"De taxi is waitin' fo' yo', suh," he whispered.
"Good for you, George. Some snowstorm!"
"It sure is. Yo' can't see yo' hand befo' yo' face. I tol' de cabby t' take yo' straight t' de Watkins. On'y a sho't ways. De Watkins is fash'nable an' has a cobbyray—leastwise dey did befo' we got int' dis wah. Anyhow, dey'll give yo' all de comfo'ts o' home, an' I reckon dey's whut's achin' yo'."
"The nail on the head, George. But I mustn't miss this train. Remember that."
"I'll telephone, suh, ef dey makes up any time."
Passenger and porter hurried from the car to the station platform, crossed two[Pg 120] tracks, passed through the waiting-room, thence to the street, which you could not see across for the curtain of driving snow. There was a line of taxis at the curb4. It appeared that everybody had deserted5 the train.
Mathison knew that he had committed a blunder. There was even now a chance to run back; but stubbornly he faced the direction toward which he had set his foot. A blunder which, before the night was over, might become a catastrophe6. Well, one thing was certain: they should never lay hands upon that manila envelope. He would deposit it in the hotel safe. Once that was done, they could come at him from all directions, if they cared to. He knew exactly every move he was going to make.
"Boss, I wish I was whah dese bags come f'm. Pineapples an' melons; oh, boy! Say, I ain't nachelly inquis'tive, but what's in dat cage?"
"A ghost, George, by the name of Pal7?ornis torquatus."
"I pass!"
Mathison laughed. "It's a parrakeet, a hop-o'-my-thumb of a bird."
[Pg 121]
"Talk?"
"Almost as much as you do, George."
The porter grinned and helped stow the luggage inside the cab. Mathison climbed in and slammed the door. The porter watched the taxicab until the gray, swirling8 pall9 swallowed it up. He pocketed the bill.
"Dey ain't no reason why, but I sure hates t' take dat young man's money," he mused10, remorsefully11. "De undah dawg; I s'pose dat's it. W'en dey don't look like it dey is. What's he done, I wonduh? A parrot! Fust time I ev' seen a white man tote a parrot. An' he don't look like a henpeck, neither."
He turned and jogged back to the train.
The taxicabs began to straggle along. The streets were full of ruts and drifts, and the vehicles looked like giant beetles12 scurrying13.
Gloomy town, thought Mathison, as he peered first from one window then from the other. Not a cheery, winking14 electric sign anywhere. Then he recalled the reason, as explained by the porter. A coal famine had forced a temporary abandonment of this wonder of American cities.
It was stinging cold, somewhere around[Pg 122] zero. He threw the lap-robe over the cage. Malachi wasn't used to the cold. The shop-windows gleamed like beaten gold, so thick were they with frost. The cab lurched, staggered, and skidded15.
"Lord! but the smell of clean snow!" He dipped his chin into his collar. He had been away from this kind of weather so long that it bit in.
Cabs in front and cabs behind. Were they following him? Likely enough. They would be fools if they didn't. A hot bath and a bed for himself and a room to rove about in for Malachi. The thing was written, anyhow; and deep down in his soul he knew that he was going to pull through. Fire, water, and poison gas.
In about ten minutes the cab came to a halt. The door was opened and a bellboy grinned hopefully and hospitably16. Mathison stepped down from the cab, gave a dollar to the driver, and reached for Malachi and one of the kit-bags, leaving the other for the boy. He sprang up the hotel steps, keenly exhilarated. He felt alive for the first time in days. He swept on to the desk, planted the kit-bag strategically and ordered a room with a bath. But as the[Pg 123] clerk offered the pen Mathison frowned. He hadn't planned against the contingency17 of signing his name to hotel registers. His slight hesitancy was not noticed by the clerk. Mathison was not without a fund of dry humor, and a flash of it swept over him at this moment.
He wrote "Richard Whittington, London." He chuckled18 inwardly. The name had popped into his head with one of those freakish rallies of memory; but presently he was going to regret it.
"Room with bath; number three hundred and twenty. Here, boy! How long do you expect to be with us, sir?" asked the clerk, perfunctorily.
"Until morning. Train stalled on account of wreck19. You have a good safe?"
"Strong as a bank's."
"Very good. I'll be down shortly with some valuables."
"Bird?"
"A parrakeet."
"That'll be all right. We bar dogs and cats."
The door of the elevator had scarcely closed behind Mathison when a man walked leisurely20 over to the desk and inspected the[Pg 124] freshly written signature. He seemed startled for a moment; then he laughed.
"A room, sir?"
"No. I was looking to see if a friend of mine had arrived. He hasn't."
The stranger walked away; he strolled into the bar, looked into the restaurant, mounted the first flight of stairs and wandered into the parlor21, which was empty and chilly22. Next he hailed an elevator and asked to be let out on the third floor. Here he walked to the end of the corridor and returned, took the next car down, and went directly into the street. At the north side of the hotel was an alley23. The man stared speculatively24 into this, jumped into a waiting taxicab and made off.
