There was a drabble of dead leaves on the sidewalk which was of wood, and on the roadway which was of macadam and stiff mud. The wind blew sharply, for it was a December day and only six in the morning. Nor were the houses high enough to furnish any independent bulwark3; they were low, wooden dwellings4, the tallest a bare two stories in height, the majority only one story. But they were in good painting and repair, and most of them had a homely5 gayety of geraniums or bouvardias in the windows. The house on the corner was the tall house. It occupied a larger yard than its neighbors; and there were lace curtains tied with blue ribbons for the windows in the right hand front room. The door of this house swung back with a crash, and a woman darted6 out. She ran at the top of her speed to the little yellow house farther down the street. Her blue calico gown clung about her stout8 figure and fluttered behind her, revealing her blue woollen stockings and felt slippers10. Her gray head was bare. As she ran tears rolled down her cheeks and she wrung11 her hands.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, lieber Herr Je!” One near would have heard her sob12, in too distracted agitation13 to heed14 the motorneer of the passing street-car who stared after her at the risk of his car, or the tousled heads behind a few curtains. She did not stop until she almost fell against the door of the yellow house. Her frantic15 knocking was answered by a young woman in a light and artless costume of a quilted petticoat and a red flannel16 sack.
“Oh, gracious goodness! Mrs. Lieders!” cried she.
Thekla Lieders rather staggered than walked into the room and fell back on the black haircloth sofa.
“There, there, there,” said the young woman while she patted the broad shoulders heaving between sobs17 and short breath, “what is it? The house aint afire?”
“Oh, no, oh, Mrs. Olsen, he has done it again!” She wailed18 in sobs, like a child.
“Done it? Done what?” exclaimed Mrs. Olsen, then her face paled. “Oh, my gracious, you DON'T mean he's killed himself———”
“Yes, he's killed himself, again.”
“And he's dead?” asked the other in an awed19 tone.
Mrs. Lieders gulped21 down her tears. “Oh, not so bad as that, I cut him down, he was up in the garret and I sus—suspected him and I run up and—oh, he was there, a choking, and he was so mad! He swore at me and—he kicked me when I—I says: 'Kurt, what are you doing of? Hold on till I git a knife,' I says—for his hands was just dangling22 at his side; and he says nottings cause he couldn't, he was most gone, and I knowed I wouldn't have time to git no knife but I saw it was a rope was pretty bad worn and so—so I just run and jumped and ketched it in my hands, and being I'm so fleshy it couldn't stand no more and it broke! And, oh! he—he kicked me when I was try to come near to git the rope off his neck; and so soon like he could git his breath he swore at me——”
“And you a helping23 of him! Just listen to that!” cried the hearer indignantly.
“So I come here for to git you and Mr. Olsen to help me git him down stairs, 'cause he is too heavy for me to lift, and he is so mad he won't walk down himself.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I'll call Carl. Carl! dost thou hear? come! But did you dare to leave him Mrs. Lieders?” Part of the time she spoke24 in English, part of the time in her own tongue, gliding25 from one to another, and neither party observing the transition.
Mrs. Lieders wiped her eyes, saying: “Oh, yes, Danke schon, I aint afraid 'cause I tied him with the rope, righd good, so he don't got no chance to move. He was make faces at me all the time I tied him.” At the remembrance, the tears welled anew.
Mrs. Olsen, a little bright tinted26 woman with a nose too small for her big blue eyes and chubby27 cheeks, quivered with indignant sympathy.
“Well, I did nefer hear of sooch a mean acting28 man!” seemed to her the most natural expression; but the wife fired, at once.
“No, he is not a mean man,” she cried, “no, Freda Olsen, he is not a mean man at all! There aint nowhere a better man than my man; and Carl Olsen, he knows that. Kurt, he always buys a whole ham and a whole barrel of flour, and never less than a dollar of sugar at a time! And he never gits drunk nor he never gives me any bad talk. It was only he got this wanting to kill himself on him, sometimes.”
“Well, I guess I'll go put on my things,” said Mrs. Olsen, wisely declining to defend her position. “You set right still and warm yourself, and we'll be back in a minute.”
Indeed, it was hardly more than that time before both Carl Olsen, who worked in the same furniture factory as Kurt Lieders, and was a comely29 and after-witted giant, appeared with Mrs. Olsen ready for the street.
He nodded at Mrs. Lieders and made a gurgling noise in his throat, expected to convey sympathy. Then, he coughed and said that he was ready, and they started.
Feeling further expression demanded, Mrs. Olsen asked: “How many times has he done it, Mrs. Lieders?”
