Third class, colonist2, no stop over allowed, redhaired, freckle-faced, an uptilt to the nose, a jaw3 as square as the side of a house, shoulders like a bull’s, and a fist that would fell an ox—that was Shanley. That was Shanley until the sprung rail that ditched the train at Little Dance caused him the loss of two things—his erstwhile status in the general passenger agent’s department, and a well-beloved and reeking4 brier.
Both were lost forever—his status partly on account of the reasons before mentioned, and partly because Shanley wasn’t particularly interested in Bubble Creek; his brier because it became a part, an integral part, of that memorable5 wreck6, as Shanley, who was peacefully smoking in the front-end compartment7 of the colonist coach when the trouble happened, left the pipe behind while he catapulted through the open door—it was summer and sizzling hot—and landed, a very much dazed, bewildered, but not otherwise hurt Shanley, halfway8 up the embankment on the off side of a scene of most amazing disorder9.
The potentialties that lie in a sprung rail are something to marvel10 at. Up ahead, the engine had promptly11 turned turtle, and, as promptly giving vent12 to its displeasure at the indignity13 heaped upon it, had incased itself in an angry, hissing14 cloud of steam; behind, the baggage and mail cars seemed to have vied with each other in affectionate regard for the tender. Only the brass-polished, nickel-plated Pullmans at the rear still held the rails; the rest was just a crazy, slewed-edge-ways, up-canted, toppled-over string of cars, already beginning to smoke as the flames licked into them.
The shouts of those who had made their escape, the screams of those still imprisoned15 within the wreckage16, the sight of others crawling through the doors and windows brought Shanley back to his senses. He rose to his feet, blinked furiously, as was his habit on all untoward17 occasions, and the next instant he was down the embankment and into the game—to begin his career as a railroad man. That’s where he started—in the wreck at Little Dance.
In and out of the blazing pyre, after a woman or a child; the crash of his ax through splintering woodwork; the scorching18 heat; prying19 away some poor devil wedged down beneath the débris; tinkling20 glass as the heat cracked the windows or he beat through a pane21 with his fist—it was all hazy22, all a dream to Shanley as, hours afterward23, a grim, gaunt figure with blackened, bleeding face, his clothes hanging in ribbons, he rode into the Big Cloud yards on the derrick car.
Some men would have hit up the claim agent for a stake; Shanley hit up Carleton for a job. But for modesty24’s sake, previous to presenting himself before the superintendent’s desk, he borrowed from one of the wrecking25 crew the only available article of wearing apparel at hand—a very dirty and disreputable pair of overalls26. Dirty and disreputable, but—whole.
“I want a job, Mr. Carleton,” said he bluntly, when he had gained admittance to the super.
“You do, eh?” replied Carleton, looking him up and down. “You do, eh? You’re a pretty hard-looking nut, h’m?”
Shanley blinked, but, being painfully aware that he undoubtedly28 did look all if not more than that, and being, too, not quite sure what to make of the super, he contented29 himself with the remark:
“I ain’t a picture, I suppose.”
“H’m!” said Carleton. “Been up at the wreck, I hear—what?”
“Yes,” said Shanley shortly. No long story, no tale of what he’d done, no anything—just “Yes,” and that was what caught Carleton.
“What can you do?” demanded the super.
“Anything. I’m not fussy,” replied Chanley.
“H’m!” said Carleton. “You don’t look it.” And he favored Shanley with another prolonged stare.
Shanley, at first uncomfortable, shifted nervously30 from one foot to the other; then, as the stare continued, he began to get irritated.
“Look here,” he flung out suddenly. “I ain’t on exhibition. I come for a job. I ain’t got any letters of recommendation from pastors31 of churches in the East. I ain’t got anything. My name’s Shanley, an’ I haven’t even got anything to prove that.”
“You’ve got your nerve,” said Carleton, leaning back in his swivel chair and tucking a thumb in the armhole of his vest. “Ever worked on a railroad?”
“No,” answered Shanley, a little less assertively32, as he saw his chances of a job vanishing into thin air, and already regretting his hasty speech—a few odd nickels wasn’t a very big stake for a man starting out in a new country, and that represented the sum total of Shanley’s worldly wealth. “No, I never worked on a railroad.”
“H’m,” continued Carleton. “Well, my friend, you can report to the trainmaster in the morning and tell him I said to put you on breaking. Get out!”
It came so suddenly and unexpectedly that it took Shanley’s breath. Carleton’s ways were not Shanley’s ways, or ways that Shanley by any peradventure had been accustomed to. A moment before he wouldn’t have exchanged one of his nickels for his chances of a job, therefore his reply resolved itself into a sheepish grin; moreover—but of this hereafter—Shanley back East was decidedly more in the habit of having his applications refused with scant34 ceremony than he was to receiving favorable consideration, which was another reason for his failure to rise to the occasion with appropriate words of thanks.
Incidentally, Shanley, like a select few of his fellow creatures, had his failings; concretely, his particular strayings from the straight and narrow way, not having been hidden under a bushel, were responsible, with the advice and assistance of a distant relative or two—advice being always cheap, and assistance, in this case, a marked-down bargain—for his migration35 to the West, as far West as the funds in hand would take him—Bubble Creek, B. C, the distant relatives saw to that. They bought the ticket.
