“I have the honour to acknowledge herewith your favour of the 14th instant, and in reply would state——”
“Please find enclosed draft upon New Orleans to be applied3 as per our understanding——”
“In answer to your favour No. 1107, referring to the case of the City and County of San Francisco against Excelsior Warehouse5 & Storage Co., I would say——”
His voice continued, expressionless, measured, distinct. While he spoke6, he swung slowly back and forth7 in his leather swivel chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his pop eyes fixed8 vaguely9 upon the calendar on the opposite wall, winking10 at intervals11 when he paused, searching for a word.
“That's all for the present,” he said at length.
Without reply, the typewriter rose and withdrew, thrusting her pencil into the coil of her hair, closing the door behind her, softly, discreetly13.
When she had gone, Lyman rose, stretching himself putting up three fingers to hide his yawn. To further loosen his muscles, he took a couple of turns the length of he room, noting with satisfaction its fine appointments, the padded red carpet, the dull olive green tint15 of the walls, the few choice engravings—portraits of Marshall, Taney, Field, and a coloured lithograph16—excellently done—of the Grand Canyon17 of the Colorado—the deep-seated leather chairs, the large and crowded bookcase (topped with a bust18 of James Lick, and a huge greenish globe), the waste basket of woven coloured grass, made by Navajo Indians, the massive silver inkstand on the desk, the elaborate filing cabinet, complete in every particular, and the shelves of tin boxes, padlocked, impressive, grave, bearing the names of clients, cases and estates.
He was between thirty-one and thirty-five years of age. Unlike Harran, he resembled his mother, but he was much darker than Annie Derrick and his eyes were much fuller, the eyeball protruding19, giving him a pop-eyed, foreign expression, quite unusual and unexpected. His hair was black, and he wore a small, tight, pointed20 mustache, which he was in the habit of pushing delicately upward from the corners of his lips with the ball of his thumb, the little finger extended. As often as he made this gesture, he prefaced it with a little twisting gesture of the forearm in order to bring his cuff21 into view, and, in fact, this movement by itself was habitual22.
He was dressed carefully, his trousers creased23, a pink rose in his lapel. His shoes were of patent leather, his cutaway coat was of very rough black cheviot, his double-breasted waistcoat of tan covered cloth with buttons of smoked pearl. An Ascot scarf—a great puff25 of heavy black silk—was at his neck, the knot transfixed by a tiny golden pin set off with an opal and four small diamonds.
At one end of the room were two great windows of plate glass, and pausing at length before one of these, Lyman selected a cigarette from his curved box of oxydized silver, lit it and stood looking down and out, willing to be idle for a moment, amused and interested in the view.
His office was on the tenth floor of the EXCHANGE BUILDING, a beautiful, tower-like affair of white stone, that stood on the corner of Market Street near its intersection26 with Kearney, the most imposing27 office building of the city.
Below him the city swarmed28 tumultuous through its grooves29, the cable-cars starting and stopping with a gay jangling of bells and a strident whirring of jostled glass windows. Drays and carts clattered30 over the cobbles, and an incessant31 shuffling32 of thousands of feet rose from the pavement. Around Lotta's fountain the baskets of the flower sellers, crammed33 with chrysanthemums34, violets, pinks, roses, lilies, hyacinths, set a brisk note of colour in the grey of the street.
But to Lyman's notion the general impression of this centre of the city's life was not one of strenuous35 business activity. It was a continuous interest in small things, a people ever willing to be amused at trifles, refusing to consider serious matters—good-natured, allowing themselves to be imposed upon, taking life easily—generous, companionable, enthusiastic; living, as it were, from day to day, in a place where the luxuries of life were had without effort; in a city that offered to consideration the restlessness of a New York, without its earnestness; the serenity36 of a Naples, without its languor37; the romance of a Seville, without its picturesqueness38.
As Lyman turned from the window, about to resume his work, the office boy appeared at the door.
“The man from the lithograph company, sir,” announced the boy.
“Well, what does he want?” demanded Lyman, adding, however, upon the instant: “Show him in.”
A young man entered, carrying a great bundle, which he deposited on a chair, with a gasp39 of relief, exclaiming, all out of breath:
“From the Standard Lithograph Company.”
“What is?”
“Don't know,” replied the other. “Maps, I guess.”
“I don't want any maps. Who sent them? I guess you're mistaken.” Lyman tore the cover from the top of the package, drawing out one of a great many huge sheets of white paper, folded eight times. Suddenly, he uttered an exclamation40:
“Ah, I see. They ARE maps. But these should not have come here. They are to go to the regular office for distribution.” He wrote a new direction on the label of the package: “Take them to that address,” he went on. “I'll keep this one here. The others go to that address. If you see Mr. Darrell, tell him that Mr. Derrick—you get the name—Mr. Derrick may not be able to get around this afternoon, but to go ahead with any business just the same.”
The young man departed with the package and Lyman, spreading out the map upon the table, remained for some time studying it thoughtfully.
It was a commissioner41's official railway map of the State of California, completed to March 30th of that year. Upon it the different railways of the State were accurately42 plotted in various colours, blue, green, yellow. However, the blue, the yellow, and the green were but brief traceries, very short, isolated43, unimportant. At a little distance these could hardly be seen. The whole map was gridironed by a vast, complicated network of red lines marked P. and S. W. R. R. These centralised at San Francisco and thence ramified and spread north, east, and south, to every quarter of the State. From Coles, in the topmost corner of the map, to Yuma in the lowest, from Reno on one side to San Francisco on the other, ran the plexus of red, a veritable system of blood circulation, complicated, dividing, and reuniting, branching, splitting, extending, throwing out feelers, off-shoots, tap roots, feeders—diminutive little blood suckers that shot out from the main jugular46 and went twisting up into some remote county, laying hold upon some forgotten village or town, involving it in one of a myriad47 branching coils, one of a hundred tentacles48, drawing it, as it were, toward that centre from which all this system sprang.
The map was white, and it seemed as if all the colour which should have gone to vivify the various counties, towns, and cities marked upon it had been absorbed by that huge, sprawling49 organism, with its ruddy arteries50 converging51 to a central point. It was as though the State had been sucked white and colourless, and against this pallid52 background the red arteries of the monster stood out, swollen53 with life-blood, reaching out to infinity54, gorged55 to bursting; an excrescence, a gigantic parasite56 fattening57 upon the life-blood of an entire commonwealth58.
However, in an upper corner of the map appeared the names of the three new commissioners59: Jones McNish for the first district, Lyman Derrick for the second, and James Darrell for the third.
Nominated in the Democratic State convention in the fall of the preceding year, Lyman, backed by the coteries60 of San Francisco bosses in the pay of his father's political committee of ranchers, had been elected together with Darrell, the candidate of the Pueblo62 and Mojave road, and McNish, the avowed63 candidate of the Pacific and Southwestern. Darrell was rabidly against the P. and S. W., McNish rabidly for it. Lyman was supposed to be the conservative member of the board, the ranchers' candidate, it was true, and faithful to their interests, but a calm man, deliberative, swayed by no such violent emotions as his colleagues.
Osterman's dexterity64 had at last succeeded in entangling65 Magnus inextricably in the new politics. The famous League, organised in the heat of passion the night of Annixter's barn dance, had been consolidated67 all through the winter months. Its executive committee, of which Magnus was chairman, had been, through Osterman's manipulation, merged68 into the old committee composed of Broderson, Annixter, and himself. Promptly69 thereat he had resigned the chairmanship of this committee, thus leaving Magnus at its head. Precisely70 as Osterman had planned, Magnus was now one of them. The new committee accordingly had two objects in view: to resist the attempted grabbing of their lands by the Railroad, and to push forward their own secret scheme of electing a board of railroad commissioners who should regulate wheat rates so as to favour the ranchers of the San Joaquin. The land cases were promptly taken to the courts and the new grading—fixing the price of the lands at twenty and thirty dollars an acre instead of two—bitterly and stubbornly fought. But delays occurred, the process of the law was interminable, and in the intervals the committee addressed itself to the work of seating the “Ranchers' Commission,” as the projected Board of Commissioners came to be called.