Mrs. Lieders was trotting30 along, her anxious eyes on the house in the distance, especially on the garret windows. “Three times,” she answered, not removing her eyes; “onct he tooked Rough on Rats and I found it out and I put some apple butter in the place of it, and he kept wondering and wondering how he didn't feel notings, and after awhile I got him off the notion, that time. He wasn't mad at me; he just said: 'Well, I do it some other time. You see!' but he promised to wait till I got the spring house cleaning over, so he could shake the carpets for me; and by and by he got feeling better. He was mad at the boss and that made him feel bad. The next time it was the same, that time he jumped into the cistern31——”
“Yes, I know,” said Olsen, with a half grin, “I pulled him out.”
“It was the razor he wanted,” the wife continued, “and when he come home and says he was going to leave the shop and he aint never going back there, and gets out his razor and sharps it, I knowed what that meant and I told him I got to have some bluing and wouldn't he go and get it? and he says, 'You won't git another husband run so free on your errands, Thekla,' and I says I don't want none; and when he was gone I hid the razor and he couldn't find it, but that didn't mad him, he didn't say notings; and when I went to git the supper he walked out in the yard and jumped into the cistern, and I heard the splash and looked in and there he was trying to git his head under, and I called, 'For the Lord's sake, papa! For the Lord's sake!' just like that. And I fished for him with the pole that stood there and he was sorry and caught hold of it and give in, and I rested the pole agin the side cause I wasn't strong enough to h'ist him out; and he held on whilest I run for help——”
“And I got the ladder and he clum out,” said the giant with another grin of recollection, “he was awful wet!”
“That was a month ago,” said the wife, solemnly.
“He sharped the razor onct,” said Mrs. Lieders, “but he said it was for to shave him, and I got him to promise to let the barber shave him sometime, instead. Here, Mrs. Olsen, you go righd in, the door aint locked.”
By this time they were at the house door. They passed in and ascended32 the stairs to the second story, then climbed a narrow, ladder-like flight to the garret. Involuntarily they had paused to listen at the foot of the stairs, but it was very quiet, not a sound of movement, not so much as the sigh of a man breathing. The wife turned pale and put both her shaking hands on her heart.
“Guess he's trying to scare us by keeping quiet!” said Olsen, cheerfully, and he stumbled up the stairs, in advance. “Thunder!” he exclaimed, on the last stair, “well, we aint any too quick.”
In fact Carl had nearly fallen over the master of the house, that enterprising self-destroyer having contrived33, pinioned34 as he was, to roll over to the very brink35 of the stair well, with the plain intent to break his neck by plunging36 headlong.
In the dim light all that they could see was a small, old man whose white hair was strung in wisps over his purple face, whose deep set eyes glared like the eyes of a rat in a trap, and whose very elbows and knees expressed in their cramps37 the fury of an outraged38 soul. When he saw the new-comers he shut his eyes and his jaws39.
“Well, Mr. Lieders,” said Olsen, mildly, “I guess you better git down-stairs. Kin9 I help you up?”
“No,” said Lieders.
“Will I give you an arm to lean on?”
“No.”
“Won't you go at all, Mr. Lieders?”
“No.”
Olsen shook his head. “I hate to trouble you, Mr. Lieders,” said he in his slow, undecided tones, “please excuse me,” with which he gathered up the little man into his strong arms and slung40 him over his shoulders, as easily as he would sling41 a sack of meal. It was a vent42 for Mrs. Olsen's bubbling indignation to make a dive for Lieders's heels and hold them, while Carl backed down-stairs. But Lieders did not make the least resistance. He allowed them to carry him into the room indicated by his wife, and to lay him bound on the plump feather bed. It was not his bedroom but the sacred “spare room,” and the bed was part of its luxury. Thekla ran in, first, to remove the embroidered43 pillow shams44 and the dazzling, silken “crazy quilt” that was her choicest possession.
Safely in the bed, Lieders opened his eyes and looked from one face to the other, his lip curling. “You can't keep me this way all the time. I can do it in spite of you,” said he.
“Well, I think you had ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Lieders!” Mrs. Olsen burst out, in a tremble between wrath45 and exertion46, shaking her little, plump fist at him.
But the placid47 Carl only nodded, as in sympathy, saying, “Well, I am sorry you feel so bad, Mr. Lieders. I guess we got to go now.”
Mrs. Olsen looked as if she would have liked to exhort48 Lieders further; but she shrugged49 her shoulders and followed her husband in silence.
“I wished you'd stay to breakfast, now you're here,” Thekla urged out of her imperious hospitality; had Kurt been lying there dead, the next meal must have been offered, just the same. “I know, you aint got time to git Mr. Olsen his breakfast, Freda, before he has got to go to the shops, and my tea-kettle is boiling now, and the coffee'll be ready—I GUESS you had better stay.”
