"Good Heavens, Peter!" he cried, "what ails4 you?"
Donaldson put out his hand and the other grasped it with the clasp of a man in perfect health.
"Can't you speak?" he demanded. "What's the matter with you?"
"I 'm glad to see you," answered Donaldson.
"But what are you doing here in this condition? Are you sick?"
"No, I 'm not sick. I lay down on the sofa and I guess I fell asleep."
"You look as though you had been sleeping there a month. Sit down, man. You have a fever."
"There 's your dog," said Donaldson.
Barstow turned. The dog, with his forefeet on Barstow's knee, was stretching his neck towards his master's hand.
"Hello, pup," he greeted him. "Did the janitor5 use you all right?" He shook him off.
Donaldson sat down. Barstow stood in front of him a moment and then reached to feel his pulse. It was normal.
"I 'm not sick, I tell you," said Donaldson, trying to laugh, "I was just all in. I came up here to see if you were back and slumped6 down on the couch. Then I fell asleep. There 's your dog behind you."
"What of it?" demanded Barstow.
"Why—he looks glad to see you."
"What of that?"
"Nothing."
Barstow laid his hand on Donaldson's shoulder.
"Have you been drinking?" he asked.
"Drinking? No, but I've a thirst a mile long. Any water around here?"
Barstow went to the closet and came back with a graduating glass full of lukewarm water. Donaldson swallowed it in a couple of gulps8.
"Lord, that's good!"
Barstow again bent9 a perplexed10 gaze upon him.
"You have n't been fooling with any sort of dope, Peter?"
"No."
"This is straight?"
"Yes, that's straight," answered Donaldson impatiently. "I tell you that there is n't anything wrong with me except that I 'm fagged out."
"You did n't take my advice. You ought to have gone away. Why did n't you?"
"I 've been too busy. There's your dog."
Barstow hung down his hand, that the pup might lick the ends of his fingers.
"Peter," he burst out, "you ought to have been with me. If I 'd known about the trip I 'd have taken you. It was just what you needed—a week of lolling around a deck in the hot sun with the sea winds blowing over your face. That's what you want to do—get out under the blue sky and soak it in. If you don't believe it, look at me. Fit as a fiddle11; strong as a moose. You said you wanted to sprawl12 in the sunshine,—why the devil don't you take a week off and do it?"
"Perhaps I will."
"That's the stuff. You must do it. You were in bad shape when I left, but, man dear, you 're on the verge13 of a serious breakdown14 now. Do you realize it?"
"Yes, I realize it. That 's a good dog of yours, Barstow."
"What's the matter with the pup? Seems to me you 're taking a deuce of a lot of interest in him," he returned suspiciously.
"Dogs seem sort of human when you 're alone with them."
"This one looks more human than you do. See here, Don, Lindsey said that he might start off again to-morrow on a short cruise to Newport. I think I can get you a berth15 with him. Will you go?"
"It's good of you, Barstow," answered Donaldson uneasily, "but I don't like to promise."
Would Barstow never call the dog by name? He could n't ask him directly; it would throw too much suspicion upon himself. If Barstow had left his laboratory that night for his trip, the chances were that the bottle was not yet missed. He must be cautious. It would be taking an unfair advantage of Barstow's friendship to allow him to feel that indirectly16 he had been responsible for the death of a human being. Donaldson glanced at his watch.
It had stopped.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Half past nine."
Two hours and a half longer! He determined17 to remain here until eleven. If, up to that time, Barstow had not called the dog by name he would leave. He must write that letter and he must put himself as far out of reach of these friends as possible before the end. If he died on the train, his body would be put off at the next station and a local inquest held. The verdict would be heart disease; enough money would be found in his pocket to bury him; and so the matter would be dropped.
"I want you to promise, Don," ran on Barstow, "for I tell you that it's either a rest or the hospital for you. You have nervous prostration19 written big all over your face. I know how hard it is to make the initial effort to pull out when your brain is all wound up, but you 'll regret it if you don't. And you 'll like the crowd, Don. Lindsey is a hearty20 fellow, who hasn't anything to do but live—but he does that well. He's clean and square as a granite21 corner-stone. It will do you good to mix in with him.
"And his boat is a corker! He spent a quarter of a million on it, and he 's got a French cook that would make a dead man eat. He 'll put fat on your bones, Don, and Lindsey will make you laugh. You don't laugh enough, Don. You 're too serious. And if you have such weather as we 've had this week you 'll come back with a spirit that will boost your law practice double."
He felt of Donaldson's arm. It was thin and flabby.
"Good Heavens—here, feel of mine!"
Donaldson grasped it with his weak fingers. It was beastly thick and firm.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"It is twenty minutes of ten. Is time so important to you?"
"I must get down-town before long."
"Rot! Why don't you drop your business here and now. Let things rip."
"Where 's the dog?" demanded Donaldson. The pup was out of sight. He felt strangely frightened. He got up and looked all about the room.
"Where 's he gone?" he demanded again.
Barstow grasped him by the shoulder.
"You must pull yourself together," he said seriously. "You 're heading for a worse place than the hospital."
"But where the devil has he gone? He was here a minute ago, was n't he?"
"Easy, easy," soothed22 Barstow. "Hold tight!"
"Find him, won't you, Barstow? Won't you find him?"
To quiet him Barstow whistled. The dog pounded his tail on the floor under the lounge.
"He 's under there," said Barstow.
"Get him out—get him out where I can see him, won't you?"
Barstow stooped.
"Come, Sandy, come," he called.
Donaldson leaped forward.
"What did you call him?" he demanded as Barstow staggered back.
"Have you gone mad?" shouted Barstow.
"What did you call him?" repeated Donaldson fiercely. "Tell me what you called him?"