It was Harran who first suggested that his brother, Lyman, be put forward as the candidate for this district. At once the proposition had a great success. Lyman seemed made for the place. While allied71 by every tie of blood to the ranching45 interests, he had never been identified with them. He was city-bred. The Railroad would not be over-suspicious of him. He was a good lawyer, a good business man, keen, clear-headed, far-sighted, had already some practical knowledge of politics, having served a term as assistant district attorney, and even at the present moment occupying the position of sheriff's attorney. More than all, he was the son of Magnus Derrick; he could be relied upon, could be trusted implicitly72 to remain loyal to the ranchers' cause.
The campaign for Railroad Commissioner had been very interesting. At the very outset Magnus's committee found itself involved in corrupt73 politics. The primaries had to be captured at all costs and by any means, and when the convention assembled it was found necessary to buy outright74 the votes of certain delegates. The campaign fund raised by contributions from Magnus, Annixter, Broderson, and Osterman was drawn75 upon to the extent of five thousand dollars.
Only the committee knew of this corruption76. The League, ignoring ways and means, supposed as a matter of course that the campaign was honorably conducted.
For a whole week after the consummation of this part of the deal, Magnus had kept to his house, refusing to be seen, alleging77 that he was ill, which was not far from the truth. The shame of the business, the loathing79 of what he had done, were to him things unspeakable. He could no longer look Harran in the face. He began a course of deception80 with his wife. More than once, he had resolved to break with the whole affair, resigning his position, allowing the others to proceed without him. But now it was too late. He was pledged. He had joined the League. He was its chief, and his defection might mean its disintegration81 at the very time when it needed all its strength to fight the land cases. More than a mere82 deal in bad politics was involved. There was the land grab. His withdrawal83 from an unholy cause would mean the weakening, perhaps the collapse84, of another cause that he believed to be righteous as truth itself. He was hopelessly caught in the mesh85. Wrong seemed indissolubly knitted into the texture86 of Right. He was blinded, dizzied, overwhelmed, caught in the current of events, and hurried along he knew not where. He resigned himself.
In the end, and after much ostentatious opposition87 on the part of the railroad heelers, Lyman was nominated and subsequently elected.
When this consummation was reached Magnus, Osterman, Broderson, and Annixter stared at each other. Their wildest hopes had not dared to fix themselves upon so easy a victory as this. It was not believable that the corporation would allow itself to be fooled so easily, would rush open-eyed into the trap. How had it happened?
Osterman, however, threw his hat into the air with wild whoops88 of delight. Old Broderson permitted himself a feeble cheer. Even Magnus beamed satisfaction. The other members of the League, present at the time, shook hands all around and spoke of opening a few bottles on the strength of the occasion. Annixter alone was recalcitrant89.
“It's too easy,” he declared. “No, I'm not satisfied. Where's Shelgrim in all this? Why don't he show his hand, damn his soul? The thing is yellow, I tell you. There's a big fish in these waters somewheres. I don't know his name, and I don't know his game, but he's moving round off and on, just out of sight. If you think you've netted him, I DON'T, that's all I've got to say.”
But he was jeered90 down as a croaker. There was the Commission. He couldn't get around that, could he? There was Darrell and Lyman Derrick, both pledged to the ranches91. Good Lord, he was never satisfied. He'd be obstinate92 till the very last gun was fired. Why, if he got drowned in a river he'd float upstream just to be contrary.
In the course of time, the new board was seated. For the first few months of its term, it was occupied in clearing up the business left over by the old board and in the completion of the railway map. But now, the decks were cleared. It was about to address itself to the consideration of a revision of the tariff93 for the carriage of grain between the San Joaquin Valley and tide-water.
Both Lyman and Darrell were pledged to an average ten per cent. cut of the grain rates throughout the entire State.
The typewriter returned with the letters for Lyman to sign, and he put away the map and took up his morning's routine of business, wondering, the while, what would become of his practice during the time he was involved in the business of the Ranchers' Railroad Commission.
But towards noon, at the moment when Lyman was drawing off a glass of mineral water from the siphon that stood at his elbow, there was an interruption. Some one rapped vigorously upon the door, which was immediately after opened, and Magnus and Harran came in, followed by Presley.
“Hello, hello!” cried Lyman, jumping up, extending his hands, “why, here's a surprise. I didn't expect you all till to-night. Come in, come in and sit down. Have a glass of sizz-water, Governor.”
The others explained that they had come up from Bonneville the night before, as the Executive Committee of the League had received a despatch95 from the lawyers it had retained to fight the Railroad, that the judge of the court in San Francisco, where the test cases were being tried, might be expected to hand down his decision the next day.
Very soon after the announcement of the new grading of the ranchers' lands, the corporation had offered, through S. Behrman, to lease the disputed lands to the ranchers at a nominal96 figure. The offer had been angrily rejected, and the Railroad had put up the lands for sale at Ruggles's office in Bonneville. At the exorbitant97 price named, buyers promptly appeared—dummy buyers, beyond shadow of doubt, acting98 either for the Railroad or for S. Behrman—men hitherto unknown in the county, men without property, without money, adventurers, heelers. Prominent among them, and bidding for the railroad's holdings included on Annixter's ranch44, was Delaney.
The farce99 of deeding the corporation's sections to these fictitious100 purchasers was solemnly gone through with at Ruggles's office, the Railroad guaranteeing them possession. The League refused to allow the supposed buyers to come upon the land, and the Railroad, faithful to its pledge in the matter of guaranteeing its dummies101 possession, at once began suits in ejectment in the district court in Visalia, the county seat.
It was the preliminary skirmish, the reconnaisance in force, the combatants feeling each other's strength, willing to proceed with caution, postponing102 the actual death-grip for a while till each had strengthened its position and organised its forces.
During the time the cases were on trial at Visalia, S. Behrman was much in evidence in and about the courts. The trial itself, after tedious preliminaries, was brief. The ranchers lost. The test cases were immediately carried up to the United States Circuit Court in San Francisco. At the moment the decision of this court was pending103.
“Why, this is news,” exclaimed Lyman, in response to the Governor's announcement; “I did not expect them to be so prompt. I was in court only last week and there seemed to be no end of business ahead. I suppose you are very anxious?”
Magnus nodded. He had seated himself in one of Lyman's deep chairs, his grey top-hat, with its wide brim, on the floor beside him. His coat of black broad-cloth that had been tightly packed in his valise, was yet wrinkled and creased; his trousers were strapped104 under his high boots. As he spoke, he stroked the bridge of his hawklike105 nose with his bent106 forefinger107.
Leaning-back in his chair, he watched his two sons with secret delight. To his eye, both were perfect specimens108 of their class, intelligent, well-looking, resourceful. He was intensely proud of them. He was never happier, never more nearly jovial109, never more erect110, more military, more alert, and buoyant than when in the company of his two sons. He honestly believed that no finer examples of young manhood existed throughout the entire nation.
“I think we should win in this court,” Harran observed, watching the bubbles break in his glass. “The investigation111 has been much more complete than in the Visalia trial. Our case this time is too good. It has made too much talk. The court would not dare render a decision for the Railroad. Why, there's the agreement in black and white—and the circulars the Railroad issued. How CAN one get around those?”
“Well, well, we shall know in a few hours now,” remarked Magnus.
“Oh,” exclaimed Lyman, surprised, “it is for this morning, then. Why aren't you at the court?”
“It seemed undignified, boy,” answered the Governor. “We shall know soon enough.”