Shanley, still smiling sheepishly and in obedience36 to the super’s instruction to “get out,” was halfway to the door when Carleton halted him.
“Shanley!”
“Yes, sir?” said Shanley, finding his voice and swinging around.
“Got any money?”
Shanley’s hand mechanically dove through the overalls and rummaged37 in the pocket of his torn and ribboned trousers—the pocket had not been spared—the nickels, every last one of them, were gone. The look on his face evidently needed no interpretation38.
Carleton was holding out two bills—two tens.
“Cleaned out, eh? Well, I wouldn’t blame any one if they asked you for your board bill in advance. Here, I guess you’ll need this. You can pay it back later on. There’s a fellow keeps a clothing store up the street that it wouldn’t do you any harm to visit—h’m?”
With gratitude39 in his heart and the best of resolutions exuding40 from every pore—he was always long on resolutions—Shanley being embarrassed, and therefore awkward, made a somewhat ungraceful exit from the super’s presence.
But neither gratitude nor resolutions, even of steelplate, double-riveted variety, are of much avail against circumstances and conditions over which one has absolutely, undeniably, and emphatically no control. If Dinkelman’s clothing emporium had occupied a site between the station and MacGuire’s Blazing Star saloon, instead of the said Blazing Star saloon occupying that altogether inappropriate position itself, and if Spider Kelly, the conductor of the wrecked41 train, had not run into Shanley before he had fairly got ten yards from the super’s office, things undoubtedly would have been very different. Shanley took that view of it afterward, and certainly he was justified42. It is on record that he had no hand in the laying out of Big Cloud nor in the control of its real estate, rentals43, or leases.
Railroad men are by no stretch of the imagination to be regarded as hero worshipers, but if a man does a decent thing they are not averse44 to telling him so. Shanley had done several very decent things at the wreck. Spider Kelly invited him into the Blazing Star.
Shanley demurred45. “I’ve got to get some clothes,” he explained.
“Get ‘em afterward,” said Kelly; “plenty of time. Come on; it’s just supper-time, and there’ll be a lot of the boys in there. They’ll be glad to meet you. If you’re hungry you’ll find the best free layout on the division. There’s nothing small about MacGuire.”
Shanley hesitated, and, proverbially, was lost.
An intimate and particular description of the events of that night are on no account to be written. They would not have shocked, surprised, or astonished Shanley’s distant relatives—but everybody is not a distant relative. Shanley remembered it in spots—only in spots. He fought and whipped Spider Kelly, who was a much bigger man than himself, and thereby46 cemented an undying friendship; he partook of the hospitality showered upon him and returned it with a lavish47 hand—as long as Carleton’s twenty lasted; he made speeches, many of them, touching48 wrecks49 and the nature of wrecks and his own particular participation50 therein—which was seemly, since at the end, about three o’clock in the morning, he slid with some dignity under the table, and, with the fond belief that he was once more clutching an ax and doing heroic and noble service, wound his arms grimly, remorselessly, tenaciously51, like an octopus52, around the table leg—and slept.
MacGuire before bolting the front door studied the situation carefully, and left him there—for the sake of the table.
The sunlight next morning was not charitable to Shanley. Where yesterday he had borne the marks of one wreck, he now bore the marks of two—his own on top of the company’s. Up the street Dinkelman’s clothing emporium flaunted53 a canvas sign announcing unusual bargains in men’s apparel. This seemed to Shanley an unkindly act that could be expressed in no better terms than “rubbing it in.” He gazed at the sign with an aggrieved54 expression on his face, blinked furiously, and started, with a step that lacked something of assurance, for the railroad yards and the trainmaster’s office.
He was by no means confident of the reception that awaited him. If there is one characteristic over and above any other that is common to human nature, it is the faculty55, though that’s rather an imposing56 word, of worrying like sin over something that may happen—but never does. Shanley might just as well have saved himself the mental worry anent the trainmaster’s possible attitude. He did not report to the trainmaster that morning, never saw that gentleman until long, very long afterward. Instead, he reported to Carleton—at the latter’s urgent solicitation57 in the shape of a grinning call-boy, who intercepted58 his march of progress toward the station.
“Hi, you, there, cherub59 face!” bawled60 the urchin61 politely. “The super wants you—on the hop62!”
Shanley stopped short, and, resorting to his favorite habit, blinked.
“Carleton. Get it? Carleton,” repeated the messenger, evidently by no means sure that he was thoroughly63 understood; and then, for a parting shot as he sailed gayly up the street: “Gee, but you’re pretty!”
Carleton! Shanley had forgotten all about Carleton for the moment. His hand instinctively64 went into his pocket—and then he groaned65. He remembered Carleton. But worst of all, he remembered Carleton’s twenty.
There were two courses open to him. He could sneak66 out of town with all possible modesty and dispatch, or he could face the music. Not that Shanley debated the question—the occasion had never yet arisen when he hadn’t faced the music—he simply experienced the temptation to “crawl,” that was all.