But Mrs. Olsen seconded her husband's denial, and there was nothing left Thekla but to see them to the door. No sooner did she return than Lieders spoke. “Aint you going to take off them ropes?” said he.
“Not till you promise you won't do it.”
Silence. Thekla, brushing a few tears from her eyes, scrutinized50 the ropes again, before she walked heavily out of the room. She turned the key in the door.
Directly a savory51 steam floated through the hall and pierced the cracks about the door; then Thekla's footsteps returned; they echoed over the uncarpeted boards.
She had brought his breakfast, cooked with the best of her homely skill. The pork chops that he liked had been fried, there was a napkin on the tray, and the coffee was in the best gilt52 cup and saucer.
“Here's your breakfast, papa,” said she, trying to smile.
“I don't want no breakfast,” said he.
She waited, holding the tray, and wistfully eying him.
“Take it 'way,” said he, “I won't touch it if you stand till doomsday, lessen53 you untie54 me!”
“I'll untie your arm, papa, one arm; you kin eat that way.”
“Not lessen you untie all of me, I won't touch a bite.”
“You know why I won't untie you, papa.”
“Starving will kill as dead as hanging,” was Lieders's orphic response to this.
Thekla sighed and went away, leaving the tray on the table. It may be that she hoped the sight of food might stir his stomach to rebel against his dogged will; if so she was disappointed; half an hour went by during which the statue under the bedclothes remained without so much as a quiver.
Then the old woman returned. “Aint you awful cramped55 and stiff, papa?”
“Yes,” said the statue.
“Will you promise not to do yourself a mischief56, if I untie you?”
“No.”
Thekla groaned57, while the tears started to her red eyelids59. “But you'll git awful tired and it will hurt you if you don't get the ropes off, soon, papa!”
“I know that!”
He closed his eyes again, to be the less hindered from dropping back into his distempered musings. Thekla took a seat by his side and sat silent as he. Slowly the natural pallor returned to the high forehead and sharp features. They were delicate features and there was an air of refinement60, of thought, about Lieders's whole person, as different as possible from the robust61 comeliness62 of his wife. With its keen sensitive-ness and its undefined melancholy63 it was a dreamer's face. One meets such faces, sometimes, in incongruous places and wonders what they mean. In fact, Kurt Lieders, head cabinet maker64 in the furniture factory of Lossing & Co., was an artist. He was, also, an incomparable artisan and the most exacting65 foreman in the shops. Thirty years ago he had first taken wages from the senior Lossing. He had watched a modest industry climb up to a great business, nor was he all at sea in his own estimate of his share in the firm's success. Lieders's workmanship had an honesty, an infinite patience of detail, a daring skill of design that came to be sought and commanded its own price. The Lossing “art furniture” did not slander66 the name. No sculptor67 ever wrought68 his soul into marble with a more unflinching conscience or a purer joy in his work than this wood-carver dreaming over sideboards and bedsteads. Unluckily, Lieders had the wrong side of the gift as well as the right; was full of whims69 and crotchets, and as unpractical as the Christian70 martyrs71. He openly defied expense, and he would have no trifling72 with the laws of art. To make after orders was an insult to Kurt. He made what was best for the customer; if the latter had not the sense to see it he was a fool and a pig, and some one else should work for him, not Kurt Lieders, BEGEHR!
Young Lossing had learned the business practically. He was taught the details by his father's best workman; and a mighty73 hard and strict master the best workman proved! Lossing did not dream that the crabbed74 old tyrant75 who rarely praised him, who made him go over, for the twentieth time, any imperfect piece of work, who exacted all the artisan virtues76 to the last inch, was secretly proud of him. Yet, in fact, the thread of romance in Lieders's prosaic77 life was his idolatry of the Lossing Manufacturing Co. It is hard to tell whether it was the Lossings or that intangible quantity, the firm, the business, that he worshipped. Worship he did, however, the one or the other, perhaps the both of them, though in the peevish78 and erratic79 manner of the savage80 who sometimes grovels81 to his idols82 and sometimes kicks them.