“Good God!” exclaimed Harran abruptly113, “when I think of what is involved. Why, Lyman, it's our home, the ranch house itself, nearly all Los Muertos, practically our whole fortune, and just now when there is promise of an enormous crop of wheat. And it is not only us. There are over half a million acres of the San Joaquin involved. In some cases of the smaller ranches, it is the confiscation114 of the whole of the rancher's land. If this thing goes through, it will absolutely beggar nearly a hundred men. Broderson wouldn't have a thousand acres to his name. Why, it's monstrous115.”
“But the corporations offered to lease these lands,” remarked Lyman. “Are any of the ranchers taking up that offer—or are any of them buying outright?”
“Buying! At the new figure!” exclaimed Harran, “at twenty and thirty an acre! Why, there's not one in ten that CAN. They are land-poor. And as for leasing—leasing land they virtually own—no, there's precious few are doing that, thank God! That would be acknowledging the railroad's ownership right away—forfeiting their rights for good. None of the LEAGUERS are doing it, I know. That would be the rankest treachery.”
He paused for a moment, drinking the rest of the mineral water, then interrupting Lyman, who was about to speak to Presley, drawing him into the conversation through politeness, said: “Matters are just romping116 right along to a crisis these days. It's a make or break for the wheat growers of the State now, no mistake. Here are the land cases and the new grain tariff drawing to a head at about the same time. If we win our land cases, there's your new freight rates to be applied, and then all is beer and skittles. Won't the San Joaquin go wild if we pull it off, and I believe we will.”
“How we wheat growers are exploited and trapped and deceived at every turn,” observed Magnus sadly. “The courts, the capitalists, the railroads, each of them in turn hoodwinks us into some new and wonderful scheme, only to betray us in the end. Well,” he added, turning to Lyman, “one thing at least we can depend on. We will cut their grain rates for them, eh, Lyman?”
Lyman crossed his legs and settled himself in his office chair.
“I have wanted to have a talk with you about that, sir,” he said. “Yes, we will cut the rates—an average 10 per cent. cut throughout the State, as we are pledged. But I am going to warn you, Governor, and you, Harran; don't expect too much at first. The man who, even after twenty years' training in the operation of railroads, can draw an equitable117, smoothly118 working schedule of freight rates between shipping119 point and common point, is capable of governing the United States. What with main lines, and leased lines, and points of transfer, and the laws governing common carriers, and the rulings of the Inter-State Commerce Commission, the whole matter has become so confused that Vanderbilt himself couldn't straighten it out. And how can it be expected that railroad commissions who are chosen—well, let's be frank—as ours was, for instance, from out a number of men who don't know the difference between a switching charge and a differential rate, are going to regulate the whole business in six months' time? Cut rates; yes, any fool can do that; any fool can write one dollar instead of two, but if you cut too low by a fraction of one per cent. and if the railroad can get out an injunction, tie you up and show that your new rate prevents the road being operated at a profit, how are you any better off?”
“Your conscientiousness120 does you credit, Lyman,” said the Governor. “I respect you for it, my son. I know you will be fair to the railroad. That is all we want. Fairness to the corporation is fairness to the farmer, and we won't expect you to readjust the whole matter out of hand. Take your time. We can afford to wait.”
“And suppose the next commission is a railroad board, and reverses all our figures?”
The one-time mining king, the most redoubtable121 poker122 player of Calaveras County, permitted himself a momentary123 twinkle of his eyes.
“By then it will be too late. We will, all of us, have made our fortunes by then.”
The remark left Presley astonished out of all measure He never could accustom124 himself to these strange lapses125 in the Governor's character. Magnus was by nature a public man, judicious126, deliberate, standing4 firm for principle, yet upon rare occasion, by some such remark as this, he would betray the presence of a sub-nature of recklessness, inconsistent, all at variance127 with his creeds129 and tenets.
At the very bottom, when all was said and done, Magnus remained the Forty-niner. Deep down in his heart the spirit of the Adventurer yet persisted. “We will all of us have made fortunes by then.” That was it precisely. “After us the deluge130.” For all his public spirit, for all his championship of justice and truth, his respect for law, Magnus remained the gambler, willing to play for colossal131 stakes, to hazard a fortune on the chance of winning a million. It was the true California spirit that found expression through him, the spirit of the West, unwilling132 to occupy itself with details, refusing to wait, to be patient, to achieve by legitimate133 plodding134; the miner's instinct of wealth acquired in a single night prevailed, in spite of all. It was in this frame of mind that Magnus and the multitude of other ranchers of whom he was a type, farmed their ranches. They had no love for their land. They were not attached to the soil. They worked their ranches as a quarter of a century before they had worked their mines. To husband the resources of their marvellous San Joaquin, they considered niggardly135, petty, Hebraic. To get all there was out of the land, to squeeze it dry, to exhaust it, seemed their policy. When, at last, the land worn out, would refuse to yield, they would invest their money in something else; by then, they would all have made fortunes. They did not care. “After us the deluge.”
Lyman, however, was obviously uneasy, willing to change the subject. He rose to his feet, pulling down his cuffs136.
“By the way,” he observed, “I want you three to lunch with me to-day at my club. It is close by. You can wait there for news of the court's decision as well as anywhere else, and I should like to show you the place. I have just joined.”
At the club, when the four men were seated at a small table in the round window of the main room, Lyman's popularity with all classes was very apparent. Hardly a man entered that did not call out a salutation to him, some even coming over to shake his hand. He seemed to be every man's friend, and to all he seemed equally genial137. His affability, even to those whom he disliked, was unfailing.
“See that fellow yonder,” he said to Magnus, indicating a certain middle-aged138 man, flamboyantly139 dressed, who wore his hair long, who was afflicted140 with sore eyes, and the collar of whose velvet141 coat was sprinkled with dandruff, “that's Hartrath, the artist, a man absolutely devoid142 of even the commonest decency143. How he got in here is a mystery to me.”
Yet, when this Hartrath came across to say “How do you do” to Lyman, Lyman was as eager in his cordiality as his warmest friend could have expected.
“Why the devil are you so chummy with him, then?” observed Harran when Hartrath had gone away.
Lyman's explanation was vague. The truth of the matter was, that Magnus's oldest son was consumed by inordinate144 ambition. Political preferment was his dream, and to the realisation of this dream popularity was an essential. Every man who could vote, blackguard or gentleman, was to be conciliated, if possible. He made it his study to become known throughout the entire community—to put influential145 men under obligations to himself. He never forgot a name or a face. With everybody he was the hail-fellow-well-met. His ambition was not trivial. In his disregard for small things, he resembled his father. Municipal office had no attraction for him. His goal was higher. He had planned his life twenty years ahead. Already Sheriff's Attorney, Assistant District Attorney and Railroad Commissioner, he could, if he desired, attain146 the office of District Attorney itself. Just now, it was a question with him whether or not it would be politic61 to fill this office. Would it advance or sidetrack him in the career he had outlined for himself? Lyman wanted to be something better than District Attorney, better than Mayor, than State Senator, or even than member of the United States Congress. He wanted to be, in fact, what his father was only in name—to succeed where Magnus had failed. He wanted to be governor of the State. He had put his teeth together, and, deaf to all other considerations, blind to all other issues, he worked with the infinite slowness, the unshakable tenacity147 of the coral insect to this one end.
After luncheon148 was over, Lyman ordered cigars and liqueurs, and with the three others returned to the main room of the club. However, their former place in the round window was occupied. A middle-aged man, with iron grey hair and moustache, who wore a frock coat and a white waistcoat, and in some indefinable manner suggested a retired149 naval150 officer, was sitting at their table smoking a long, thin cigar. At sight of him, Presley became animated151. He uttered a mild exclamation:
“Why, isn't that Mr. Cedarquist?”