“It looks to me,” he ruminated67 ruefully, “as though I was up against it for fair. Just my luck, just my blasted luck, always the same kind of luck, that’s what. ‘Tain’t my fault neither, is it? I ain’t responsible for that darned wreck—if ‘twasn’t for that I wouldn’t be here. An’ Kelly, Spider he said his name was, if ‘twasn’t for him I wouldn’t be here neither. What the blazes did I have to do with it? I always have to stand for the other cuss. That’s me every time, I guess. An’ that’s logic68.”
It was. Neither was there any flaw in it as at first sight might appear, for the last test of logic is its power of conviction. Shanley, from being a man with some reasonable cause for qualms69 of conscience, became, in his own mind, one deeply sinned against, one injured and crushed down by the load of others he was forced to bear.
He explained this to Carleton while the thought of his burning wrongs was still at white heat, and before the super had a chance to get in a word. He began as he opened the office door, continued as he crossed the room, and finished as he stood before the super’s desk.
The scowl70 that had settled on Carleton’s face, as he looked up at the other’s entrance, gradually gave way to a hint of humor lurking71 around the corners of his mouth, and he leaned back in his chair and listened with an exaggerated air of profound attention.
“Just so, just so,” said he, when Shanley finally came to a breathless halt. “Now perhaps you will allow me to say a word. It may not have occurred to you that I sent for you in order that I might do the talking—h’m?”
This really seemed to require no answer, so Shanley made none.
“Yesterday,” went on Carleton, “you came to me for a job, and I gave you one, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” admitted Shanley, licking his lips.
“Just so,” said Carleton mildly. “I hired you then. I fire you now. Pretty quick work, what?”
“You’re the doctor,” said Shanley evenly enough. He had, for all his logic, expected no more nor less—he was too firm a believer in his own particular and exclusive brand of luck. “You’re the doctor,” he repeated. “There’s a matter of twenty bucks———
“I was coming to that,” interrupted Carleton; “but I’m glad you mentioned it. I’ll be honest enough to admit that I hardly expected you would. A man who acts as you’ve acted doesn’t generally—h’m?”
“I told you ‘twasn’t my fault,” said Shanley stubbornly.
Carleton reached for his pipe, and struck a match, surveying Shanley the while with a gaze that was half perplexed72, half quizzical.
“You’re a queer card,” he remarked at last. “Why don’t you cut out the booze?”
“‘Twasn’t my fault, I tell you,” persisted Shanley. “You’re a pretty good hand with your fists, what?” said Carleton irrelevantly73. “Kelly’s no slouch himself.”
Shanley blinked. It appeared that the super was as intimately posted on the events of the preceding evening as he was himself. The remark suggested an inspection75 of the fists in question. They were grimy and dirty, and most of the knuckles76 were barked; closed, they resembled a pair of miniature battering-rams.
“Pretty good,” he admitted modestly.
“H’m! About that twenty. You intend to pay it back, don’t you?”
“I’m not a thief, whatever else I am,” snapped Shanley. “Of course, I’ll pay it back. You needn’t worry.”
“When?” insisted Carleton coolly.
“When I get a job.”
“I’ll give you one,” said Carleton—“Royal” Carle-ton the boys called him, the squarest man that ever held down a division. “I’ll give you one where your fists will be kept out of mischief77, and where you can’t hit the high joints78 quite as hard as you did last night. But I want you to understand this, Shanley, and understand it good and plenty and once for all, it’s your last chance. You made a fool of yourself last night, but you acted like a man yesterday—that’s why you’re getting a new deal. You’re going up to Glacier79 Canon with McCann on the construction work. You won’t find it anyways luxurious80, and maybe you’ll like McCann and maybe you won’t—he’s been squealing81 for a white man to live with. You can help him boss Italians at one seventy-five a day, and you can go up on Twenty-nine this morning, that’ll take care of your transportation. What do you say?”
Shanley couldn’t say anything. He looked at the super and blinked; then he looked at his fists speculatively—and blinked.
Carleton was scribbling82 on a piece of paper.
“All right, h’m?” he said, looking up and handing over the paper. “There’s an order on Dinkelman, only get some one else to show you the way this time, and take the other side of the street going up. Understand?”
“Mr. Carleton,” Shanley blurted83 out, “if ever I get full again, you——”
“I will!” said Carleton grimly. “I’ll fire you so hard and fast you’ll be out of breath for a month. Don’t make any mistake about that. No man gets more than two chances with me. The next time you get drunk will finish your railroad career for keeps, I promise you that.”
“Yes,” said Shanley humbly84; and then, after a moment’s nervous hesitation85: “About Kelly, Mr. Carleton. I don’t want to get him in bad on this. You see, it was this way. He left early—that’s what started the fight. I called him a—a—quitter—or something like that.”
“H’m, yes; or something like that,” repeated Carleton dryly. “So I believe. I’ve had a talk with Kelly. You needn’t let the incomprehensible workings of that conscience of yours prick86 you any on his account. Kelly knows when to stop. His record is O. K. in this office. Kelly doesn’t get drunk. If he did, he’d be fired just as fast as you will be if it ever happens again.”