"I called him Sandy. Control yourself, Don. If you let yourself go this way—it's the end."
"The end?" shouted Donaldson. "Man, it 's the beginning! It's just the beginning! Sandy—Sandy did n't die after all!"
"Oh, that's what's troubling you," returned Barstow with an air of relief. "Why did n't you tell me? You thought the dead had risen, eh? No, the stuff didn't work. The dog only had an attack of acute indigestion from overeating. But Gad23, the coincidence was queer, when you stop to think of it. I 'd forgotten you left before he came to."
"Then," cried Donaldson excitedly, "you did n't have any poison after all!"
"No. I was so busy on more important work that my experiments with that stuff must all of them have been slipshod. But it did look for a minute as though Sandy here had proven it. But, Lord,—it was n't the poison that did for him—it was his week. His week was too much for him!"
"Give me your hand, Barstow. Give me your hand. I 'm limp as a rag."
"That's your nerves again. If you were normal, the mere24 fact that you thought you saw a spook dog would n't leave you in this shape. Come over here and sit down."
"Get me some water, old man—get me a long, long drink."
When Barstow handed him the glass, which must have held a pint25, Donaldson trembled so that he could hold it to his lips only by using both hands, as those with palsy do. He swallowed it in great gulps. He felt as though he were burning up inside. The room began to swim around him, but with his hands kneading into the old sofa he warded26 off unconsciousness. He must not lose a single minute in blankness. He must get back to her—get back to her as soon as he could stand. She was suffering, too, though in another way. He must not let another burning minute scorch27 her.
"Perhaps you 'll take my advice now," Barstow was saying, "perhaps you were near enough the brink28 that time to listen to me. Tell me I may ring up Lindsey—tell me now that you 'll go with him."
"Go—away? Go—out to sea?" cried Donaldson.
"Yes. To-morrow morning."
"Why, Lord, man! Lord, man!" he panted, "I—would n't leave New York—I would n't go out there—for—for a million dollars."
"You damned ass7!" growled29 Barstow.
"I—I would n't—go, if the royal yacht—of the King of England were waiting for me."
"Some one ought to have the authority to put you in a strait-jacket and carry you off. I tell you you 're headed for the madhouse, Don!"
Donaldson staggered to his feet. He put his trembling hands on Barstow's shoulders.
"No," he faltered30, "no, I 'm headed for life, for life, Barstow! You hear me? I 'm headed for a paradise right here in New York."
Barstow felt baffled. The man was in as bad a way as he had ever seen a man, but he realized the uselessness of combatting that stubborn will. There was nothing to do but let him go on until he was struck down helpless. From the bottom of his heart be pitied him. This was the result of too much brooding alone.
"Peter," he said, "the loneliest place in this world is New York. Are you going to let it kill you?"
"No! It came near it, but I 've beaten it. I 'm bigger now than the dear old merciless city. It's mine—down to every dark alley31. I 've got it at my feet, Barstow. It is n't going to kill me, it's going to make me grow. It is n't any longer my master—it's a good-natured, obedient servant. New York?" he laughed excitedly. "What is New York but a little strip of ground underneath32 the stars?"
"That would sound better if your eyes were clearer and your hand steadier."
"You 'd expect a man to be battered33 up a little, would n't you, after a hard fight? I 've fought the hardest thing in the world there is to fight—shadows, Barstow, shadows—with the King Shadow itself at their head."
Was the man raving34? It sounded so, but Donaldson's eyes, in spite of their heaviness, were not so near those of madness as they had been a moment ago. The startled look had left his face. Every feature stood out brightly, as though lighted from within. His voice was fuller, and his language, though obscure, more like that of the old Donaldson. Barstow was mystified.
"Had n't you better lie down here again?" he suggested.
"I must go, now. What—what time is it, old man?"
"Five minutes past ten."
Donaldson took a deep breath. Time—how it stretched before him like a flower-strewn path without end. He heard the friendly tick-tock at his wrists. The minutes were so many jewel boxes, each containing the choice gift of so many breaths, so many chances to look into her eyes, so many chances to fulfil duties, so many quaffs35 of life.
"My watch has run down," he said, with curious seriousness. "I 'm going to wind it up again. I 'm going to wind it up again, Barstow."
He proceeded to do this as though engaged in some mystic rite18.
"May I set it by your watch? I 'd like to set it by your watch, Barstow."
He adjusted the hands tenderly, again as though it were the act of a high priest.
"Now," he said, "it's going straight. I shall never let the old thing run down again. I think it hurts a watch, don't you, Barstow?"
"Yes," answered the latter, amazed at his emphasis upon such trivialities.
"Now," he said, "I must hurry. Where's my hat? Oh, there it is. And Sandy—where's Sandy?"
The dog crawled out at once at the sound of his name, and he stooped to pet him a moment.
"I don't suppose you 'd sell Sandy, would you, Barstow?"
"I 'll give him to you, if you 'll take him off. I have n't a fit place to keep him."
"May I take him now? May I take him with me?"
"Yes—if you'll come back to me to-morrow and report how you are."
"I 'll do it. I 'll be here to-morrow."
He cuddled the dog into his arm and held out his hand.
"Don't worry about me, old man. Just a little rattled36 that's all. But fit as a fiddle; strong as a moose, even if I don't look it as you do!"
Barstow took his hand, and when Donaldson left, stood at the head of the stairs anxiously watching him make his way to the street, hugging the dog tightly to his side.
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收听单词发音
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1
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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9
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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10
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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11
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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12
sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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13
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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14
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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15
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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18
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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19
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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20
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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21
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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22
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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23
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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27
scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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28
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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29
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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30
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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31
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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32
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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33
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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34
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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35
quaffs
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| v.痛饮( quaff的第三人称单数 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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36
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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