin' up the valley an' rollin' and tumblin' at night an' chawin' ten times as much tobacco as he ort. Oh, he's goin' to ruin us! Brother Abner says he is buyin' beca'se he thinks it's goin' to advance in value, but sech property hain't advanced a speck9 sence I kin8 remember, an' is bein' sold ever' yeer fer tax money."
"No, it's very foolish of him," said the young man as the two turned towards the house. "Father keeps talking about the fine timber on such property, but it is entirely10 too far from a railroad ever to be worth anything. I asked Rayburn Miller11 about it and he told me to do all I could to stop father from investing, and you know he's as sharp a speculator as ever lived; but it's his money."
There was a paling fence around the house, and the enclosure was alive with chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and peafowls. In the sunshine on the veranda two pointers lay sleeping, but at the sound of the opening gate they rose, stretched themselves lazily, and gaped12.
"They are in the parlor13," said Mrs. Bishop, as she whisked off her breakfast shawl. "Go right in, I 'll come in a minute. I want to see how Linda is makin' out with the churnin'. La! I feel like it's a waste o' time to do a lick o' work with him in thar actin' like a child. Ef we both go in together it 'll look like we've concocked somethin', but we must stop 'im ef we kin."
Alan went into the parlor on the left of the wide, uncarpeted hall. The room had white plastered walls, but the ceiling was of boards planed by hand and painted sky blue. In one corner stood a very old piano with pointed14, octagonal legs and a stool with hair-cloth covering. The fireplace was wide and high, and had a screen made of a decorated window-shade tightly pasted on a wooden frame. Old man Bishop sat near a window, and through his steel-framed nose-glasses was carefully reading a long document written on legal-cap paper. He paid no attention to the entrance of his son, but the lawyer, a short, fat man of sixty-five with thick black hair that fell below his coat-collar, rose and extended his hand.
"How's Alan?" he asked, pleasantly. "I saw you down in the field as I come along, but I couldn't catch your eye. You see I'm out after some o' your dad's cash. He's buying hisse'f rich. My Lord! if it ever does turn his way he 'll scoop15 in enough money to set you and your sister up for life. Folks tell me he owns mighty16 near every stick of timber-land in the Cohutta Valley, and what he has he got at the bottom figure."
"If it ever turns his way," said Alan; "but do you see any prospect17 of it's ever doing so, Mr. Trabue?" The lawyer shrugged18 his shoulders. "I never bet on another man's trick, my boy, and I never throw cold water on the plans of a speculator. I used to when I was about your age, but I saw so many of 'em get rich by paying no attention to me that I quit right off. A man ought to be allowed to use his own judgment19." Old Bishop was evidently not hearing a word of this conversation, being wholly absorbed in studying the details of the deed before him. "I reckon it's all right," he finally said. "You say the Tompkins children are all of age?"
"Yes, Effie was the youngest," answered Trabue, "and she stepped over the line last Tuesday. There's her signature in black and white. The deed's all right. I don't draw up any other sort."
Alan went to his father and leaned over him. "Father," he said, softly, and yet with firmness, "I wish you'd not act hastily in this deal. You ought to consider mother's wishes, and she is nearly distracted over it."
Bishop was angry. His massive, clean-shaven face was red. "I'd like to know what I'd consult her fer," he said. "In a matter o' this kind a woman's about as responsible as a suckin' baby."
Trabue laughed heartily21. "Well, I reckon it's a good thing your wife didn't hear that or she'd show you whether she was responsible or not. I couldn't have got the first word of that off my tongue before my wife would 'a' knocked me clean through that wall."
Alfred Bishop seemed not to care for levity22 during business hours, for he greeted this remark only with a frown. He scanned the paper again and said: "Well, ef thar's any flaw in this I reckon you 'll make it right."
"Oh yes, I 'll make any mistake of mine good," returned Trabue. "The paper's all right."
"You see," said Alan to the lawyer, "mother and I think father has already more of this sort of property than he can carry, and—"
"I wish you and yore mother'd let my business alone," broke in Bishop, firing up again. "Trabue heer knows I've been worryin' 'im fer the last two months to get the property in salable23 shape. Do you reckon after he gets it that away I want to listen to yore two tongues a-waggin' in open opposition24 to it?"
Trabue rubbed his hands together. "It really don't make a bit of difference to me, Alan, one way or the other," he said, pacifically. "I'm only acting25 as attorney for the Tompkins estate, and get my fee whether there's a transfer or not. That's where I stand in the matter."