“If I’m never fired for anything but that,” exclaimed Shanley in a burst of fervent87 emotion, “I’ve got a job for life. I’ll prove it to you, Mr. Carleton. I’m going to make good. You see if I don’t.”
“Very well,” said Carleton. “I hope you will. That’s all, Shanley. I’ll let McCann know you’re coming.”
Shanley’s second exit from the super’s presence was different from the first. He walked out with a firm tread and squared shoulders. He was rejuvenated88 and buoyant. He was on his mettle—quite another matter, entirely89 another matter, and distinctly apart from the paltry90 consideration of a mere91 job. He had told Carleton that he would make good. Well, he would—and he did. Carleton himself said so, and Carleton wasn’t in the habit of making many breaks when it came to sizing up a man—not many. He did sometimes, but not often.
Shanley did not take the other side of the street on the way to Dinkelman’s—by no means. He deliberately92 passed as close to the Blazing Star saloon as he could, passed with contemptuous disregard, passed boastfully in the knowledge of his own strength. A sixteen-hundred class engine with her four pairs of forty-six-inch drivers can pull countless93 cars up a mountain grade steep enough to make one dizzy, but Shanley would have backed himself to win against her in a tug94 of war over the scant few inches that separated him from MacGuire’s dispensary as he brushed by. None of MacGuire’s for him. Not at all. Red-headed, freckle-faced, barked-knuckled, bulwarked-and-armor-cased-against-temptation Shanley dealt that morning with Mr. Dinkelman, purveyor95 of bargains in men’s apparel.
The dealings were liberal—on the part of both men. On Shanley’s part because he needed much; on Mr. Dinkelman’s part because it was Mr. Dinkelman’s business, and his nature, to sell much—if he could—safely. This was eminently96 safe. Carleton’s name in the mountains stood higher than guaranteed, gilt-edged gold bonds any time.
The business finally concluded, Shanley boarded Twenty-nine, local freight, west, and in due time, well on in the afternoon, righteously sober, straight as a string, cleaned, groomed97, and resplendent in a new suit, swung off from the caboose at Glacier Canon as the train considerately slackened speed enough to give him a fighting chance for life and limb.
He landed safely, however, in the midst of a jabbering98 Italian labor99 gang, who received his sudden advent33 with patience and some awe100. A short, squintfaced man greeted him with a grin.
“Me name’s McCann,” said he of the squint101 face. “This is Glacier Canon, fwhat yez see av ut. Them’s the Eyetalians. Yon’s fwhere I roost an’ by the same token, fwhere yez’ll roost, too, from now on. Above is the shack102 av the men. Are yez plased wid yer introduction? ‘Tis wan27 hell av a hole ye’ve come to. Shanley’s the name, eh? A good wan, an’ I’m proud to make the acquaintance.”
Shanley blinked as he stretched out his hand and made friends with his superior, and blinked again as he looked first one way and then another in an effort to follow and absorb the other’s graphic103 description of the surroundings.
The road foreman’s summary was beyond dispute. Glacier Canon was as wild a piece of track as the Hill Division boasted, which was going some. The right of way hugged the bald gray rock of the mountains that rose up at one side in a sheer sweep, and the trains crawled along for all the world like huge flies at the base of a wall. On the other side was the Glacier River with its treacherous104 sandy bed that had been the subject of more reports and engineers’ gray hairs than all the rest of the system put together. The construction camp lay just to the east of the Canon, and at the foot of a long, stiff, two-mile, four-per-cent grade. That was the reason the camp was there—that grade.
Locking the stable door when the horse is gone is a procedure that is very old. It did not originate with the directors of the Transcontinental—they never claimed it did. But their fixed105 policy, if properly presented before a court of arbitration106, would have gone a long way toward establishing a clear title to it. If they had built a switchback at the foot of the grade in the first place, Extra Number Eighty-three, when she lost control of herself near the bottom coming down, would have demonstrated just as clearly the necessity for one being there as she demonstrated most forcibly what would happen when there wasn’t. All of which is by way of saying that rock or no rock, expense or no expense, the door was now to be locked, and McCann and his men were there to lock it.
McCann explained this to Shanley as he walked him around, up the track to the men’s shanties107, over the work, and back again down the track to inspect the interior of the dwelling108 they were to share in common—a relic109 of deceased Extra Number Eighty-three in the shape of a truckless box-car with dinted and bulging110 sides—dinted one side and bulged111 the other, that is.
“But,” said Shanley, “I dunno what a switchback is.”
“Who expected it av ye?” inquired McCann. “An’ fwhat difference does ut make? Carleton sint word ye were green. Ye’ve no need to know. So’s ye can do as yez are told an’ make them geesers do as they are told, an’’ can play forty-foive at night—that’s the point, the main point wid me, an’ it’s me yez av to get along wid——‘twill be all right. Since Meegan, him that was helpin’ me, tuk sick a week back, I’ve been alone. Begad, playin’ solytare is——”
“I can play forty-five,” said Shanley.
McCann’s face brightened.