“Cedarquist?” repeated Lyman Derrick. “I know him well. Yes, of course, it is,” he continued. “Governor, you must know him. He is one of our representative men. You would enjoy talking to him. He was the head of the big Atlas152 Iron Works. They have shut down recently, you know. Not failed exactly, but just ceased to be a paying investment, and Cedarquist closed them out. He has other interests, though. He's a rich man—a capitalist.”
Lyman brought the group up to the gentleman in question and introduced them. “Mr. Magnus Derrick, of course,” observed Cedarquist, as he took the Governor's hand. “I've known you by repute for some time, sir. This is a great pleasure, I assure you.” Then, turning to Presley, he added: “Hello, Pres, my boy. How is the great, the very great Poem getting on?”
“It's not getting on at all, sir,” answered Presley, in some embarrassment153, as they all sat down. “In fact, I've about given up the idea. There's so much interest in what you might call 'living issues' down at Los Muertos now, that I'm getting further and further from it every day.”
“I should say as much,” remarked the manufacturer, turning towards Magnus. “I'm watching your fight with Shelgrim, Mr. Derrick, with every degree of interest.” He raised his drink of whiskey and soda154. “Here's success to you.”
As he replaced his glass, the artist Hartrath joined the group uninvited. As a pretext155, he engaged Lyman in conversation. Lyman, he believed, was a man with a “pull” at the City Hall. In connection with a projected Million-Dollar Fair and Flower Festival, which at that moment was the talk of the city, certain statues were to be erected156, and Hartrath bespoke157 Lyman's influence to further the pretensions158 of a sculptor159 friend of his, who wished to be Art Director of the affair. In the matter of this Fair and Flower Festival, Hartrath was not lacking in enthusiasm. He addressed the others with extravagant160 gestures, blinking his inflamed161 eyelids162.
“A million dollars,” he exclaimed. “Hey! think of that. Why, do you know that we have five hundred thousand practically pledged already? Talk about public spirit, gentlemen, this is the most public-spirited city on the continent. And the money is not thrown away. We will have Eastern visitors here by the thousands—capitalists—men with money to invest. The million we spend on our fair will be money in our pockets. Ah, you should see how the women of this city are taking hold of the matter. They are giving all kinds of little entertainments, teas, 'Olde Tyme Singing Skules,' amateur theatricals163, gingerbread fetes, all for the benefit of the fund, and the business men, too—pouring out their money like water. It is splendid, splendid, to see a community so patriotic164.”
The manufacturer, Cedarquist, fixed the artist with a glance of melancholy165 interest.
“And how much,” he remarked, “will they contribute—your gingerbread women and public-spirited capitalists, towards the blowing up of the ruins of the Atlas Iron Works?”
“Blowing up? I don't understand,” murmured the artist, surprised. “When you get your Eastern capitalists out here with your Million-Dollar Fair,” continued Cedarquist, “you don't propose, do you, to let them see a Million-Dollar Iron Foundry standing idle, because of the indifference167 of San Francisco business men? They might ask pertinent168 questions, your capitalists, and we should have to answer that our business men preferred to invest their money in corner lots and government bonds, rather than to back up a legitimate, industrial enterprise. We don't want fairs. We want active furnaces. We don't want public statues, and fountains, and park extensions and gingerbread fetes. We want business enterprise. Isn't it like us? Isn't it like us?” he exclaimed sadly. “What a melancholy comment! San Francisco! It is not a city—it is a Midway Plaisance. California likes to be fooled. Do you suppose Shelgrim could convert the whole San Joaquin Valley into his back yard otherwise? Indifference to public affairs—absolute indifference, it stamps us all. Our State is the very paradise of fakirs. You and your Million-Dollar Fair!” He turned to Hartrath with a quiet smile. “It is just such men as you, Mr. Hartrath, that are the ruin of us. You organise66 a sham78 of tinsel and pasteboard, put on fool's cap and bells, beat a gong at a street corner, and the crowd cheers you and drops nickels into your hat. Your ginger-bread fete; yes, I saw it in full blast the other night on the grounds of one of your women's places on Sutter Street. I was on my way home from the last board meeting of the Atlas Company. A gingerbread fete, my God! and the Atlas plant shutting down for want of financial backing. A million dollars spent to attract the Eastern investor169, in order to show him an abandoned rolling mill, wherein the only activity is the sale of remnant material and scrap170 steel.”
Lyman, however, interfered171. The situation was becoming strained. He tried to conciliate the three men—the artist, the manufacturer, and the farmer, the warring elements. But Hartrath, unwilling to face the enmity that he felt accumulating against him, took himself away. A picture of his—“A Study of the Contra Costa Foot-hills”—was to be raffled173 in the club rooms for the benefit of the Fair. He, himself, was in charge of the matter. He disappeared.
Cedarquist looked after him with contemplative interest. Then, turning to Magnus, excused himself for the acridity174 of his words.
“He's no worse than many others, and the people of this State and city are, after all, only a little more addle-headed than other Americans.” It was his favourite topic. Sure of the interest of his hearers, he unburdened himself.
“If I were to name the one crying evil of American life, Mr. Derrick,” he continued, “it would be the indifference of the better people to public affairs. It is so in all our great centres. There are other great trusts, God knows, in the United States besides our own dear P. and S. W. Railroad. Every State has its own grievance175. If it is not a railroad trust, it is a sugar trust, or an oil trust, or an industrial trust, that exploits the People, BECAUSE THE PEOPLE ALLOW IT. The indifference of the People is the opportunity of the despot. It is as true as that the whole is greater than the part, and the maxim176 is so old that it is trite—it is laughable. It is neglected and disused for the sake of some new ingenious and complicated theory, some wonderful scheme of reorganisation, but the fact remains177, nevertheless, simple, fundamental, everlasting178. The People have but to say 'No,' and not the strongest tyranny, political, religious, or financial, that was ever organised, could survive one week.”
The others, absorbed, attentive179, approved, nodding their heads in silence as the manufacturer finished.
“That's one reason, Mr. Derrick,” the other resumed after a moment, “why I have been so glad to meet you. You and your League are trying to say 'No' to the trust. I hope you will succeed. If your example will rally the People to your cause, you will. Otherwise—” he shook his head.
“One stage of the fight is to be passed this very day,” observed Magnus. “My sons and myself are expecting hourly news from the City Hall, a decision in our case is pending.”
“We are both of us fighters, it seems, Mr. Derrick,” said Cedarquist. “Each with his particular enemy. We are well met, indeed, the farmer and the manufacturer, both in the same grist between the two millstones of the lethargy of the Public and the aggression180 of the Trust, the two great evils of modern America. Pres, my boy, there is your epic181 poem ready to hand.”
But Cedarquist was full of another idea. Rarely did so favourable182 an opportunity present itself for explaining his theories, his ambitions. Addressing himself to Magnus, he continued:
“Fortunately for myself, the Atlas Company was not my only investment. I have other interests. The building of ships—steel sailing ships—has been an ambition of mine,—for this purpose, Mr. Derrick, to carry American wheat. For years, I have studied this question of American wheat, and at last, I have arrived at a theory. Let me explain. At present, all our California wheat goes to Liverpool, and from that port is distributed over the world. But a change is coming. I am sure of it. You young men,” he turned to Presley, Lyman, and Harran, “will live to see it. Our century is about done. The great word of this nineteenth century has been Production. The great word of the twentieth century will be—listen to me, you youngsters—Markets. As a market for our Production—or let me take a concrete example—as a market for our WHEAT, Europe is played out. Population in Europe is not increasing fast enough to keep up with the rapidity of our production. In some cases, as in France, the population is stationary183. WE, however, have gone on producing wheat at a tremendous rate.