"But it's not whar I stand in it, Mr. Trabue," said a firm voice in the doorway26. It was Mrs. Bishop, her blue eyes flashing, her face pale and rigid27. "I think I've got a right—and a big one—to have a say-so in this kind of a trade. A woman 'at 's stayed by a man's side fer thirty odd yeer an' raked an' scraped to he'p save a little handful o' property fer her two children has got a right to raise a rumpus when her husband goes crooked28 like Alfred has an' starts in to bankrupt 'em all jest fer a blind notion o' his'n."
"Oh, thar you are!" said Bishop, lifting his eyes from the paper and glaring at her over his glasses. "I knowed I'd have to have a knock-down-an'-drag-out fight with you 'fore20 I signed my name, so sail in an' git it over. Trabue's got to ride back to town."
"But whar in the name o' common-sense is the money to come from?" the woman hurled29 at her husband, as she rested one of her bony hands on the edge of the table and glared at him. "As I understand it, thar's about five thousand acres in this piece alone, an' yo're a-payin' a dollar a acre. Whar's it a-comin' from, I'd like to know? Whar's it to come from?"
Bishop sniffed30 and ran a steady hand over his short, gray hair. "You see how little she knows o' my business," he said to the lawyer. "Heer she's raisin31' the devil an' Tom Walker about the trade an' she don't so much as know whar the money's to come from."
"How was I to know?" retorted the woman, "when you've been tellin' me fer the last six months that thar wasn't enough in the bank to give the house a coat o' fresh paint an' patch the barn roof."
"You knowed I had five thousand dollars wuth o' stock in the Shoal River Cotton Mills, didn't you?" asked Bishop, defiantly32, and yet with the manner of a man throwing a missile which he hoped would fall lightly.
"Yes, I knowed that, but—" The woman's eyes were two small fires burning hungrily for information beyond their reach.
"Well, it happens that Shoal stock is jest the same on the market as ready money, up a little to-day an' down to-morrow, but never varyin' more'n a fraction of a cent on the dollar, an' so the Tompkins heirs say they'd jest as lieve have it, an' as I'm itchin' to relieve them of the'r land, it didn't take us long to come together."
If he had struck the woman squarely in the face, she could not have shown more surprise. She became white to the lips, and with a low cry turned to her son. "Oh, Alan, don't—don't let 'im do it, it's all we have left that we can depend on! It will ruin us!"
"Why, father, surely," protested Alan, as he put his arm around his mother, "surely you can't mean to let go your mill investment which is paying fifteen per cent, to put the money into lands that may never advance in value and always be a dead weight on your hands! Think of the loss of interest and the taxes to be kept up. Father, you must listen to—"
"Listen to nothin'," thundered Bishop, half rising from his chair. "Nobody axed you two to put in. It's my business an' I'm a-goin' to attend to it. I believe I'm doin' the right thing, an' that settles it."
"The right thing," moaned the old woman, as she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. "Mr. Trabue," she went on, fiercely, "when that factory stock leaves our hands we won't have a single thing to our names that will bring in a cent of income. You kin see how bad it is on a woman who has worked as hard to do fer her children as I have. Mr. Bishop always said Adele, who is visitin' her uncle's family in Atlanta, should have that stock for a weddin'-gift, ef she ever married, an' Alan was to have the lower half of this farm. Now what would we have to give the girl—nothin' but thousands o' acres o' hills, mountains an' gulches33 full o' bear, wild-cats, and catamounts—land that it ud break any young couple to hold on to—much less put to any use. Oh, I feel perfectly34 sick over it."
There was a heavy, dragging step in the hall, and a long, lank35 man of sixty or sixty-five years of age paused in the doorway. He had no beard except a tuft of gray hair on his chin, and his teeth, being few and far between, gave to his cheeks a hollow appearance. He was Abner Daniel, Mrs. Bishop's bachelor brother, who lived in the family.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, shifting a big quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other; "plottin' agin the whites? Ef you are, I 'll decamp, as the feller said when the bull yeerlin' butted36 'im in the small o' the back. How are you, Mr. Trabue? Have they run you out o' town fer some o' yore legal rascality37?"
"I reckon your sister thinks it's rascality that's brought me out to-day," laughed the lawyer. "We are on a little land deal."
"Oh, well, I 'll move on," said Abner Daniel. "I jest wanted to tell Alan that Rigg's hogs38 got into his young corn in the bottom jest now an' rooted up about as many acres as Pole Baker's ploughed all day. Ef they'd a-rooted in straight rows an' not gone too nigh the stalks they mought 'a' done the crap more good than harm, but the'r aim or intention, one or t'other, was bad. Folks is that away; mighty few of 'em root—when they root at all—fer anybody but the'rse'ves. Well, I 'll git along to my room."