“The powers be praised!” he exclaimed. “I’ll enlighten ye, then, on the matter av switchbacks, me son, so as ye’ll have an intilligent conception av the work. A switchback is a bit av a spur track that sticks out loike the quills112 av a porkypine at intervuls on a bad grade such as the wan forninst ye. ‘Tis run off the main line, d’ye mind, an’ up contrariwise to the dip av the grade. Whin a train comin’ down gets beyond control an’ so expresses herself by means av her whistle, she’s switched off an’ given a chance to run uphill by way av variety until she stops. An’ the same holds true if she breaks loose goin’ up. Is ut clear?”
“It is,” said Shanley. “When do I begin work?”
“In the mornin.’ ‘Tis near six now, an’ the bhoys’ll be quittin’ for the night. Forty-foive is a grand game. We’ll play ut to-night to our better acquaintance. I contind ‘tis the national game av the ould sod.”
Whether McCann’s contention113 is borne out by fact, or by the even more weighty consideration of public opinion, is of little importance. Shanley played forty-five with McCann that night and for many nights thereafter. He lost a figure or two off the pay check that was to come, but he won the golden opinion of the little road boss, which ethically114, and in this case practically, was of far greater value.
“He’s a bright jool av a lad,” wrote McCann across the foot of a weekly report.
And Carleton, seeing it, was much gratified, for Carleton wasn’t in the habit of making many breaks when it came to sizing up a man—not many. He did sometimes, but not often. Shanley was making good. Carleton was much gratified.
Of the three weeks that followed Shanley’s advent to Glacier Canon, this story has little to do in a detailed115 way; but, as a whole, those three weeks are pointed116, eloquent117, and important—very important.
Italian laborers118 have many failings, but likewise they have many virtues119. They are simple, demonstrative, and their capacity for adoration—of both men and things—is very great.
From Jacko, the water boy, to Pietro Maraschino, the padrone, they adored Shanley, and enthroned him as an idol120 in their hearts, for the very simple reason that Shanley, not being a professional slave-driver by trade, established new and heretofore undreamed-of relations with them. Shanley was very green, very ignorant, very inexperienced—he treated them like human beings. That was the long and short of it. Shanley became popular beyond the popularity of any man, before or since, who was ever called upon to handle the “foreign element” on the Hill Division.
And the work progressed. Day by day the cut bored deeper into the stubborn mountain-side; day by day the Glacier River gurgled peacefully along over its treacherous sandy bed, one of the prettiest scenic121 effects on the system, so pretty that the company used it in the magazines; day by day regulars and extras, freights and passengers, east and west, snorted up and down the grade, the only visitations from the outside world; night after night Shanley played forty-five with McCann in the smoky, truckless box-car.
Also the camp was dry, very dry, dryer122 than a sanatorium—that is, than some sanatoriums. Carle-ton had been quite right. There was no opportunity for Shanley to hit the high joints quite as hard as he had that night in Big Cloud—there was no opportunity for him to hit the high joints at all. Shanley had not seen a bottle for three weeks. Therefore Shanley felt virtuous123, which was proper.
Some events follow others as the natural, logical outcome and conclusion of preceding ones; others, again, are apparently124 irrelevant74, and the connection is not to be explained either by logic, conclusion, or otherwise. Rain, McCann’s departure for Big Cloud, and Pietro Maraschino’s birthday are an example of this.
When it settles down for a storm in the mountains, it is, if the elements are really in earnest, torrential, and prolonged, and has the effect of tying up construction work tighter than a supreme125 court injunction could come anywhere near doing it.
McCann had business in Big Cloud, whether personal or pertaining126 to the company is of no consequence, and the day the storm set in—the morning having demonstrated that its classification was not to be considered as transient—he seized the opportunity to flag the afternoon freight eastbound. This was natural and logical, and an opportunity not to be neglected.
That this day, however, should be the anniversary of the day the padrone’s mother of blessed memory had given birth to Pietro Maraschino in sunny Naples fifty-three years before is, though apparently irrelevant, far from being so; and since its peculiar127 and coincident happening cannot be laid at the door of either logical, natural, scientific, or philosophical128 conclusions, and since it demands an explanation of some sort, it must, perforce, be attributed to the metaphysical—which is a name given to all things about which nobody knows anything.
“Yez are in charge,” said McCann grandiloquently129, waving his hand to Shanley as he swung into the caboose. “Yez are in charge av the work, me son. See to ut. I trust ye.”
As the work at the moment was entirely at a standstill and bid fair to remain so until McCann’s return on the morrow, this was very good of McCann. But all men like words of appreciation130, most of them whether they deserve them or not, so Shanley went back into the box-car out of the rain to ponder over the tribute McCann had paid him, and to ponder, too, over the new responsibility that had fallen to his lot.
He did not ponder very long; indeed, the freight that was transporting McCann could hardly have been out of sight over the summit of the grade, when a knock at the door was followed by the entrance of the dripping figure of the padrone.
Shanley looked up anxiously.
“Hello, Pietro,” he said nervously, for the weather wasn’t the kind that would bring a man out for nothing, and he was keenly alive to that new responsibility. “Hello, Pietro,” he repeated. “Anything wrong?”
Pietro grinned amiably131, shook his head, unbuttoned his coat, and held out—a bottle.
Shanley stared in amazement132, and then began to blink furiously.
“Here!” said he. “What’s this?”