“The result is over-production. We supply more than Europe can eat, and down go the prices. The remedy is NOT in the curtailing184 of our wheat areas, but in this, we MUST HAVE NEW MARKETS, GREATER MARKETS. For years we have been sending our wheat from East to West, from California to Europe. But the time will come when we must send it from West to East. We must march with the course of empire, not against it. I mean, we must look to China. Rice in China is losing its nutritive quality. The Asiatics, though, must be fed; if not on rice, then on wheat. Why, Mr. Derrick, if only one-half the population of China ate a half ounce of flour per man per day all the wheat areas in California could not feed them. Ah, if I could only hammer that into the brains of every rancher of the San Joaquin, yes, and of every owner of every bonanza185 farm in Dakota and Minnesota. Send your wheat to China; handle it yourselves; do away with the middleman; break up the Chicago wheat pits and elevator rings and mixing houses. When in feeding China you have decreased the European shipments, the effect is instantaneous. Prices go up in Europe without having the least effect upon the prices in China. We hold the key, we have the wheat,—infinitely more than we ourselves can eat. Asia and Europe must look to America to be fed. What fatuous186 neglect of opportunity to continue to deluge Europe with our surplus food when the East trembles upon the verge187 of starvation!”
The two men, Cedarquist and Magnus, continued the conversation a little further. The manufacturer's idea was new to the Governor. He was greatly interested. He withdrew from the conversation. Thoughtful, he leaned back in his place, stroking the bridge of his beak-like nose with a crooked188 forefinger.
Cedarquist turned to Harran and began asking details as to the conditions of the wheat growers of the San Joaquin. Lyman still maintained an attitude of polite aloofness189, yawning occasionally behind three fingers, and Presley was left to the company of his own thoughts.
There had been a day when the affairs and grievances190 of the farmers of his acquaintance—Magnus, Annixter, Osterman, and old Broderson—had filled him only with disgust. His mind full of a great, vague epic poem of the West, he had kept himself apart, disdainful of what he chose to consider their petty squabbles. But the scene in Annixter's harness room had thrilled and uplifted him. He was palpitating with excitement all through the succeeding months. He abandoned the idea of an epic poem. In six months he had not written a single verse. Day after day he trembled with excitement as the relations between the Trust and League became more and more strained. He saw the matter in its true light. It was typical. It was the world-old war between Freedom and Tyranny, and at times his hatred191 of the railroad shook him like a crisp and withered192 reed, while the languid indifference of the people of the State to the quarrel filled him with a blind exasperation193.
But, as he had once explained to Vanamee, he must find expression. He felt that he would suffocate194 otherwise. He had begun to keep a journal. As the inclination195 spurred him, he wrote down his thoughts and ideas in this, sometimes every day, sometimes only three or four times a month. Also he flung aside his books of poems—Milton, Tennyson, Browning, even Homer—and addressed himself to Mill, Malthus, Young, Poushkin, Henry George, Schopenhauer. He attacked the subject of Social Inequality with unbounded enthusiasm. He devoured196, rather than read, and emerged from the affair, his mind a confused jumble197 of conflicting notions, sick with over-effort, raging against injustice198 and oppression, and with not one sane199 suggestion as to remedy or redress200.
The butt24 of his cigarette scorched201 his fingers and roused him from his brooding. In the act of lighting202 another, he glanced across the room and was surprised to see two very prettily203 dressed young women in the company of an older gentleman, in a long frock coat, standing before Hartrath's painting, examining it, their heads upon one side.
Presley uttered a murmur166 of surprise. He, himself, was a member of the club, and the presence of women within its doors, except on special occasions, was not tolerated. He turned to Lyman Derrick for an explanation, but this other had also seen the women and abruptly exclaimed:
“I declare, I had forgotten about it. Why, this is Ladies' Day, of course.”
“Why, yes,” interposed Cedarquist, glancing at the women over his shoulder. “Didn't you know? They let 'em in twice a year, you remember, and this is a double occasion. They are going to raffle172 Hartrath's picture,—for the benefit of the Gingerbread Fair. Why, you are not up to date, Lyman. This is a sacred and religious rite,—an important public event.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured Lyman. He found means to survey Harran and Magnus. Certainly, neither his father nor his brother were dressed for the function that impended204. He had been stupid. Magnus invariably attracted attention, and now with his trousers strapped under his boots, his wrinkled frock coat—Lyman twisted his cuffs into sight with an impatient, nervous movement of his wrists, glancing a second time at his brother's pink face, forward curling, yellow hair and clothes of a country cut. But there was no help for it. He wondered what were the club regulations in the matter of bringing in visitors on Ladies' Day. “Sure enough, Ladies' Day,” he remarked, “I am very glad you struck it, Governor. We can sit right where we are. I guess this is as good a place as any to see the crowd. It's a good chance to see all the big guns of the city. Do you expect your people here, Mr. Cedarquist?”
“My wife may come, and my daughters,” said the manufacturer.
“Ah,” murmured Presley, “so much the better. I was going to give myself the pleasure of calling upon your daughters, Mr. Cedarquist, this afternoon.”
“You can save your carfare, Pres,” said Cedarquist, “you will see them here.”
No doubt, the invitations for the occasion had appointed one o'clock as the time, for between that hour and two, the guests arrived in an almost unbroken stream. From their point of vantage in the round window of the main room, Magnus, his two sons, and Presley looked on very interested. Cedarquist had excused himself, affirming that he must look out for his women folk.
Of every ten of the arrivals, seven, at least, were ladies. They entered the room—this unfamiliar205 masculine haunt, where their husbands, brothers, and sons spent so much of their time—with a certain show of hesitancy and little, nervous, oblique206 glances, moving their heads from side to side like a file of hens venturing into a strange barn. They came in groups, ushered207 by a single member of the club, doing the honours with effusive208 bows and polite gestures, indicating the various objects of interest, pictures, busts209, and the like, that decorated the room.
Fresh from his recollections of Bonneville, Guadalajara, and the dance in Annixter's barn, Presley was astonished at the beauty of these women and the elegance210 of their toilettes. The crowd thickened rapidly. A murmur of conversation arose, subdued, gracious, mingled211 with the soft rustle212 of silk, grenadines, velvet. The scent213 of delicate perfumes spread in the air, Violet de Parme, Peau d'Espagne. Colours of the most harmonious214 blends appeared and disappeared at intervals in the slowly moving press, touches of lavender-tinted velvets, pale violet crepes and cream-coloured appliqued laces.
There seemed to be no need of introductions. Everybody appeared to be acquainted. There was no awkwardness, no constraint215. The assembly disengaged an impression of refined pleasure. On every hand, innumerable dialogues seemed to go forward easily and naturally, without break or interruption, witty216, engaging, the couple never at a loss for repartee217. A third party was gracefully218 included, then a fourth. Little groups were formed,—groups that divided themselves, or melted into other groups, or disintegrated219 again into isolated pairs, or lost themselves in the background of the mass,—all without friction220, without embarrassment,—the whole affair going forward of itself, decorous, tactful, well-bred.
At a distance, and not too loud, a stringed orchestra sent up a pleasing hum. Waiters, with brass221 buttons on their full dress coats, went from group to group, silent, unobtrusive, serving salads and ices.
But the focus of the assembly was the little space before Hartrath's painting. It was called “A Study of the Contra Costa Foothills,” and was set in a frame of natural redwood, the bark still adhering. It was conspicuously222 displayed on an easel at the right of the entrance to the main room of the club, and was very large. In the foreground, and to the left, under the shade of a live-oak, stood a couple of reddish cows, knee-deep in a patch of yellow poppies, while in the right-hand corner, to balance the composition, was placed a girl in a pink dress and white sunbonnet, in which the shadows were indicated by broad dashes of pale blue paint. The ladies and young girls examined the production with little murmurs223 of admiration224, hazarding remembered phrases, searching for the exact balance between generous praise and critical discrimination, expressing their opinions in the mild technicalities of the Art Books and painting classes. They spoke of atmospheric225 effects, of middle distance, of “chiaro-oscuro,” of fore-shortening, of the decomposition226 of light, of the subordination of individuality to fidelity227 of interpretation228.
One tall girl, with hair almost white in its blondness, having observed that the handling of the masses reminded her strongly of Corot, her companion, who carried a gold lorgnette by a chain around her neck, answered:
“Ah! Millet229, perhaps, but not Corot.”
This verdict had an immediate94 success. It was passed from group to group. It seemed to imply a delicate distinction that carried conviction at once. It was decided230 formally that the reddish brown cows in the picture were reminiscent of Daubigny, and that the handling of the masses was altogether Millet, but that the general effect was not quite Corot.
Presley, curious to see the painting that was the subject of so much discussion, had left the group in the round window, and stood close by Hartrath, craning his head over the shoulders of the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the reddish cows, the milk-maid and the blue painted foothills. He was suddenly aware of Cedarquist's voice in his ear, and, turning about, found himself face to face with the manufacturer, his wife and his two daughters.
There was a meeting. Salutations were exchanged, Presley shaking hands all around, expressing his delight at seeing his old friends once more, for he had known the family from his boyhood, Mrs. Cedarquist being his aunt. Mrs. Cedarquist and her two daughters declared that the air of Los Muertos must certainly have done him a world of good. He was stouter231, there could be no doubt of it. A little pale, perhaps. He was fatiguing233 himself with his writing, no doubt. Ah, he must take care. Health was everything, after all. Had he been writing any more verse? Every month they scanned the magazines, looking for his name.
Mrs. Cedarquist was a fashionable woman, the president or chairman of a score of clubs. She was forever running after fads234, appearing continually in the society wherein she moved with new and astounding235 proteges—fakirs whom she unearthed236 no one knew where, discovering them long in advance of her companions. Now it was a Russian Countess, with dirty finger nails, who travelled throughout America and borrowed money; now an Aesthete237 who possessed238 a wonderful collection of topaz gems239, who submitted decorative240 schemes for the interior arrangement of houses and who “received” in Mrs. Cedarquist's drawing-rooms dressed in a white velvet cassock; now a widow of some Mohammedan of Bengal or Rajputana, who had a blue spot in the middle of her forehead and who solicited241 contributions for her sisters in affliction; now a certain bearded poet, recently back from the Klondike; now a decayed musician who had been ejected from a young ladies' musical conservatory242 of Europe because of certain surprising pamphlets on free love, and who had come to San Francisco to introduce the community to the music of Brahms; now a Japanese youth who wore spectacles and a grey flannel243 shirt and who, at intervals, delivered himself of the most astonishing poems, vague, unrhymed, unmetrical lucubrations, incoherent, bizarre; now a Christian244 Scientist, a lean, grey woman, whose creed128 was neither Christian nor scientific; now a university professor, with the bristling245 beard of an anarchist246 chief-of-section, and a roaring, guttural voice, whose intenseness left him gasping247 and apoplectic248; now a civilised Cherokee with a mission; now a female elocutionist, whose forte249 was Byron's Songs of Greece; now a high caste Chinaman; now a miniature painter; now a tenor250, a pianiste, a mandolin player, a missionary251, a drawing master, a virtuoso252, a collector, an Armenian, a botanist253 with a new flower, a critic with a new theory, a doctor with a new treatment.
And all these people had a veritable mania254 for declamation255 and fancy dress. The Russian Countess gave talks on the prisons of Siberia, wearing the headdress and pinchbeck ornaments256 of a Slav bride; the Aesthete, in his white cassock, gave readings on obscure questions of art and ethics257. The widow of India, in the costume of her caste, described the social life of her people at home. The bearded poet, perspiring258 in furs and boots of reindeer259 skin, declaimed verses of his own composition about the wild life of the Alaskan mining camps. The Japanese youth, in the silk robes of the Samurai two-sworded nobles, read from his own works—“The flat-bordered earth, nailed down at night, rusting12 under the darkness,” “The brave, upright rains that came down like errands from iron-bodied yore-time.” The Christian Scientist, in funereal260, impressive black, discussed the contra-will and pan-psychic hylozoism. The university professor put on a full dress suit and lisle thread gloves at three in the afternoon and before literary clubs and circles bellowed261 extracts from Goethe and Schiler in the German, shaking his fists, purple with vehemence262. The Cherokee, arrayed in fringed buckskin and blue beads263, rented from a costumer, intoned folk songs of his people in the vernacular264. The elocutionist in cheese-cloth toga and tin bracelets265, rendered “The Isles266 of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sung.” The Chinaman, in the robes of a mandarin267, lectured on Confucius. The Armenian, in fez and baggy268 trousers, spoke of the Unspeakable Turk. The mandolin player, dressed like a bull fighter, held musical conversaziones, interpreting the peasant songs of Andalusia.
It was the Fake, the eternal, irrepressible Sham; glib269, nimble, ubiquitous, tricked out in all the paraphernalia270 of imposture271, an endless defile272 of charlatans273 that passed interminably before the gaze of the city, marshalled by “lady presidents,” exploited by clubs of women, by literary societies, reading circles, and culture organisations. The attention the Fake received, the time devoted274 to it, the money which it absorbed, were incredible. It was all one that impostor after impostor was exposed; it was all one that the clubs, the circles, the societies were proved beyond doubt to have been swindled. The more the Philistine275 press of the city railed and guyed, the more the women rallied to the defence of their protege of the hour. That their favourite was persecuted276, was to them a veritable rapture277. Promptly they invested the apostle of culture with the glamour278 of a martyr279.
The fakirs worked the community as shell-game tricksters work a county fair, departing with bursting pocket-books, passing on the word to the next in line, assured that the place was not worked out, knowing well that there was enough for all.
More frequently the public of the city, unable to think of more than one thing at one time, prostrated280 itself at the feet of a single apostle, but at other moments, such as the present, when a Flower Festival or a Million-Dollar Fair aroused enthusiasm in all quarters, the occasion was one of gala for the entire Fake. The decayed professors, virtuosi, litterateurs, and artists thronged281 to the place en masse. Their clamour filled all the air. On every hand one heard the scraping of violins, the tinkling283 of mandolins, the suave284 accents of “art talks,” the incoherencies of poets, the declamation of elocutionists, the inarticulate wanderings of the Japanese, the confused mutterings of the Cherokee, the guttural bellowing285 of the German university professor, all in the name of the Million-Dollar Fair. Money to the extent of hundreds of thousands was set in motion.
Mrs. Cedarquist was busy from morning until night. One after another, she was introduced to newly arrived fakirs. To each poet, to each litterateur, to each professor she addressed the same question:
“How long have you known you had this power?”
She spent her days in one quiver of excitement and jubilation286. She was “in the movement.” The people of the city were awakening287 to a Realisation of the Beautiful, to a sense of the higher needs of life. This was Art, this was Literature, this was Culture and Refinement288. The Renaissance289 had appeared in the West.
She was a short, rather stout232, red-faced, very much over-dressed little woman of some fifty years. She was rich in her own name, even before her marriage, being a relative of Shelgrim himself and on familiar terms with the great financier and his family. Her husband, while deploring290 the policy of the railroad, saw no good reason for quarrelling with Shelgrim, and on more than one occasion had dined at his house. On this occasion, delighted that she had come upon a “minor poet,” she insisted upon presenting him to Hartrath.
“You two should have so much in common,” she explained.
Presley shook the flaccid hand of the artist, murmuring conventionalities, while Mrs. Cedarquist hastened to say:
“I am sure you know Mr. Presley's verse, Mr. Hartrath. You should, believe me. You two have much in common. I can see so much that is alike in your modes of interpreting nature. In Mr. Presley's sonnet291, 'The Better Part,' there is the same note as in your picture, the same sincerity292 of tone, the same subtlety293 of touch, the same nuances,—ah.”
“Oh, my dear Madame,” murmured the artist, interrupting Presley's impatient retort; “I am a mere bungler294. You don't mean quite that, I am sure. I am too sensitive. It is my cross. Beauty,” he closed his sore eyes with a little expression of pain, “beauty unmans me.”
But Mrs. Cedarquist was not listening. Her eyes were fixed on the artist's luxuriant hair, a thick and glossy295 mane, that all but covered his coat collar.
“Leonine!” she murmured— “leonine! Like Samson of old.”
However, abruptly bestirring herself, she exclaimed a second later:
“But I must run away. I am selling tickets for you this afternoon, Mr. Hartrath. I am having such success. Twenty-five already. Mr. Presley, you will take two chances, I am sure, and, oh, by the way, I have such good news. You know I am one of the lady members of the subscription296 committee for our Fair, and you know we approached Mr. Shelgrim for a donation to help along. Oh, such a liberal patron, a real Lorenzo di' Medici. In the name of the Pacific and Southwestern he has subscribed297, think of it, five thousand dollars; and yet they will talk of the meanness of the railroad.”
“Possibly it is to his interest,” murmured Presley. “The fairs and festivals bring people to the city over his railroad.”
But the others turned on him, expostulating.
“Ah, you Philistine,” declared Mrs. Cedarquist. “And this from YOU!, Presley; to attribute such base motives——”
“If the poets become materialised, Mr. Presley,” declared Hartrath, “what can we say to the people?”
“And Shelgrim encourages your million-dollar fairs and fetes,” said a voice at Presley's elbow, “because it is throwing dust in the people's eyes.”
The group turned about and saw Cedarquist, who had come up unobserved in time to catch the drift of the talk. But he spoke without bitterness; there was even a good-humoured twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes,” he continued, smiling, “our dear Shelgrim promotes your fairs, not only as Pres says, because it is money in his pocket, but because it amuses the people, distracts their attention from the doings of his railroad. When Beatrice was a baby and had little colics, I used to jingle298 my keys in front of her nose, and it took her attention from the pain in her tummy; so Shelgrim.”
The others laughed good-humouredly, protesting, nevertheless, and Mrs. Cedarquist shook her finger in warning at the artist and exclaimed:
“The Philistines299 be upon thee, Samson!”
“By the way,” observed Hartrath, willing to change the subject, “I hear you are on the Famine Relief Committee. Does your work progress?”
“Oh, most famously, I assure you,” she said. “Such a movement as we have started. Those poor creatures. The photographs of them are simply dreadful. I had the committee to luncheon the other day and we passed them around. We are getting subscriptions300 from all over the State, and Mr. Cedarquist is to arrange for the ship.”
The Relief Committee in question was one of a great number that had been formed in California—and all over the union, for the matter of that—to provide relief for the victims of a great famine in Central India. The whole world had been struck with horror at the reports of suffering and mortality in the affected301 districts, and had hastened to send aid. Certain women of San Francisco, with Mrs. Cedarquist at their head, had organised a number of committees, but the manufacturer's wife turned the meetings of these committees into social affairs—luncheons, teas, where one discussed the ways and means of assisting the starving Asiatics over teacups and plates of salad.
Shortly afterward302 a mild commotion303 spread throughout the assemblage of the club's guests. The drawing of the numbers in the raffle was about to be made. Hartrath, in a flurry of agitation304, excused himself. Cedarquist took Presley by the arm.
“Pres, let's get out of this,” he said. “Come into the wine room and I will shake you for a glass of sherry.”
They had some difficulty in extricating305 themselves. The main room where the drawing was to take place suddenly became densely306 thronged. All the guests pressed eagerly about the table near the picture, upon which one of the hall boys had just placed a ballot307 box containing the numbers. The ladies, holding their tickets in their hands, pushed forward. A staccato chatter308 of excited murmurs arose. “What became of Harran and Lyman and the Governor?” inquired Presley.
Lyman had disappeared, alleging a business engagement, but Magnus and his younger son had retired to the library of the club on the floor above. It was almost deserted309. They were deep in earnest conversation.
“Harran,” said the Governor, with decision, “there is a deal, there, in what Cedarquist says. Our wheat to China, hey, boy?”
“It is certainly worth thinking of, sir.”
“It appeals to me, boy; it appeals to me. It's big and there's a fortune in it. Big chances mean big returns; and I know—your old father isn't a back number yet, Harran—I may not have so wide an outlook as our friend Cedarquist, but I am quick to see my chance. Boy, the whole East is opening, disintegrating310 before the Anglo-Saxon. It is time that bread stuffs, as well, should make markets for themselves in the Orient. Just at this moment, too, when Lyman will scale down freight rates so we can haul to tidewater at little cost.”
Magnus paused again, his frown beetling311, and in the silence the excited murmur from the main room of the club, the soprano chatter of a multitude of women, found its way to the deserted library.
“I believe it's worth looking into, Governor,” asserted Harran.
Magnus rose, and, his hands behind him, paced the floor of the library a couple of times, his imagination all stimulated312 and vivid. The great gambler perceived his Chance, the kaleidoscopic313 shifting of circumstances that made a Situation. It had come silently, unexpectedly. He had not seen its approach. Abruptly he woke one morning to see the combination realised. But also he saw a vision. A sudden and abrupt112 revolution in the Wheat. A new world of markets discovered, the matter as important as the discovery of America. The torrent314 of wheat was to be diverted, flowing back upon itself in a sudden, colossal eddy315, stranding316 the middleman, the ENTRE-PRENEUR, the elevator-and mixing-house men dry and despairing, their occupation gone. He saw the farmer suddenly emancipated317, the world's food no longer at the mercy of the speculator, thousands upon thousands of men set free of the grip of Trust and ring and monopoly acting for themselves, selling their own wheat, organising into one gigantic trust, themselves, sending their agents to all the entry ports of China. Himself, Annixter, Broderson and Osterman would pool their issues. He would convince them of the magnificence of the new movement. They would be its pioneers. Harran would be sent to Hong Kong to represent the four. They would charter—probably buy—a ship, perhaps one of Cedarquist's, American built, the nation's flag at the peak, and the sailing of that ship, gorged with the crops from Broderson's and Osterman's ranches, from Quien Sabe and Los Muertos, would be like the sailing of the caravels from Palos. It would mark a new era; it would make an epoch318.
With this vision still expanding before the eye of his mind, Magnus, with Harran at his elbow, prepared to depart.
They descended319 to the lower floor and involved themselves for a moment in the throng282 of fashionables that blocked the hallway and the entrance to the main room, where the numbers of the raffle were being drawn. Near the head of the stairs they encountered Presley and Cedarquist, who had just come out of the wine room.
Magnus, still on fire with the new idea, pressed a few questions upon the manufacturer before bidding him good-bye. He wished to talk further upon the great subject, interested as to details, but Cedarquist was vague in his replies. He was no farmer, he hardly knew wheat when he saw it, only he knew the trend of the world's affairs; he felt them to be setting inevitably320 eastward321.
However, his very vagueness was a further inspiration to the Governor. He swept details aside. He saw only the grand coup14, the huge results, the East conquered, the march of empire rolling westward322, finally arriving at its starting point, the vague, mysterious Orient.
He saw his wheat, like the crest323 of an advancing billow, crossing the Pacific, bursting upon Asia, flooding the Orient in a golden torrent. It was the new era. He had lived to see the death of the old and the birth of the new; first the mine, now the ranch; first gold, now wheat. Once again he became the pioneer, hardy324, brilliant, taking colossal chances, blazing the way, grasping a fortune—a million in a single day. All the bigness of his nature leaped up again within him. At the magnitude of the inspiration he felt young again, indomitable, the leader at last, king of his fellows, wresting325 from fortune at this eleventh hour, before his old age, the place of high command which so long had been denied him. At last he could achieve.