Nobody guessed what a blow it was to Kurt when, a year ago, the elder Lossing had died. Even his wife did not connect his sullen83 melancholy and his gibes84 at the younger generation, with the crape on Harry85 Lossing's hat. He would not go to the funeral, but worked savagely86, all alone by himself, in the shop, the whole afternoon—breaking down at last at the sight of a carved panel over which Lossing and he had once disputed. The desolate87 loneliness of the old came to him when his old master was gone. He loved the young man, but the old man was of his own generation; he had “known how things ought to be and he could understand without talking.” Lieders began to be on the lookout88 for signs of waning89 consideration, to watch his own eyes and hands, drearily90 wondering when they would begin to play him false; at the same time because he was unhappy he was ten times as exacting and peremptory91 and critical with the younger workmen, and ten times as insolently92 independent with the young master. Often enough, Lossing was exasperated93 to the point of taking the old man at his word and telling him to go if he would, but every time the chain of long habit, a real respect for such faithful service, and a keen admiration94 for Kurt's matchless skill in his craft, had held him back. He prided himself on keeping his word; for that reason he was warier95 of using it. So he would compromise by giving the domineering old fellow a “good, stiff rowing.” Once, he coupled this with a threat, if they could not get along decently they would better part! Lieders had answered not a word; he had given Lossing a queer glance and turned on his heel. He went home and bought some poison on the way. “The old man is gone and the young feller don't want the old crank round, no more,” he said to himself. “Thekla, I guess I make her troubles, too; I'll git out!”
That was the beginning of his tampering96 with suicide. Thekla, who did not have the same opinion of the “trouble,” had interfered97. He had married Thekla to have someone to keep a warm fireside for him, but she was an ignorant creature who never could be made to understand about carving98. He felt sorry for her when the baby died, the only child they ever had; he was sorrier than he expected to be on his own account, too, for it was an ugly little creature, only four days old, and very red and wrinkled; but he never thought of confiding99 his own griefs or trials to her. Now, it made him angry to have that stupid Thekla keep him in a world where he did not wish to stay. If the next day Lossing had not remembered how his father valued Lieders, and made an excuse to half apologize to him, I fear Thekla's stratagems100 would have done little good.
The next experience was cut out of the same piece of cloth. He had relented, he had allowed his wife to save him; but he was angry in secret. Then came the day when open disobedience to Lossing's orders had snapped the last thread of Harry's patience. To Lieders's aggrieved101 “If you ain't satisfied with my work, Mr. Lossing, I kin quit,” the answer had come instantly, “Very well, Lieders, I'm sorry to lose you, but we can't have two bosses here: you can go to the desk.” And when Lieders in a blind stab of temper had growled102 a prophecy that Lossing would regret it, Lossing had stabbed in turn: “Maybe, but it will be a cold day when I ask you to come back.” And he had gone off without so much as a word of regret. The old workman had packed up his tools, the pet tools that no one was ever permitted to touch, and crammed103 his arms into his coat and walked out of the place where he had worked so long, not a man saying a word. Lieders didn't reflect that they knew nothing of the quarrel. He glowered104 at them and went away sore at heart. We make a great mistake when we suppose that it is only the affectionate that desire affection; sulky and ill-conditioned souls often have a passionate105 longing106 for the very feelings that they repel107. Lieders was a womanish, sensitive creature under the surly mask, and he was cut to the quick by his comrades' apathy108. “There ain't no place for old men in this world,” he thought, “there's them boys I done my best to make do a good job, and some of 'em I've worked overtime109 to help; and not one of 'em has got as much as a good-by in him for me!”
But he did not think of going to poor Thekla for comfort, he went to his grim dreams. “I git my property all straight for Thekla, and then I quit,” said he. Perhaps he gave himself a reprieve110 unconsciously, thinking that something might happen to save him from himself. Nothing happened. None of the “boys” came to see him, except Carl Olsen, the very stupidest man in the shop, who put Lieders beside himself fifty times a day. The other men were sorry that Lieders had gone, having a genuine workman's admiration for his skill, and a sort of underground liking111 for the unreasonable112 old man because he was so absolutely honest and “a fellow could always tell where to find him.” But they were shy, they were afraid he would take their pity in bad part, they “waited a while.”
Carl, honest soul, stood about in Lieders's workshop, kicking the shavings with his heels for half an hour, and grinned sheepishly, and was told what a worthless, scamping, bragging113 lot the “boys” at Lossing's were, and said he guessed he had got to go home now; and so departed, unwitting that his presence had been a consolation114. Mrs. Olsen asked Carl what Lieders said; Carl answered simply, “Say, Freda, that man feels terrible bad.”
Meanwhile Thekla seemed easily satisfied. She made no outcry as Lieders had dreaded115, over his leaving the shop.
“Well, then, papa, you don't need git up so early in the morning no more, if you aint going to the shop,” was her only comment; and Lieders despised the mind of woman more than ever.