“Chianti,” said Pietro, grinning harder than ever.
“Key-aunty.” Shanley screwed up his face. “What the devil is key-aunty?”
“Ver’ good wine from Italia,” said the beaming padrone.
“It is, is it? Well, it’s against the rules,” asserted Shanley with conviction. “It’s against the rules. McCann’u’d skin you alive. He would. Where’d you get it? What’s up, eh? It’s against the rules. I’m in charge.”
Pietro explained. It was his birthday. It was very bad weather. For the rest of the afternoon there would be no work. They would celebrate the birthday, Meester McCann had taken the train. As for the wine—Pietro shrugged133 his shoulders—his people adored wine. Unless they were very poor his people would have a little wine in their packs, perhaps. He was not quite sure where they had got it, but it was very thoughtful of them to remember his birthday. Each had presented him with a little wine. This bottle was an expression of their very great good estime of Meester Shanley. Perhaps, later, Meester Shanley would come himself to the shack.
“It’s against the rules,” blinked Shanley. “McCann ‘u’d skin you alive. Maybe I’ll drop in by and by. You can leave the bottle.”
Pietro bobbed, grinned delightedly, handed over the bottle, and backed out into the storm.
Shanley, still blinking, placed the bottle on the table, and gazed at it thoughtfully for a few minutes—and his thoughts were of Carleton.
“If ‘twere whisky,” said he, “I’d have no part of it, not a drop, not even a smell. I would not. I would not touch it. But as it is——” Shanley uncorked the bottle.
Not at all. One does not get drunk on a bottle of Chianti wine. A single bottle of Chianti wine is very little. That is the trouble—it is very little. After three weeks of abstinence it is very little indeed—so little that it is positively134 tantalizing135.
The afternoon waned136 rapidly—and so did the Chianti. Outside, the storm instead of abating137 grew worse—the thunder racketing through the mountains, the lightning cutting jagged streaks138 in the black sky, the rain coming down in sheets that set the culverts and sluiceways running full. It was settling down for a bad night in the mountains, which, in the Rockies, is not a thing to be ignored. “’tis no wonder McCann found it lonely,” muttered Shanley, as he squeezed the last drop from the bottle. “‘Tis very lonely, indeed”—he held the bottle upside down to make sure that it was thoroughly drained—“most uncommon139 lonely. It is that. Maybe those Eyetalians ‘ll be thinkin’ I’m stuck up, perhaps—which I am not. It’s a queer name the stuff has, though it’s against the rules, an’ I can’t get my tongue around it, but I’ve tasted worse. For the sake of courtesy I’ll look in on the birthday party.”
He incased himself in a pair of McCann’s rubber boots, put on McCann’s rubber coat, and started out.
“An’ to think,” said he, as he sloshed and buffeted140 his way up the two hundred yards of track to the construction shanties, “to think that Pietro came out in cruel bad weather like this all for to present his compliments an’ ask me over! ‘Twould be ungracious to refuse the invitation; besides my presence will keep them in due bounds an’ restraint. I’ve heard that Eyetalians, being foreigners, do not practice restraint—but, being foreigners, ‘tis not to be held against them. I’m in charge, an’ I’ll see to it.”
They greeted him in the largest of the three bunk141-houses. They greeted him heartily142, sincerely, uproariously, and with fervor143. They were unfeignedly glad to see him, and if he had not been by nature a modest man he would have understood that his popularity was above the popularity ever before accorded to a boss. Likewise, their hospitality was without stint144. If there was any shortage of stock—which is a matter decidedly open to question—they denied themselves that Shanley might not feel the pinch. Shanley was lifted from the mere plane of man—he became a king.
A little Chianti is a little; much Chianti is to be reckoned with and on no account to be despised. Shanley not only became a king, he became regally, imperially, royally, and majestically145 drunk. Also there came at last an end to the Chianti, at which stage of the proceedings146 Shanley, with extravagant147 dignity and appropriate words—an exhortation148 on restraint—waddled to the door to take his departure.
It was very dark outside, very dark, except when an intermittent149 flash of lightning made momentary150 daylight. Pietro Maraschino offered Shanley one of the many lanterns that, in honor of the festive151 occasion, they had commandeered, without regard to color, from the tool boxes, and had strung around the shack. Further, he offered to see Shanley on his way.
The offer of assistance touched Shanley—it touched him wrong. It implied a more or less acute condition of disability, which he repudiated152 with a hurt expression on his face and forceful words on his tongue. He refused it; and being aggrieved, refused also the lantern Pietro held out to him. He chose one for himself instead—the one nearest to his hand. That this was red made no difference. Blue, white, red, green, or purple, it was all one to Shanley. His fuddled brain did not differentiate153. A light was a light, that was all there was to that.
The short distance from the shanty154 door to the right of way Shanley negotiated with finesse155 and aplomb156, and then he started down the track. This, however, was another matter.