Abruptly Magnus was aware that some one had spoken his name. He looked about and saw behind him, at a little distance, two gentlemen, strangers to him. They had withdrawn326 from the crowd into a little recess327. Evidently having no women to look after, they had lost interest in the afternoon's affair. Magnus realised that they had not seen him. One of them was reading aloud to his companion from an evening edition of that day's newspaper. It was in the course of this reading that Magnus caught the sound of his name. He paused, listening, and Presley, Harran and Cedarquist followed his example. Soon they all understood. They were listening to the report of the judge's decision, for which Magnus was waiting—the decision in the case of the League vs. the Railroad. For the moment, the polite clamour of the raffle hushed itself—the winning number was being drawn. The guests held their breath, and in the ensuing silence Magnus and the others heard these words distinctly:
“.... It follows that the title to the lands in question is in the plaintiff—the Pacific and Southwestern Railroad, and the defendants328 have no title, and their possession is wrongful. There must be findings and judgment329 for the plaintiff, and it is so ordered.”
In spite of himself, Magnus paled. Harran shut his teeth with an oath. Their exaltation of the previous moment collapsed330 like a pyramid of cards. The vision of the new movement of the wheat, the conquest of the East, the invasion of the Orient, seemed only the flimsiest mockery. With a brusque wrench331, they were snatched back to reality. Between them and the vision, between the fecund332 San Joaquin, reeking333 with fruitfulness, and the millions of Asia crowding toward the verge of starvation, lay the iron-hearted monster of steel and steam, implacable, insatiable, huge—its entrails gorged with the life blood that it sucked from an entire commonwealth, its ever hungry maw glutted334 with the harvests that should have fed the famished335 bellies336 of the whole world of the Orient.
But abruptly, while the four men stood there, gazing into each other's faces, a vigorous hand-clapping broke out. The raffle of Hartrath's picture was over, and as Presley turned about he saw Mrs. Cedarquist and her two daughters signalling eagerly to the manufacturer, unable to reach him because of the intervening crowd. Then Mrs. Cedarquist raised her voice and cried:
“I've won. I've won.”
Unnoticed, and with but a brief word to Cedarquist, Magnus and Harran went down the marble steps leading to the street door, silent, Harran's arm tight around his father's shoulder.
At once the orchestra struck into a lively air. A renewed murmur of conversation broke out, and Cedarquist, as he said good-bye to Presley, looked first at the retreating figures of the ranchers, then at the gayly dressed throng of beautiful women and debonair337 young men, and indicating the whole scene with a single gesture, said, smiling sadly as he spoke:
“Not a city, Presley, not a city, but a Midway Plaisance.”
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1
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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2
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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3
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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4
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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5
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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6
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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7
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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8
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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9
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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10
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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11
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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12
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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13
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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14
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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15
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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16
lithograph
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| n.平板印刷，平板画；v.用平版印刷 | |
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17
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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18
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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19
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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20
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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21
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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22
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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23
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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24
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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25
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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26
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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27
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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28
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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29
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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30
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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31
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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32
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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33
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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34
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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35
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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36
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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37
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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38
picturesqueness
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39
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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40
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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41
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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42
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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43
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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44
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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45
ranching
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| adj.放牧的 | |
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46
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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47
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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48
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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49
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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50
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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51
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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52
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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53
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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54
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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55
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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56
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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57
fattening
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| adj.（食物）要使人发胖的v.喂肥( fatten的现在分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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58
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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59
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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60
coteries
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| n.（有共同兴趣的）小集团( coterie的名词复数 ) | |
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61
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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62
pueblo
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| n.（美国西南部或墨西哥等）印第安人的村庄 | |
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63
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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64
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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65
entangling
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| v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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66
organise
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| vt.组织，安排，筹办 | |
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67
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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68
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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69
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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70
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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71
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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72
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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73
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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74
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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75
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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76
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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77
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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78
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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79
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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80
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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81
disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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82
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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83
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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84
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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85
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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86
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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87
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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88
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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89
recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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90
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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92
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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93
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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94
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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95
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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96
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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97
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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98
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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99
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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100
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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101
dummies
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| n.仿制品( dummy的名词复数 )；橡皮奶头；笨蛋；假传球 | |
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102
postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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103
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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104
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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105
hawklike
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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108
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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109
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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110
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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111
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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112
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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113
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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114
confiscation
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| n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
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115
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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116
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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117
equitable
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| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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118
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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119
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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120
conscientiousness
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| 责任心 | |
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121
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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122
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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123
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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124
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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125
lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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126
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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127
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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128
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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129
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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130
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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131
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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132
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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133
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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134
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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135
niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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136
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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138
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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139
flamboyantly
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| adv.艳丽地、奢华地、绚丽地。 | |
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140
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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142
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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143
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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144
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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145
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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146
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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147
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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148
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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149
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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150
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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151
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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152
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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153
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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154
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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155
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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156
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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157
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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158
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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159
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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160
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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161
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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163
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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164
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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165
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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166
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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167
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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168
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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169
investor
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| n.投资者，投资人 | |
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170
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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171
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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172
raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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173
raffled
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| v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
acridity
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| n.辛辣，狠毒；苛性；极苦 | |
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175
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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176
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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177
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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178
everlasting
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|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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179
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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180
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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181
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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182
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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183
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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184
curtailing
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|
| v.截断，缩短( curtail的现在分词 ) | |
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185
bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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186
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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187
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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188
crooked
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|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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189
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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190
grievances
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|
| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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191
hatred
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|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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192
withered
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|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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193
exasperation
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|
| n.愤慨 | |
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194
suffocate
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|
| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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195
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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196
devoured
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|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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197
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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198
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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199
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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200
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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201
scorched
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|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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202
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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203
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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204
impended
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| v.进行威胁，即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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206
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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207
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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208
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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209
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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210
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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211
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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212
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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213
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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214
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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215
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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216
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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217
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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218
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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219
disintegrated
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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221
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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222
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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223
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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224
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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225
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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226
decomposition
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| n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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227
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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228
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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229
millet
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| n.小米，谷子 | |
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230
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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231
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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233
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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234
fads
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| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
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235
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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236
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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237
aesthete
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| n.审美家 | |
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238
possessed
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|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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239
gems
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|
| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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240
decorative
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|
| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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241
solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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242
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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243
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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244
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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245
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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246
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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247
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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248
apoplectic
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|
| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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249
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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250
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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251
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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252
virtuoso
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| n.精于某种艺术或乐器的专家，行家里手 | |
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253
botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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254
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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255
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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256
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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257
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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258
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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259
reindeer
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| n.驯鹿 | |
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260
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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261
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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262
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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263
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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264
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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265
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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266
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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267
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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268
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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269
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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270
paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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271
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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272
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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273
charlatans
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| n.冒充内行者，骗子( charlatan的名词复数 ) | |
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274
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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275
philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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276
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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277
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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278
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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279
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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280
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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281
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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282
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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283
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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284
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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285
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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286
jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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287
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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288
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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289
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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290
deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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291
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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292
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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293
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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294
Bungler
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| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
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295
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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296
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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297
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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298
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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299
philistines
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| n.市侩，庸人( philistine的名词复数 )；庸夫俗子 | |
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300
subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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301
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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302
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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303
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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304
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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305
extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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306
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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307
ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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308
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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309
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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310
disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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311
beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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312
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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313
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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314
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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315
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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316
stranding
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| n.（船只）搁浅v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的现在分词 ) | |
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317
emancipated
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|
| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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318
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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319
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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320
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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321
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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322
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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323
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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324
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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325
wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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326
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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327
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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328
defendants
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| 被告( defendant的名词复数 ) | |
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329
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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330
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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331
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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332
fecund
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| adj.多产的，丰饶的，肥沃的 | |
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333
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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334
glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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335
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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336
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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337
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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