Half an hour later a woman entered the hotel parlor, selected a chair by the corridor wall, and sat down. You might have gone into the parlor and departed without noticing her.
Meanwhile Mathison set the cage by the radiator25, went into the bathroom, came back and felt of the bed, and smiled at the bellboy.
"This will do nicely. How big a town is this?"
"About seventy thousand, sir."
[Pg 125]
"What's the name of it?"
The boy grinned. Here was one of those "fresh guys" who were always springing wheezes26 like this because they thought the "hops27" expected it.
"Petrograd."
Mathison caught the point immediately. "Boy, on my word, I haven't the least idea what the name of this town is. I'm off the stalled flyer, and I forgot to ask the porter. I wanted a bed instead of a bunk28. Now shoot."
The boy named the town.
"What have you got in the line of theaters?"
"This is Tuesday," answered the boy.
"I know that. Is there a comic opera or a good burlesque29?"
"Are you guying me? Where'd juh come from?"
"The other side of the world."
"I guess that's right. Why, this is showless Tuesday, all east of the Mississippi. Even little Mary Pickford ain't working to-day. New York, Boston—it's all the same. Nothing doing. The new law; all the theaters, movies, billiard-parlors, and bowling-alleys dark."
[Pg 126]
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
"It's the war, sir," said the boy, soberly. "I'm in the next draft. I don't want to kill anybody; but if I've got to do it I'm going to learn how."
Mathison held out his hand. "That's the kind of talk. It's bad, bloody30 work, but it's got to be done. Here's a telegram I want sent. Don't bother bringing back the change. But don't fail to have this wire sent."
"I won't fail, sir."
"Now, I want you to give this order to the waiter."
After a word or two the boy interrupted Mathison. "No meat. Fish, lobster31, oysters32, chicken."
"All right; make it chicken, then. And tell him to bring a banana and some almonds. And mind this particularly. Tell the waiter to knock once loudly. Make no mistake about that."
"Yes, sir"; but the boy's eyes began to widen perceptibly. Here was a queer bird.
After the boy had departed Mathison double-locked the door. Then he liberated33 Malachi. The bird came out and stood before the door of his cage indecisively.[Pg 127] Then he reached down and whetted34 his beak35 on the carpet.
"Chup!" he muttered.
"You little son-of-a-gun!" cried Mathison, delighted. It was the first time Malachi had spoken since leaving Manila. Mathison stooped and extended his index finger. By aid of claw and beak, the bird mounted the living perch36 and slowly worked his way up the arm. "The little son-of-a-gun, he's alive again! Malachi, are you cold?"
Malachi grumbled37 in his own tongue. Mathison approached a curtain, and the bird at once transferred himself to that, clawing his way up to the pole, where he began to preen38 himself. His master watched him for a few minutes contentedly39. Then he looked out of the window. He saw the dim outlines of a fire-escape. He could also see a cross-section of the street beyond the alley: clouds of snow, spouts40, whirlwinds.
He turned from the window swiftly and tiptoed to the door. Some one had turned the knob cautiously. Mathison waited patiently, but the knob did not turn again. Door-knobs—they had a mysterious way of turning in the night.
[Pg 128]
There would be no going out this night; so he might as well make himself comfortable. He turned to the kit-bags. He opened them both, took a pair of slippers41 from the top of one and a dressing-gown and toilet articles from the top of the other. The general contents of both bags were as neatly42 and as compactly arranged as a drummer's case; but always on top there would be pick-ups. By the time he had bathed, changed, put on the slippers and gown—a heavenly blue silk-brocade such as aristocratic Chinese wear—the waiter arrived with the dinner. He announced his arrival by a single knock.
The door was opened in a singular fashion. Mathison kept totally behind it. An Oriental trick; it gave one the opportunity to strike first, if it were necessary to strike; moreover, it prevented any one in the hall or corridor observing the occupant of the room. The moment the waiter stepped inside the door was closed and double-locked again.
"I shall require no service, waiter. Here's a bill; keep the change for your tip."
"Thank you, sir."
The lock and the latch43 were released simultaneously44. So adroitly45 was this [Pg 129]accomplished that the waiter never suspected that he had been locked in or that he was immediately going to be locked out.
Mathison crossed over to the table, peeled a banana, lopped off a bit, and jabbed the fork into it. This he took to the parrakeet. Malachi sidled along the pole solemnly and reached down a coral-red claw.
On going back to the table Mathison felt top-hole in spirit. The telegram was off. If anything happened they would know where to find him. After he had finished his dinner he would find a hiding-place for that manila envelope.
Suddenly he became seized by an ironic46 whimsy48, an impulse which in normal times he would have analyzed49 as idiotic50. Nevertheless, he proceeded to materialize it. He searched in his coat-pocket for the picture of the actress, sliced off the non-essentials, and propped51 it against the water carafe52. With his hand on his heart he bowed.