Railroad ties, at best, do not make the smoothest walking in the world, and to accomplish the feat157 under some conditions is decidedly worthy158 of note. Shanley’s performance beggars the English language—there is no metaphor159. For every ten feet he moved forward he covered twenty in laterals, and, considering that the laterals were limited to the paltry four, feet, eight and one-half inches that made the gauge160 of the rails, the feat was incontestably more than worthy of mere note—it was something to wonder at. He clung grimly to the lantern, with the result that the gyrations of that little red light in the darkness would have put to shame an expert’s exhibition with a luminous161 dumb-bell. The while Shanley spoke162 earnestly to himself.
“Queshun is am I drunk—thash’s the queshun. If I’m drunk—lose my job. Thash what Carleton said—lose my job. If I’m not drunk—s’all right. Wish I knew wesser I’m drunk or not.”
He relapsed into silent communion and debate. This lasted for a very long period, during which, marvelous to relate, he had not only reached a point opposite his box-car domicile, but, being oblivious163 of that fact, had kept on along the track. Progress, however, was becoming more and more difficult. Shanley was assuming a position that might be likened somewhat to the letter C, owing to the fact that the force of gravity seemed to be exerting an undue164 influence on his head. Shanley was coming to earth.
As a result of his communion with himself he began to talk again, and his words suggested that he had suspicions of the truth.
“Jus’ my luck,” said he bitterly. “Jus’ my luck. Allus same kind of luck. What’d I have to do wis Peto Mara—Mars—Marscheeno’s birthday? Nothing. Nothing ‘tall. ‘Twasn’t my fault. Jus’ my luck. Jus’ my——”
Shanley came to earth. Also his head came into contact with the unyielding steel of the left-hand rail, and as a result he sprawled165 inertly166 full across the right of way, not ten yards west of where the Glacier River swings in to crowd the track close up against the mountain base.
Providence167 sometimes looks after those who are unable to look after themselves. By the law of probabilities the lantern should have met disaster quick and absolute; but, instead, when it fell from Shanley’s hand, it landed right side up just outside the rail between two ties, and, apart from a momentary and hesitant flicker168 incident to the jolt169, burned on serenely170. And it was still burning when, five minutes later, above the swish of leaping waters from the Glacier River now a chattering171, angry stream with swollen172 banks, above the moan of the wind and the roll of the thunder through the mountains, above the pelting173 splash of the steady rain, came the hoarse174 scream of Number One’s whistle on the grade.
Sanderson, in the cab, caught the red against him on the right of way ahead, and whistled insistently175 for the track. This having no effect, he grunted176, latched177 in the throttle178, and applied179 the “air.” The ray of the headlight crept along between the rails, hovered180 over a black object beside the lantern, passed on again and held, not on the glistening181 rain-wet rails—they had disappeared—but on a crumbling182 road-bed and a dark blotch183 of waters, as with a final screech184 from the grinding brake-shoes Number One came to a standstill.
“Holy MacCheesar!” exclaimed Sanderson, as he swung from the cab.
He made his way along past the drivers to where the pilot’s nose was inquisitively185 poked186 against the lantern, picked up the lantern, and bent187 over Shanley.
“Holy MacCheesar!” he exclaimed again, straightening up after a moment’s examination. “Holy MacCheesar!”
“What’s wrong, Sandy?” snapped a voice behind him, the voice of Kelly, Spider Kelly, the conductor, who had hurried forward to investigate the unscheduled stop.
“Search me,” replied Sanderson. “Looks like the Glacier was up to her old tricks. There’s a washout ahead, and a bad one, I guess. But the meaning of this here is one beyond me. The fellow was curled up on the track just as you see him with the light burning alongside, that’s what saved us, but he’s as drunk as a lord.”
As Kelly bent over the prostrate188 form, others of the train crew appeared on the scene. One glance he gave at Shanley’s never-under-any-circumstances-to-be-for-gotten homely189 countenance190, and hastily ordered the men to go forward and investigate the washout ahead. Then he turned to the engineer.
“The man is not drunk, Sandy,” said he.
“He is gloriously and magnificently drunk, Kelly,” replied the engineer.
“What would he be doing here, then? He is not drunk.”
“Sleeping it off. He is disgracefully drunk.”
“Can ye not see the bash on his head where he must have stumbled in the dark trying to save the train and struck against the rail? He is not drunk.”
“Can ye not smell?” retorted Sanderson. “He is dead drunk!”
“I have fought with him and he licked me. He is a man and a friend of mine”—Kelly shoved his lantern into Sanderson’s face. “He is not drunk.”
“He is not drunk,” said Sanderson. “He is a hero. What will we do with him?”
“We’ll carry him, you and me, over to the construction shanty, it’s only a few yards, and put him in his bunk. He works here, you know. McCann’s in Big Cloud, for I saw him there. After that we’ll run back to the Bend for orders and make our report.”
“Hurry, then,” said the engineer. “Take his legs. What are you laughing at?”
“I was thinking of Carleton,” said Kelly. “Carleton? What’s Carleton got to do with it?”
“I’ll tell you later when we get to the Bend. Come on.”
“H’m,” said Sanderson, as they staggered with their burden over to the box-car shack. “I’ve an idea that bash on the head is more dirt than hurt. He’s making a speech, ain’t he?”
“Jus’ my luck,” mumbled191 the reviving Shanley dolefully. “Jus’ my luck. Alius same kind of luck.”
