"Sir?"
Berkley sat up in bed and viewed his environment with disgust.
"These new lodgings1 would make a fair kennel2, wouldn't they,
Burgess?—if a man isn't too particular about his dog."
The servant entered with a nasty smirk3. "Yes, sir; I seen a rat last night."
"He's not the only one, is he, Burgess," yawned Berkley. "Oh, hell! I've got to dress. Did you paint that bathtub? I guess you did, the place reeks4 like a paint shop. Anyway, it kills less desirable aromas5. Where's the water?"
He swung his symmetrical body to the bed's edge, dropped lightly to the carpet, unloosed his night robe, and stretched himself.
"Was I very drunk, Burgess?"
"No, sir; you just went to sleep. You haven't got no headache, have you?"
"No—but it was only corn whisky. I didn't remember what I did with it. Is there any left?"
"Not much, sir."
The servant, ugly to the verge6 of deformity, and wearing invariably the abominable7 smirk that disgusted others but amused Berkley, went about his duties.
Berkley blinked at him reflectively, then bathed, dressed, and sat down to a bowl of chocolate and a bit of bread.
"What the devil was all that row this morning, Burgess?"
"War, sir. The President has called for seventy-five thousand men. Here it is, sir." And he laid a morning paper beside the cup of chocolate, which Berkley studied between sips8, commenting occasionally aloud:
"Heavens, Burgess, why, we're a race of patriots9! Now who on earth could have suspected that. . . . Why, we seem to be heroes, too! What do you think of that, Burgess? You're a hero; I'm a hero; everybody north of Charleston is an embattled citizen or a hero! Isn't it funny that nobody realised all this before?" . . . He turned the paper leisurely10 sipping11 his chocolate. . . . "Of course—the 'dear old flag'! That's the cheese, isn't it, Burgess? Been insulted, hasn't it? And we're all going to Charleston to punch that wicked Beauregard in the nose. . . . Burgess, you and I are neglecting our duty as heroes; there's much shouting to be done yet, much yelling in the streets, much arguing to be done, many, many cocktails12 to be firmly and uncompromisingly swallowed. Are you prepared to face the serious consequences of being a hero?"
"Yes, sir," said Burgess.
"You merit well of the republic! The country needs you. Here's half a dollar. Do your duty unflinchingly—at the nearest bar!"
Burgess took the coin with a smirk.
"Mr. Berkley, the landlady13 sent word that times is hard."
"Bless her soul! They are hard, Burgess. Inform her of my sentiments," said Berkley cordially. "Now, my hat and cane14, if you please. We're a wonderful people, Burgess; we'll beat our walking-sticks into bayonets if Mr. Beauregard insists on saying boo to us too many times in succession. . . . And, Burgess?"
"Sir?"
"Now that you have waked up this morning to find yourself a hero, I think you'd better find yourself another and more spectacular master. My heroism15, for the future, is to be more or less inconspicuous; in fact, I begin the campaign by inserting my own studs and cleaning my own clothes, and keeping out of gaol16; and the sooner I go where that kind of glory calls me the sooner my name will be emblazoned in the bright lexicon17 of youth where there's no such word as 'jail.'",
"Sir?"
"In simpler and more archaic18 phrase, I can't afford you, Burgess, unless I pilfer19 for a living."
"I don't eat much, sir."
"No, you don't eat much."
"I could quit drinking, sir."
"That is really touching20, Burgess. This alcohol pickled integument21 of yours covers a trusting heart. But it won't do. Heroics in a hall bedroom cut no coupons22, my poor friend. Our paths to glory and the grave part just outside the door-sill yonder."
"She said I could stay, sir."
"Which she?"
"The landlady. I'm to fetch coal and run errants and wait on table. But you'll get the best cuts, sir. And after hours I can see to your clothes and linen23 and boots and hats, and do your errants same like the usual."