"Don't go, brother Ab," pleaded his sister. "I want you to he'p me stand up fer my rights. Alfred is about to swap39 our cotton-mill stock fer some more wild mountain-land."
In spite of his natural tendency to turn everything into a jest—even the serious things of life—the sallow face of the tall man lengthened40. He stared into the faces around him for a moment, then a slow twinkle dawned in his eye.
"I've never been knowed to take sides in any connubial41 tustle yet," he said to Trabue, in a dry tone. "Alf may not know what he's about right now, but he's Solomon hisse'f compared to a feller that will undertake to settle a dispute betwixt a man an' his wife—more especially the wife. Geewhilikins! I never shall forget the time old Jane Hardeway come heer to spend a week an' Alf thar an' Betsy split over buyin' a hat-rack fer the hall. Betsy had seed one over at Mason's, at the camp-ground, an' determined42 she'd have one. Maybe you noticed that fancy contraption in the hall as you come in. Well, Alf seed a nigger unloadin' it from a wagon43 at the door one mornin', an' when Betsy, in feer an' tremblin', told 'im what it was fer he mighty nigh had a fit. He said his folks never had been above hangin' the'r coats an' hats on good stout44 nails an' pegs45, an' as fer them umbrella-pans to ketch the drip, he said they was fancy spit-boxes, an' wanted to know ef she expected a body to do the'r chawin' an' smokin' in that windy hall. He said it jest should not stand thar with all them prongs an' arms to attack unwary folks in the dark, an' he toted it out to the buggy-shed. That got Betsy's dander up an' she put it back agin the wall an' said it ud stay thar ef she had to stand behind it an' hold it in place. Alf wasn't done yet; he 'lowed ef they was to have sech a purty trick as that on the hill it had to stay in the best room in the house, so he put it heer in the parlor by the piano. But Betsy took it back two or three times an' he larnt that he was a-doin' a sight o' work fer nothin', an' finally quit totin' it about. But that ain't what I started in to tell. As I was a-sayin', old Jane Hardeway thought she'd sorter put a word in the dispute to pay fer her board an' keep, an' she told Betsy that it was all owin' to the way the Bishops46 was raised that Alf couldn't stand to have things nice about 'im. She said all the Bishops she'd ever knowed had a natural stoop that they got by livin' in cabins with low roofs. She wasn't spreadin' 'er butter as thick as she thought she was—ur maybe it was the sort she was spreadin '—fer Betsy blazed up like the woods afire in a high wind. It didn't take old Jane long to diskiver that thar was several breeds o' Bishops out o' jail, an' she spent most o' the rest o' her visit braggin' on some she'd read about. She said the name sounded like the start of 'em had been religious an' substanch."
"Brother Abner," whined47 Mrs. Bishop, "I wisht you'd hush48 all that foolishness an' help me 'n the children out o' this awful fix. Alfred always would listen to you."
"Well," and the old man smiled, and winked49 at the lawyer, "I 'll give you both all the advice I kin. Now, the Shoal River stock is a good thing right now; but ef the mill was to ketch on fire an' burn down thar'd be a loss. Then as fer timber-land, it ain't easy to sell, but it mought take a start before another flood. I say it mought, an' then agin it moughtn't. The mill mought burn, an' then agin it moughtn't. Now, ef you-uns kin be helped by this advice you are welcome to it free o' charge. Not changin' the subject, did you-uns know Mrs. Richardson's heffer's got a calf50? I reckon she won't borrow so much milk after hers gits good."
Trabue smiled broadly as the gaunt man withdrew; but his amusement was short-lived, for Mrs. Bishop began to cry, and she soon rose in despair and left the room. Alan stood for a moment looking at the unmoved face of his father, who had found something in the last clause of the document which needed explanation; then he, too, went out.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
uprooting
|
|
| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tenacious
|
|
| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
kin
|
|
| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
miller
|
|
| n.磨坊主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
gaped
|
|
| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
parlor
|
|
| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
scoop
|
|
| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
fore
|
|
| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
levity
|
|
| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
salable
|
|
| adj.有销路的，适销的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sniffed
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
raisin
|
|
| n.葡萄干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
defiantly
|
|
| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gulches
|
|
| n.峡谷( gulch的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
34
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
lank
|
|
| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
butted
|
|
| 对接的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
rascality
|
|
| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
38
hogs
|
|
| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
swap
|
|
| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
connubial
|
|
| adj.婚姻的，夫妇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pegs
|
|
| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bishops
|
|
| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
whined
|
|
| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
winked
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
calf
|
|
| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |