“Economy!”
The general manager took up the slogan and dinned5 it into the ears of the division superintendents6.
“Operating expenses are too high,” he wrote. “They must be cut down.” And the superintendents of divisions, painfully alive to the fact that the G. M. was not dictating8 for the mere9 pleasure of it, intimated in unmistakable language to the heads of departments under them that the next quarterly reports were expected to show a marked improvement.
John Healy had charge of the roundhouse at Big Cloud, in those days, and the morning after the lightning struck the system he came fuming10 back across the yards from his interview with the superintendent7, stuttering angrily to himself. As he stamped into the running-shed his humor a shade worse than usual the first object that caught his eye was Speckles, squatted11 on the lee side of 483, dangling12 his legs in the pit.
That is, it would have been the lee side if Healy had come in the other door.
“Cut down operatin’ expinses, is ut?” Healy muttered. “Begorra, I’ll begin right now!”
And he fired Speckles on the spot.
Now, Speckles—whose name, by the way, was Dolivar Washington Babson—had been fired on several occasions before, and if he swallowed a little more tobacco-juice than was good for his physical comfort it was rather as a gulp13 of startled surprise at Healy’s appearance than because of any poignant14 regret at the misfortune that had overtaken him. Nevertheless, he felt it incumbent15 on himself to expostulate.
“Git out an’ stay out!” said Healy, refusing to argue.
And Speckles got out.
For a day he kept away from the roundhouse, the length of time past experience had taught him was required to cool the turner’s anger; then he sauntered down again and came face to face with Healy on the turntable.
“I came down to ask you to put me on again, Mr. Healy,” he began, broaching16 the subject timidly.
“Phwat?” demanded Healy.
“I came down to ask you to put me on again, Mr. Healy,” Speckles repeated monotonously17.
“Oh, I heard you—I heard you,” said Healy, a little inconsistently. “On ag’in, is ut? Ut’ll be a long toime, me son, mark that!”
This being quite different from Healy’s accustomed, “Well, git back to yer job,” it began to filter vaguely18 through Speckles’ brain that his name was no longer to adorn19 the company’s pay-sheets.
“Am I fired for good, Mr. Healy?” he faltered20.
“You are!” said Healy. “Just that!” Then, relenting a little as Speckles’ face fell: “If’twere not fer the big-bugs down yonder “—he jerked his thumb in the general direction of the East—“I might—moind, I don’t say I would, but I might—put you on ag’in. As ut is, we’ve instructions to cut down the operatin’ expinses, an’ there’s an ind on ut!”
Speckles stood for a moment in dismay as Healy went back into the roundhouse; then he turned disconsolately21 away, crossed the tracks to the platform of the station, and, seeking out a secluded22 corner of the freight-house, sat down upon a packing-case to think it out.
To Speckles it was no mere matter of cutting down expenses. It was a blasted career!
Whatever Speckles’ faults, and he was only a lad, he had one redeeming23 quality, before which, in the eyes of the business he had elected to follow, his strayings from the straight and narrow path dwindled24 into insignificance—railroading was born in him.
At ten he had started in as caller for the night-crews, and, during the five years the company had had the benefit of his valuable services in that capacity, there was not a man on the division but sooner or later came to know long-armed, bony, freckled-faced, red-haired Speckles—came to know the little rascal25, and like him, too.
Then Speckles had been promoted to the post of sweeper in the roundhouse, and occasionally, under Healy’s critical inspection26, to washing out boiler-tubes. Fresh fuel thereby27 added to the fire of his ambition, he began to figure how long it would be before he got to wiping, then to firing, and after that—even Speckles’ boundless28 optimism did not have the temerity29 to specify30 any particular date—the time when he would attain31 his goal and get his engine.
Now, instead, at the age of sixteen, he found himself seated on a cracker-box, his dreams for the future rudely shattered—thanks to Healy, old Sour Face Healy!
So Speckles sighed, and as he sighed the shop whistle blew. It was noon, and the men began to pour out of the big gates. Then Speckles, remembering that the schools were also “letting out,” hurried down the platform and up the main street. He would confide32 in Madge. Madge would understand.
Madge Bolton was the daughter of the ticket agent at the station, and between Mr. Bolton and Speckles there existed a standing33 feud34, the casus belli being fifteen-year-old, blue-eyed Madge. Speckles kicked his heels on the corner until she appeared; then he turned and fell into step beside her, reaching a little awkwardly for her strap35 of books.
“Hallo, Dol!” was Madge’s greeting. She was the only person in Big Cloud who did not call him Speckles.
“Hallo, Madge!” he returned.
Madge glanced at his face and hands. “Haven’t you been to work?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Why, Dol?”
“Fired,” said Speckles laconically36.
“Oh, Dol, again!” she cried reproachfully. “What for?”
“‘Tain’t only the third time, and ‘twasn’t for nothin’,” said Speckles, a bit sullenly37. “I was only restin’.”
“Dolivar Babson,” she accused, “you were loafing. Oh, Dol, you’ll never get to firing, and—and—” She hesitated and stopped, her cheeks a little red with the hint of boy-and-girl castle-building that would have increased her father’s ire against the luckless Speckles had he seen it.
Speckles, somewhat shamefaced, and having no excuse to offer, trudged38 on in silence.
“Did you ask Mr. Healy to take you back?” she inquired, after a moment.
“He won’t,” said Speckles.
“What are you going to do, Dol?”
“I dunno.”
“Well,” said Madge, hopefully, “perhaps you could get a job in one of the stores. I’ll ask Mr. Timmons, the grocer, if you like. I know him pretty well.”
Speckles came to an abrupt39 and sudden halt, cast in Madge’s face one look that carried with it a world of unutterable reproach, handed over her books in silence—and fled.
He, a railroad man, go into a store! And this from Madge! Madge, who, of all others—it was too much! Speckles ate his dinner, dispirited and crushed. Everything and everybody was against him.
His mother’s curt40 inquiry41 as to when he was going back to work did not in any way tend to mitigate42 his troubles—rather, on the contrary, to accentuate43 them.
“Old Sour Face won’t put me back,” he jerked out, in response to his mother’s repeated question.
“No wonder he won’t,” said his mother sharply, “if you’re as disrespectful as that. I’m ashamed of you, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Speckles was too much depressed44 to offer any defense45. He finished his meal in silence, gulped46 down his cup of tea in two swallows, took his hat, and started out.
Unconsciously he directed his steps toward the yards, and, some five minutes later, arrived at the station. Here, about half-way down the platform, he spotted47 Mat Bolton in the open doorway48 of the ticket office.
As he approached, the nonchalant air with which the other leaned with folded arms against the jamb of the door aroused Speckles’ suspicions. To reach the seat of his meditations—the cracker-box in the freight shed which had now become his objective point—he would be obliged to pass Mr. Bolton. He therefore began to incline his course toward the edge of the platform nearest the rails, so that, when he came opposite the office door, some fifteen feet were between him and his arch enemy.
Mr. Bolton awoke from his lethargy with surprising suddenness.
“You young rascal,” he shouted, “what you been doing to my girl? I’ll teach you to make girls cry, you little speckled-face runt, you!”
He made a dash for Speckles, but by the time he had recovered his balance and saved himself from toppling over the edge of the platform to the tracks, Speckles had reached the safe retreat of the freight-shed door. And as the irate49 parent, after shaking his fist impotently, walked back and disappeared within his domain50, Speckles indulged in a series of pantomimes in which his fingers and his nose played an intimate and comprehensive part.
Perched once more on the cracker-box, Speckles again resolved himself into a committee on ways and means. His little skirmish with Madge’s father had exhilarated him to such an extent that his heavy and oppressing sense of despondency had vanished, and in its place came a renewed determination to resume, somehow or other, the railroad career that Healy had so emphatically interrupted.
He turned over in his mind the feasibility of applying to Regan, the master mechanic, for a job in the shops, but dismissed the idea almost immediately on the ground that shop men were not, strictly51 speaking, railroaders.
He might start in switching and braking, and work up to conductor. That, at least, was railroading—not to be compared with engine-driving, not by long odds52, but still it was railroading. His face brightened. He would interview Farley, the trainmaster.
Farley was in his office. Speckles had not very far to go, only a few steps down the platform. All the offices—and Big Cloud was division headquarters—were under the same roof.
At Speckles’ request, Farley swung around in his swivel-chair with a quizzical expression on his face. Then he grinned.
“Want to go on with the train-crews, eh? What do you think, kid, that I’m running a kindergarten outfit54, even if some of ‘em do act like it? How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” said Speckles, with a sinking heart.
“Sixteen, eh? Well, come back in a couple of years, and——”
But, for the second time that day, Speckles fled. He was in no mood to stand much chaffing, and Farley, as he well knew, had a leaning that way. Speckles halted outside the door, undecided what move to make next, when the clicking of the instruments in the dispatcher’s room overhead came to his ears like an inspiration.
Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Spence, who had been on the night trick most of the years that Speckles was caller, was now chief dispatcher. If he had any friend anywhere, it was Spence, the man at whose elbow he had sat through those long, dark hours of the night that beget56 confidences, and into whose ears he had so often poured the tales of his cherished aims and ambitions.
Speckles covered the stairs three steps at a time, in his new-found exuberance57. Spence looked up from his key and listened as Speckles told his story.
“So you’re Healy’s contribution to economy, eh?” he said when Speckles had finished. “And he won’t take you back?”
“No,” said Speckles.
“Well, that’s pretty rough. But I don’t see how I can help you any, Speckles. I haven’t any rights over Healy, you know.”
Speckles hesitated a moment and fidgeted nervously58 from one foot to the other. “I know you ain’t,” he began, “but I thought maybe you’d put me on here.”
“W-what!” ejaculated Spence. Then, smothering59 a laugh at the sight of Speckles’ woebegone countenance60, he demanded gravely “You mean dispatching?”
Speckles nodded.
“No, no, Speckles, that would never do. You go back and see Healy. I’ll do what I can for you with him.”
“‘Twon’t do no good,” said Speckles hopelessly. “I’ve asked him twice already.”
“Well, ask him again. Look here, Speckles, it’s up to you to square yourself with Healy, somehow or other. If you want your job very badly, you ought to be sharp enough to find a way of getting it. Go on, now.”
So Speckles descended61 the stairs to the platform and irresolutely62 began to cross the tracks in the direction of the running-shed. He reached the roundhouse and skirmished cautiously along its front. No Healy was in sight, so he dived in between two engines and made his way to the rear of the shed. Here, by peering around the end of a tender, he could see Healy’s cubby-hole—Healy called it an office—a bit of space about four by six partitioned off from the back wall in the corner, with a greasy63 book the engine-crews signed, and two or three others, equally greasy, in which Healy kept tabs on things in general.
In spite of his trepidation64, Speckles grinned. Healy was there, bending over a very flimsy, spindle-legged table that he had wheedled65 out of the claim-agent some months before. His brows were puckered66 into a ferocious67 scowl1, and he growled68 and muttered to himself, now laboring69 furiously with a stubby pencil on the sheets of paper in front of him, now pausing to bite that unoffending article almost in two in his desperation.
Healy was working on his invention. All the division knew about Healy’s ideas on Westinghouse and “air,” and that these ideas, when perfected, were to be patented. As to what the consensus70 of opinion of their value was is neither here nor there, except that in Healy’s presence, when referred to at all, the subject was treated with dignity and respect, for Healy’s physical powers were beyond the ordinary, and dearest to Healy’s heart and most sacred in his eyes was this creation of his brain, or, to be more accurate, fancy.
Speckles sidled up to the cubby-hole, and, without any peroration71, took the plunge72.
“I came to ask you to put me on again, Mr. Healy,”—he spoke73 rapidly, as though he feared his courage might ooze74 out before he could finish.
Healy wheeled round with a grunt75.
“Oh, ut’s you, is ut?” he demanded grimly.
Speckles, ready to run at the first sign of violence, acknowledged the impeachment76 by nodding his head affirmatively, and smiled sheepishly while Healy scrutinized77 him with a long stare from head to foot.
“Well,” said Healy, “you wait a minute an’ I’ll give you me answer.”
Speckles’ heart bounded in joyous78 hope. Healy very deliberately79 gathered up his papers, folded them carefully, and opening the cupboard where his coat hung—it was a hot day, and Healy was in his shirtsleeves—tucked them into the inside pocket. Then, like a flash, he turned and reached for the first thing in sight. It was a broom.
But, quick as he was, Speckles was quicker, and he led Healy by the length of the pit as he dodged80 around the tail end of a tender and darted81 out of the running-shed across the tracks to the freight-house.
Healy followed no farther than the turntable. There he halted, and Speckles, from his retreat, saw him shake his fist and listened to the threat that thundered across the yards:
“Show yer face around here ag’in, you young rascal, an’ I’ll bate82 the loife out av you, so I will!”
Speckles betook himself to the cracker-box, and from his lips there flowed a fluent and unrestrained expression of his opinion on things in general, but more particularly of Healy, and more particularly still of Healy’s invention. Then, his indignation subsiding83, it was followed by a fit of the blues84; so that when, at the expiration85 of half an hour, Healy, still in his shirt-sleeves, came out of the roundhouse and walked up the tracks in the direction of the shops, Speckles, through the freight-house door, remarked the incident in complete apathy86 and as one in which he had no interest whatever.
Ten minutes later, however, his apathy vanished and he sprang to his feet at the sound of the excited shouts of the men in the running-shed. Some were hastily swinging the big engine doors wide open, others were setting the table in position, while one started on a run in the direction Healy had taken.
Another minute and the shop whistle had boomed out its warning, and as Healy, with the man who had gone after him, came tearing down the track like mad, Speckles saw the smoke beginning to curl up over the roof at the back. The running-shed was afire.
With a whoop87, Speckles traversed the platform, leaped to the rails, and was hard on Healy’s heels by the time the turntable was crossed. Healy paused but an instant. The thing to do was to get the engines out, and Healy was the man to do it.
“Get tackle rigged on 463,” he ordered. “She’s cold, an’ we’ll have to haul her out. Set the table fer 518; I’ll take her.”
Then he started on the jump for the cubby-hole and his precious papers.
Now, the tackle that Healy had referred to was stored in the rear of the roundhouse in the same general direction as the cubby-hole, and as the order had been given to no one in particular, Speckles, shouting “I’ll get it,” started after Healy.
Some grease and waste had caught and was rolling up a nasty smoke. Through it, even while he tugged88 manfully at the heavy tackle, Speckles saw Healy run into his office, snatch his coat, rush out again, and dash for the cab of 518, throwing the coat up on the tender. As he did so, something fell from the pocket.
Speckles dropped the tackle and pounced89 upon it. It was the bundle of papers he had seen Healy put in his coat-pocket a little while before.
It was Healy’s invention!
Speckles’ first impulse was to shout to Healy, but just then 518 glided90 out of the shed, and the men in front of 463 were yelling in chorus for the tackle, so Speckles put his tongue in his cheek and the papers in his pocket.
It wasn’t much of a blaze, but it looked bad while it lasted. Even after the shop-hands had got their hose-lengths connected and a stream playing on the fire, and the engines were all in safety in the yard, the smoke continued to roll out in clouds, with here and there a vicious tongue of flame.
Then Healy, his duty done, bethought him of his coat on the tender of 518. And Speckles, as he heard Healy’s gasp91 of dismay on discovering that his papers were gone, had an inspiration.
“Me papers! Me papers!” wailed92 Healy. “Fer the love av Mike, I must av dropped thim on the flure!”
“I’ll get them for you, Mr. Healy,” said Speckles, quick as a shot.
“You’ll not!” said Healy. “I’ll have no wan53 risk his life fer thim, bad as I want thim. Hey, come back, you runt!”
But Speckles was gone. Headed straight for the big, yawning doors that vomited93 their smoke and flames? Oh, no, not Speckles! Hardly! Speckles would make his attempt from the rear! And around the end of the shed and in behind he raced.
Some of the men were fighting the fire from that side, but they were too busy to pay any attention to Speckles. A dab94 of soot95 and dirt on his face which he obtained by rubbing his fingers along the blackened wall, an artistic96 smudge of generous proportions on the outside of the papers, which he took from his pocket, and Speckles’ make-up was complete and convincing.
Now, Speckles had an eye for the dramatic and an appreciation97 of its value. He peered in through one of the windows. It was not nearly as bad inside as it had been, and he decided55 there would be no risk and very little discomfort98 in carrying out the plan that had popped into his head.
So he climbed in through a window and dropped down to the floor on the other side. The next minute he had dashed through the running-shed, and emerged from a whirl of black smoke into the open in front of the turntable, the papers waved aloft in his fist.
It was effective—decidedly effective! A cheer went up, and the men crowded around, while Healy rushed forward and began to pump Speckles’ arm up and down like an engine-piston.
“Ut’s a hero you are, me bright jool av a lad!” he cried in his delight. “‘Tis mesilf, John Healy, that ses ut, an’ the bhoys are me witness. Come back to yer job in the mornin’ an’, by my sowl, Speckles, I’ll niver fire you ag’in, niver! An’ ut’s more I’ll do—I’ll promote you. Ut’s a wiper you are from now on, me son, an’ to blazes wid cuttin’ down operatin’ expinses! Where did you foind the papers?”
“On the floor,” said Speckles—and he told the truth.
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收听单词发音
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1
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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3
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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4
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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5
dinned
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| vt.喧闹（din的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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superintendents
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| 警长( superintendent的名词复数 )； （大楼的）管理人； 监管人； （美国）警察局长 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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8
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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12
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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broaching
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| n.拉削；推削；铰孔；扩孔v.谈起( broach的现在分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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specify
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| vt.指定，详细说明 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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38
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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40
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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41
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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42
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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43
accentuate
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| v.着重，强调 | |
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44
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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48
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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50
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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52
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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53
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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54
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
beget
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| v.引起；产生 | |
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57
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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58
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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59
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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60
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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61
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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62
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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63
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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65
wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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74
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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impeachment
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| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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81
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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82
bate
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| v.压制；减弱；n.（制革用的）软化剂 | |
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83
subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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84
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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85
expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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86
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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87
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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88
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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90
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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91
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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92
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
vomited
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94
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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95
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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96
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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97
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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98
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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