But that evening, while Lieders was down town (occupied, had she known it, with a codicil116 to his will), she went over to the Olsens and found out all Carl could tell her about the trouble in the shop. And it was she that made the excuse of marketing117 to go out the next day, that she might see the rich widow on the hill who was talking about a china closet, and Judge Trevor, who had asked the price of a mantel, and Mr. Martin, who had looked at sideboards (all this information came from honest Carl); and who proposed to them that they order such furniture of the best cabinet-maker in the country, now setting up on his own account. He, simple as a baby for all his doggedness, thought that they came because of his fame as a workman, and felt a glow of pride, particularly as (having been prepared by the wife, who said, “You see it don't make so much difference with my Kurt 'bout7 de prize, if so he can get the furniture like he wants it, and he always know of the best in the old country”) they all were duly humble118. He accepted a few orders and went to work with a will; he would show them what the old man could do. But it was only a temporary gleam; in a little while he grew homesick for the shop, for the sawdust floor and the familiar smell of oil, and the picture of Lossing flitting in and out. He missed the careless young workmen at whom he had grumbled119, he missed the whir of machinery120, and the consciousness of rush and hurry accented by the cars on the track outside. In short, he missed the feeling of being part of a great whole. At home, in his cosey little improvised121 shop, there was none to dispute him, but there was none to obey him either. He grew deathly tired of it all. He got into the habit of walking around the shops at night, prowling about his old haunts like a cat. Once the night watchman saw him. The next day there was a second watchman engaged. And Olsen told him very kindly122, meaning only to warn him, that he was suspected to be there for no good purpose. Lieders confirmed a lurking123 suspicion of the good Carl's own, by the clouding of his face. Yet he would have chopped his hand off rather than have lifted it against the shop.
That was Tuesday night, this was Wednesday morning.
The memory of it all, the cruel sense of injustice124, returned with such poignant125 force that Lieders groaned aloud.
Instantly, Thekla was bending over him. He did not know whether to laugh at her or to swear, for she began fumbling126 at the ropes, half sobbing127. “Yes, I knowed they was hurting you, papa; I'm going to loose one arm. Then I put it back again and loose the other. Please don't be bad!”
He made no resistance and she was as good as her word. She unbound and bound him in sections, as it were; he watching her with a morose128 smile.
Then she left the room, but only to return with some hot coffee. Lieders twisted his head away. “No,” said he, “I don't eat none of that breakfast, not if you make fresh coffee all the morning; I feel like I don't eat never no more on earth.”
Thekla knew that the obstinate129 nature that she tempted130 was proof against temptation; if Kurt chose to starve, starve he would with food at his elbow.
“Oh, papa,” she cried, helplessly, “what IS the matter with you?”
“Just dying is the matter with me, Thekla. If I can't die one way I kin another. Now Thekla, I want you to quit crying and listen. After I'm gone you go to the boss, young Mr. Lossing—but I always called him Harry because he learned his trade of me, Thekla, but he don't think of that now—and you tell him old Lieders that worked for him thirty years is dead, but he didn't hold no hard feelings, he knowed he done wrong 'bout that mantel. Mind you tell him.”
“Yes, papa,” said Thekla, which was a surprise to Kurt; he had dreaded a weak flood of tears and protestations. But there were no tears, no protestations, only a long look at him and a contraction131 of the eyebrows132 as if Thekla were trying to think of something that eluded133 her. She placed the coffee on the tray beside the other breakfast. For a while the room was very still. Lieders could not see the look of resolve that finally smoothed the perplexed134 lines out of his wife's kind, simple old face. She rose. “Kurt,” she said, “I don't guess you remember this is our wedding-day; it was this day, eighteen year we was married.”
“So!” said Lieders, “well, I was a bad bargain to you, Thekla; after you nursed your father that was a cripple for twenty years, I thought it would be easy with me; but I was a bad bargain.”
“The Lord knows best about that,” said Thekla, simply, “be it how it be, you are the only man I ever had or will have, and I don't like you starve yourself. Papa, say you don't kill yourself, to-day, and dat you will eat your breakfast!”
“Yes,” Lieders repeated in German, “a bad bargain for thee, that is sure. But thou hast been a good bargain for me. Here! I promise. Not this day. Give me the coffee.”
He had seasons, all the morning, of wondering over his meekness135, and his agreement to be tied up again, at night. But still, what did a day matter? a man humors women's notions; and starving was so tedious. Between whiles he elaborated a scheme to attain136 his end. How easy to outwit the silly Thekla! His eyes shone, as he hid the little, sharp knife up his cuff137. “Let her tie me!” says Lieders, “I keep my word. To-morrow I be out of this. He won't git a man like me, pretty soon!”
Thekla went about her daily tasks, with her every-day air; but, now and again, that same pucker138 of thought returned to her forehead; and, more than once, Lieders saw her stand over some dish, poising139 her spoon in air, too abstracted to notice his cynical140 observation.
The dinner was more elaborate than common, and Thekla had broached141 a bottle of her currant wine. She gravely drank Lieders's health. “And many good days, papa,” she said.
Lieders felt a queer movement of pity. After the table was cleared, he helped his wife to wash and wipe the dishes as his custom was of a Sunday or holiday. He wiped dishes as he did everything, neatly142, slowly, with a careful deliberation. Not until the dishes were put away and the couple were seated, did Thekla speak.
“Kurt,” she said, “I got to talk to you.”
An inarticulate groan58 and a glance at the door from Lieders. “I just got to, papa. It aint righd for you to do the way you been doing for so long time; efery little whiles you try to kill yourself; no, papa, that aint righd!”
Kurt, who had gotten out his pencils and compasses and other drawing tools, grunted143: “I got to look at my work, Thekla, now; I am too busy to talk.”
“No, Kurt, no, papa”—the hands holding the blue apron144 that she was embroidering145 with white linen146 began to tremble; Lieders had not the least idea what a strain it was on this reticent147, slow of speech woman who had stood in awe20 of him for eighteen years, to discuss the horror of her life; but he could not help marking her agitation. She went on, desperately148: “Yes, papa, I got to talk it oud with you. You had ought to listen, 'cause I always been a good wife to you and nefer refused you notings. No.”
“Well, I aint saying I done it 'cause you been bad to me; everybody knows we aint had no trouble.”
“But everybody what don't know us, when they read how you tried to kill yourself in the papers, they think it was me. That always is so. And now I never can any more sleep nights, for you is always maybe git up and do something to yourself. So now, I got to talk to you, papa. Papa, how could you done so?”
Lieders twisted his feet under the rungs of his chair; he opened his mouth, but only to shut it again with a click of his teeth.
“I got my mind made up, papa. I tought and I tought. I know WHY you done it; you done it 'cause you and the boss was mad at each other. The boss hadn't no righd to let you go———”
“Yes, he had, I madded him first; I was a fool. Of course I knowed more than him 'bout the work, but I hadn't no right to go against him. The boss is all right.”
“Yes, papa, I got my mind made up”—like most sluggish149 spirits there was an immense momentum150 about Thekla's mind, once get it fairly started it was not to be diverted—“you never killed yourself before you used to git mad at the boss. You was afraid he would send you away; and now you have sent yourself away you don't want to live, 'cause you do not know how you can git along without the shop. But you want to get back, you want to get back more as you want to kill yourself. Yes, papa, I know, I know where you did used to go, nights. Now”—she changed her speech unconsciously to the tongue of her youth—“it is not fair, it is not fair to me that thou shouldst treat me like that, thou dost belong to me, also; so I say, my Kurt, wilt151 thou make a bargain with me? If I shall get thee back thy place wilt thou promise me never to kill thyself any more?”
Lieders had not once looked up at her during the slow, difficult sentences with their half choked articulation152; but he was experiencing some strange emotions, and one of them was a novel respect for his wife. All he said was: “'Taint no use talking. I won't never ask him to take me back, once.”
“Well, you aint asking of him. I ask him. I try to git you back, once!”
“I tell you, it aint no use; I know the boss, he aint going to be letting womans talk him over; no, he's a good man, he knows how to work his business himself!”
“But would you promise me, Kurt?”
Lieders's eyes blurred153 with a mild and dreamy mist; he sighed softly. “Thekla, you can't see how it is. It is like you are tied up, if I don't can do that; if I can then it is always that I am free, free to go, free to stay. And for you, Thekla, it is the same.”
Thekla's mild eyes flashed. “I don't believe you would like it so you wake up in the morning and find ME hanging up in the kitchen by the clothes-line!”
Lieders had the air of one considering deeply. Then he gave Thekla one of the surprises of her life; he rose from his chair, he walked in his shuffling154, unheeled slippers across the room to where the old woman sat; he put one arm on the back of the chair and stiffly bent155 over her and kissed her.
“Lieber Herr Je!” gasped156 Thekla.
“Then I shall go, too, pretty quick, that is all, mamma,” said he.
Thekla wiped her eyes. A little pause fell between them, and in it they may have both remembered vanished, half-forgotten days when life had looked differently to them, when they had never thought to sit by their own fireside and discuss suicide. The husband spoke first; with a reluctant, half-shamed smile, “Thekla, I tell you what, I make the bargain with you; you git me back that place, I don't do it again, 'less you let me; you don't git me back that place, you don't say notings to me.”
The apron dropped from the withered157, brown hands to the floor. Again there was silence; but not for long; ghastly as was the alternative, the proposal offered a chance to escape from the terror that was sapping her heart.
“How long will you give me, papa?” said she.
“I give you a week,” said he.
Thekla rose and went to the door; as she opened it a fierce gust158 of wind slashed159 her like a knife, and Lieders exclaimed, fretfully, “what you opening that door for, Thekla, letting in the wind? I'm so cold, now, right by the fire, I most can't draw. We got to keep a fire in the base-burner good, all night, or the plants will freeze.”
Thekla said confusedly that something sounded like a cat crying. “And you talking like that it frightened me; maybe I was wrong to make such bargains———”
“Then don't make it,” said Lieders, curtly160, “I aint asking you.”
But Thekla drew a long breath and straightened herself, saying, “Yes, I make it, papa, I make it.”
“Well, put another stick of wood in the stove, will you, now you are up?” said Lieders, shrugging his shoulders, “or I'll freeze in spite of you! It seems to me it grows colder every minute.”
But all that day he was unusually gentle with Thekla. He talked of his youth and the struggles of the early days of the firm; he related a dozen tales of young Lossing, all illustrating161 some admirable trait that he certainly had not praised at the time. Never had he so opened his heart in regard to his own ideals of art, his own ambitions. And Thekla listened, not always comprehending but always sympathizing; she was almost like a comrade, Kurt thought afterward162.
The next morning, he was surprised to have her appear equipped for the street, although it was bitterly cold. She wore her garb163 of ceremony, a black alpaca gown, with a white crocheted164 collar neatly turned over the long black, broadcloth cloak in which she had taken pride for the last five years; and her quilted black silk bonnet165 was on her gray head. When she put up her foot to don her warm overshoes Kurt saw that the stout ankles were encased in white stockings. This was the last touch. “Gracious, Thekla,” cried Kurt, “are you going to market this day? It is the coldest day this winter!”
“Oh, I don't mind,” replied Thekla, nervously166. Then she had wrapped a scarf about her and gone out while he was getting into his own coat, and conning167 a proffer168 to go in her stead.
“Oh, well, Thekla she aint such a fool like she looks!” he observed to the cat, “say, pussy169, WAS it you out yestiddy?”
The cat only blinked her yellow eyes and purred. She knew that she had not been out, last night. Not any better than her mistress, however, who at this moment was hailing a street-car.
The street-car did not land her anywhere near a market; it whirled her past the lines of low wooden houses into the big brick shops with their arched windows and terra-cotta ornaments170 that showed the ambitious architecture of a growing Western town, past these into mills and factories and smoke-stained chimneys. Here, she stopped. An acquaintance would hardly have recognized her, her ruddy cheeks had grown so pale. But she trotted171 on to the great building on the corner from whence came a low, incessant172 buzz. She went into the first door and ran against Carl Olsen. “Carl, I got to see Mr. Lossing,” said she breathlessly.
“There ain't noding——”
“No, Gott sei dank', but I got to see him.”
It was not Carl's way to ask questions; he promptly173 showed her the office and she entered. She had not seen young Harry Lossing half a dozen times; and, now, her anxious eyes wandered from one dapper figure at the high desks, to another, until Lossing advanced to her.
He was a handsome young man, she thought, and he had kind eyes, but they hardened at her first timid sentence: “I am Mrs. Lieders, I come about my man——”
“Will you walk in here, Mrs. Lieders?” said Lossing. His voice was like the ice on the window-panes.
She followed him into a little room. He shut the door.
Declining the chair that he pushed toward her she stood in the centre of the room, looking at him with the pleading eyes of a child.
“Mr. Lossing, will you please save my Kurt from killing174 himself?”
“What do you mean?” Lossing's voice had not thawed175.