“Possibly,” said Kelly. “Set him down and slide back the door. That’s right. In with him now. We haven’t got time to make him very comfortable, but I guess he’ll do. I can fix him up better at the Bend than I can here.”
“At the Bend? What d’ye mean?” demanded Sanderson.
“You’ll see,” replied Kelly, with a grin. “You’ll see.”
And Sanderson saw. So did Carleton—in a way. Kelly’s report, when they got to the Bend, was a work of art. He disposed of the nature and extent of the washout in ten brief, well-chosen words, but the operator got a cramp192 before Kelly was through covering Shanley with glory. The passengers, packed in the little waiting-room clamoring for details, yelled deliriously193 as he read the message aloud—and promptly took up a collection, a very generous collection, because all collections are generous at psychological moments—that is to say, if not delayed too long to allow a recovery from hysteria.
At Big Cloud, the dispatcher, because the washout was a serious matter that not only threatened to tie up traffic, but was tying it up, sent a hurry call to Carleton’s house that brought the super on the run to the office. By this time the collection had been counted, and the total wired in, as an additional detail—one hundred and forty dollars and thirty-three cents. The odd change being a contribution from a Swede in the colonist coach who could not speak English, and who paid because a man in uniform, a brakeman acting194 as canvasser195, made the request. A Swede has a great respect for a uniform.
“H’m,” said Carleton, when he had read it all. “I know a man when I see one. Tell Shanley to report here. I guess we can find something better for him to do than bossing laborers. What? Yes, send the letter up on the construction train. One hundred and forty, thirty-three, h’m? Tell him that, too. He’ll feel good when he sees it in the morning.”
But Shanley did not feel good when he saw it in the morning, for he was nursing a very bad headache and a stomach that had a tendency to squeamishness. The letter was lying on the floor, where some one had considerately chucked it in without disturbing him. His eyes fell on it as he struggled out of his bunk. He picked it up, opened it, read it—and blinked. His face set with a very blank and bewildered expression. He read it again, and again once more. Then he went to the door and looked out.
A construction train was on the line a little below him, and a gang of men, not his nor Pietro Maraschino’s men, were busily at work. As he gazed, his face puckered196. The problem that had so obsessed197 him on his return journey from the birthday celebration the night before was a problem no longer.
“I was drunk,” said he, with conviction. “I must have been.”
He went back to the letter and studied it again, scratching his head.
“Something,” he muttered, “has happened. What it is, I dunno. I was drunk, an’ I’m not fired. I was drunk, an’ I’m promoted. I was drunk, an’ I’m paid well for it, very well. I was drunk—an’ I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Which was exactly the advice Kelly took pains to give him half an hour later, when Number One crawled down to the Canon and halted for a few minutes opposite the dismantled198 box-car, while the construction train put the last few touches to its work.
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1
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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colonist
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| n.殖民者，移民 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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4
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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5
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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8
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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9
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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10
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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11
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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13
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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14
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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15
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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17
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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18
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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19
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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20
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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assertively
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| 断言地，独断地 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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40
exuding
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的现在分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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41
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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rentals
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| n.租费，租金额( rental的名词复数 ) | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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45
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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47
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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48
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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49
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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50
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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51
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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52
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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53
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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54
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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55
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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56
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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57
solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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58
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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59
cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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60
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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61
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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62
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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63
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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64
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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65
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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66
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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67
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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68
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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69
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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70
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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71
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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72
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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73
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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74
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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75
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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76
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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77
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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78
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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79
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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80
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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81
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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82
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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83
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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85
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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86
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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87
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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88
rejuvenated
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| 更生的 | |
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89
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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90
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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91
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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92
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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93
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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94
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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95
purveyor
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| n.承办商，伙食承办商 | |
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96
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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97
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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98
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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99
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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100
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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101
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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102
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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103
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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104
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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105
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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106
arbitration
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| n.调停，仲裁 | |
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107
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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108
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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109
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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110
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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111
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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112
quills
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| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
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113
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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114
ethically
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| adv.在伦理上，道德上 | |
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115
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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116
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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117
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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118
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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119
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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120
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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121
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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122
dryer
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| n.干衣机，干燥剂 | |
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123
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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124
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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125
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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126
pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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127
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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128
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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129
grandiloquently
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130
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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131
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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132
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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133
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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134
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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135
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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136
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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137
abating
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| 减少( abate的现在分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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138
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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139
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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140
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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141
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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142
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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143
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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144
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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145
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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146
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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147
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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148
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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149
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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150
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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151
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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152
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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153
differentiate
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| vi.(between)区分；vt.区别；使不同 | |
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154
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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155
finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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156
aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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157
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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158
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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159
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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160
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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161
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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162
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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163
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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164
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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165
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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166
inertly
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| adv.不活泼地，无生气地 | |
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167
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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168
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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169
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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170
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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171
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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172
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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173
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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174
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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175
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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176
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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177
latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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178
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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179
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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180
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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181
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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182
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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183
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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184
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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185
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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186
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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187
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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188
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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189
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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190
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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191
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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193
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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194
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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195
canvasser
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| n.挨户推销商品的推销员 | |
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196
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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198
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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