"Paper lady, I am at once gratified and deeply chagrined53 to offer you a repast so poor. I had planned a club steak; I've been planning it for six long years, and patriotism54 compels me to eat chicken—which I abominate55! You are disappointed?[Pg 130] I'm sorry. You won't look at me? Very well. That's not your fault; it's the fault of the fool photographer, the way he posed you. Crazy? Well, perhaps. But, Lord's truth, I wish I did know somebody like you. I'm the lonesomest duffer in all this Godforsaken world!"
So, while he munched56 his chicken and Malachi his banana, the clerk at the desk was having his worries.
"A queer bunch got off that stalled train," he said to the manager.
"What's the trouble?"
"First a tanned chap with two bags and a parrot signs his name and beats it for the elevator as if he were afraid the room would vanish before he got to it. Another man comes up and looks the book over. He laughs. Then he walks off. Right away comes a veiled woman who does the same thing. Only she signs. A coat that would pay next year's taxes, but no hat. She wants room two hundred and twenty. I ask where her luggage is, and she says she left it on the train. But she hands me a twenty. I let her have the key. Then up comes Sanford, of The Courier. When he pipes those two names he yells."
[Pg 131]
"What's the matter with them?" asked the manager. He was not particularly interested.
"Why, look at this. Richard Whittington, London. Sanford says there was only one man ever had that name, and he was Lord Mayor of London five hundred years ago."
"Oh, pshaw!"
"Wait a minute. Here's the name the woman wrote. Manon Roland. Sanford says her head was cut off in the French Revolution in 1793. One alone, all right; but two!"
"So long as they pay the bill and behave themselves there's nothing for us to do. Perhaps they are celebrities57 and don't want to be bothered by reporters."
"A new brand, then. I never saw this kind before. Anyhow, I thought I'd put you wise."
From afar Mathison heard the shrill58, prolonged blast of a railway whistle. Then a rush of cold air struck him. The paper lady rose suddenly and began a series of violent spiral whirls toward the door. Mathison sprang to his feet, turning, his[Pg 132] automatic ready. He remembered now that he had forgotten to examine the window lock.
Through this window came a woman. She stumbled and fell to her knees, but she got up instantly. She wore no hat. Her hair, like Roman gold, sparkled with melting snow-flakes. Under this hair was a face which had the exquisite59 pallor of Carrara marble. Her eyes were as purple as Manila Bay after the sunset gun. From her shoulders hung a sable60 coat worth a king's ransom61.
Mathison's heart gave a great bound; then his brain cleared and his thoughts became cold and precise. He knew who she was. Beautiful beyond anything his fertile imagination had conceived of her: warm and fragrant62 as a Persian rose. Small wonder that poor old Bob Hallowell had gone to smash over her. But what did The Yellow Typhoon want of John Mathison?
"You are John Mathison?" she asked, her voice scarcely audible. "Richard Whittington?"
"Yes." His eyes still marveling over the beauty of her. It was unbelievable. A wave of poignant63 regret went over him.[Pg 133] The tender loveliness of a Bouguereau housing the soul of a Salome!
"Then take heed64. You are in grave danger. You carry something certain men want desperately65. Don't go into the hall; don't leave your room under any circumstances to-night. The hall is watched. I dared not come to your door. They must never know that I have aided you. I had to climb the fire-escape. I dared not trust the telephone. Hide whatever you have and hide it well."
It is possible that Mathison presented a unique picture to the woman. The blue robe fluttered, bulged66, and collapsed67 in the wind. It fell to his feet, shimmering68. But for the color of it—had it been yellow—Mathison might have posed as a priest of Buddha69. His handsome, bronzed face, the cold impassivity of his eyes and mouth, might have passed inspection70 on the platform of the Shwe Dagon pagoda71 in Rangoon—if one overlooked the healthy thatch72 of hair on his head.
She broke the tableau73 by taking from the pocket of her gray coat a gray veil which she wound about her head, turban-wise, dropping the edge just above her lips.
[Pg 134]
"One word more. I am a creature of impulse. I may regret this whim47 shortly. I may even return. I don't know. But if I do, watch out!... Beware of me!"
She backed to the window, stepped through to the fire-escape and vanished into the night.
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收听单词发音
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1
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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4
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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14
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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15
skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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16
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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17
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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18
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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20
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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21
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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25
radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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26
wheezes
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| n.喘息声( wheeze的名词复数 )v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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28
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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30
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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32
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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38
preen
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| v.（人）打扮修饰 | |
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39
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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spouts
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| n.管口( spout的名词复数 )；（喷出的）水柱；（容器的）嘴；在困难中v.（指液体）喷出( spout的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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41
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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43
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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44
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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45
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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46
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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47
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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48
whimsy
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| n.古怪，异想天开 | |
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49
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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50
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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51
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
carafe
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| n.玻璃水瓶 | |
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53
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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55
abominate
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| v.憎恨，厌恶 | |
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56
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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58
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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59
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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60
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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61
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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62
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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63
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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64
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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65
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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66
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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67
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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68
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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69
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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70
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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71
pagoda
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| n.宝塔（尤指印度和远东的多层宝塔），（印度教或佛教的）塔式庙宇 | |
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72
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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