“It is for you that he will kill himself, Mr. Lossing. This is the dird time he has done it. It is because he is so lonesome now, your father is died and he thinks that you forget, and he has worked so hard for you, but he thinks that you forget. He was never tell me till yesterday; and then—it was—it was because I would not let him hang himself——”
“Hang himself?” stammered176 Lossing, “you don't mean——”
“Yes, he was hang himself, but I cut him, no I broke him down,” said Thekla, accurate in all the disorder177 of her spirits; and forthwith, with many tremors178, but clearly, she told the story of Kurt's despair. She told, as Lieders never would have known how to tell, even had his pride let him, all the man's devotion for the business, all his personal attachment179 to the firm; she told of his gloom after the elder Lossing died, “for he was think there was no one in this town such good man and so smart like your fader, Mr. Lossing, no, and he would set all the evening and try to draw and make the lines all wrong, and, then, he would drow the papers in the fire and go and walk outside and he say, 'I can't do nothing righd no more now the old man's died; they don't have no use for me at the shop, pretty quick!' and that make him feel awful bad!” She told of his homesick wanderings about the shops by night; “but he was better as a watchman, he wouldn't hurt it for the world! He telled me how you was hide his dinner-pail onct for a joke, and put in a piece of your pie, and how you climbed on the roof with the hose when it was afire. And he telled me if he shall die I shall tell you that he ain't got no hard feelings, but you didn't know how that mantel had ought to be, so he done it right the other way, but he hadn't no righd to talk to you like he done, nohow, and you was all righd to send him away, but you might a shaked hands, and none of the boys never said nothing nor none of them never come to see him, 'cept Carl Olsen, and that make him feel awful bad, too! And when he feels so bad he don't no more want to live, so I make him promise if I git him back he never try to kill himself again. Oh, Mr. Lossing, please don't let my man die!”
Bewildered and more touched than he cared to feel, himself, Lossing still made a feeble stand for discipline. “I don't see how Lieders can expect me to take him back again,” he began.
“He aint expecting you, Mr. Lossing, it's ME!”
“But didn't Lieders tell you I told him I would never take him back?”
“No, sir, no, Mr. Lossing, it was not that, it was you said it would be a cold day that you would take him back; and it was git so cold yesterday, so I think, 'Now it would be a cold day to-morrow and Mr. Lossing he can take Kurt back.' And it IS the most coldest day this year!”
Lossing burst into a laugh, perhaps he was glad to have the Western sense of humor come to the rescue of his compassion180. “Well, it was a cold day for you to come all this way for nothing,” said he. “You go home and tell Lieders to report to-morrow.”
Kurt's manner of receiving the news was characteristic. He snorted in disgust: “Well, I did think he had more sand than to give in to a woman!” But after he heard the whole story he chuckled181: “Yes, it was that way he said, and he must do like he said; but that was a funny way you done, Thekla. Say, mamma, yesterday, was you look out for the cat or to find how cold it been?”
“Never you mind, papa,” said Thekla, “you remember what you promised if I git you back?”
Lieders's eyes grew dull; he flung his arms out, with a long sigh. “No, I don't forget, I will keep my promise, but—it is like the handcuffs, Thekla, it is like the handcuffs!” In a second, however, he added, in a changed tone, “But thou art a kind jailer, mamma, more like a comrade. And no, it was not fair to thee—I know that now, Thekla.”
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收听单词发音
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1
rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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14
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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17
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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18
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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21
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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22
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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23
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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24
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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25
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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26
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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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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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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36
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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cramps
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| n. 抽筋, 腹部绞痛, 铁箍 adj. 狭窄的, 难解的 v. 使...抽筋, 以铁箍扣紧, 束缚 | |
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38
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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40
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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41
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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42
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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43
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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44
shams
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| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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45
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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46
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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48
exhort
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| v.规劝，告诫 | |
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49
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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50
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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52
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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53
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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54
untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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55
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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56
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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57
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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58
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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59
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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60
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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61
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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62
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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63
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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64
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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65
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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66
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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67
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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68
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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69
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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70
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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71
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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72
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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73
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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74
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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76
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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77
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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78
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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79
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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80
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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81
grovels
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| v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的第三人称单数 )；趴 | |
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82
idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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83
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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84
gibes
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| vi.嘲笑，嘲弄（gibe的第三人称单数形式） | |
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85
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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86
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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87
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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88
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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89
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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90
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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91
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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92
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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93
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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94
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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95
warier
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| 谨慎的，小心翼翼的( wary的比较级 ) | |
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96
tampering
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| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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97
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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98
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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99
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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100
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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101
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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102
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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103
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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104
glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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106
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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107
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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108
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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109
overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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110
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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111
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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112
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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113
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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114
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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115
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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116
codicil
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| n.遗嘱的附录 | |
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117
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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118
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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119
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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120
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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121
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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122
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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123
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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124
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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125
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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126
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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127
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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128
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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129
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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130
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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131
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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132
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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133
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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134
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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135
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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136
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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137
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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138
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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139
poising
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| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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140
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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141
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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142
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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143
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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144
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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145
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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146
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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147
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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148
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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149
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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150
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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151
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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152
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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153
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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154
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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155
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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156
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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157
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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158
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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159
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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160
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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161
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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162
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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163
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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164
crocheted
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| v.用钩针编织( crochet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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166
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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167
conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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168
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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169
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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170
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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171
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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172
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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173
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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174
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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175
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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176
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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178
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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179
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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180
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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181
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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