"Now this is nearly as pathetic as our best fiction," said Berkley; "ruined master, faithful man—won't leave—starves slowly at his master's feet—tootle music very sneaky—'transformation! Burgess in heaven, blinking, puzzled, stretching one wing, reflectively scratching his halo with right hind24 foot. Angel chorus. Burgess appears to enjoy it and lights one of my best cigars——"
"Sir?" said Burgess, very red.
Berkley swung around, levelled his walking-stick, and indicated the pit of his servant's stomach:
"Your face is talking now; wait till that begins to yell. It will take more than I'm earning to fill it."
He stood a moment, smiling, curious. Then:
"You've been as faithless a valet as any servant who ever watered wine, lost a gimcrack, or hooked a weed. Studs, neckcloths, bootjacks, silk socks, pins, underwear—all magically and eventually faded from my wardrobe, wafted25 to those silent bournes of swag that valets wot of. What in hell do you want to stay here for now, you amusing wastrel26?"
"Yes, sir. I'd prefer to stay with you."
"But there'll be no more pleasant pickings, my poor and faithless steward27! If you should convert anything more to your own bank account I'll be obliged to stroll about naked."
"Yes, sir," muttered Burgess; "I brought back some things last night—them socks, shirt-pins and studs, and the fob. . . . Yes, sir; I fetched 'em back, I did—" A sudden and curious gleam of pride crossed the smirk for an instant;—"I guess my gentleman ain't agoing to look no worse than the next Fifth Avenue swell28 he meets—even if he ain't et no devilled kidneys for breakfast and he don't dine on no canvas-back at Delmonico's. No, sir."
Berkley sat down on the bed's edge and laughed until he could scarcely see the man, who observed him in patient annoyance29. And every time Berkley looked at him he went into another fit of uncontrollable laughter, as he realised the one delightful30 weakness in this thorough-paced rogue—pride in the lustre31 cast upon himself by the immaculate appearance of a fashionable master. But after reflection, it did not astonish him too much; the besetting32 weakness of rogues33 is vanity in one form or another. This happened to be an unusual form.
"Burgess," he said, "I don't care how you go to hell. Go with me if you like or go it alone."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome," replied Berkley gravely, and, tucking his cane up under one arm, he went out to business, drawing on a pair of lemon-coloured kid gloves.
Later he searched his pockets for the cigar he had denied himself the evening before. It was not there. In fact, at that moment, Burgess, in the boarding-house backyard, was promenading34 up and down, leering at the Swedish scullion, and enjoying the last expensive cigar that his master was likely to purchase in many a day.
The street, and avenue were seething35 with people; people stood at their windows looking out at the news-boys who swarmed36 everywhere, shouting endless extras; people were gathering37 on corners, in squares, along park railings, under porticos of hotels, and every one of them had a newspaper and was reading.
In front of the St. Nicholas Hotel a lank38 and shabby man had mounted a cracker39 box, and was evidently making a speech, but Berkley could distinguish nothing he said because of the wild cheering.
Everywhere, threading the throng40, hurried boys and men selling miniature flags, red-white-and-blue rosettes, and tricoloured cockades; and everybody was purchasing the national colours—the passing crowd had already become bright with badges; the union colours floated in streamers from the throats or sleeves of pretty girls, glinted in the lapels of dignified41 old gentlemen, decorated the hats of the stage-drivers and the blinders of their horses.
"Certainly," said Berkley, buying a badge and pinning it in his button-hole. "Being a hero, I require the trade-mark. Kindly42 permit that I offer a suggestion—" a number of people waiting to buy badges; were now listening to him—"those gentlemen gathered there in front of the New York Hotel seem to be without these marks which distinguish heroes from citizens. No doubt they'll be delighted to avail themselves of your offered cockades."
A quick laugh broke out from those around, but there was an undertone of menace in it, because the undecorated gentlemen in front of the New York Hotel were probably Southerners, and Secessionists in principles; that hostelry being the rendezvous43 in New York of everything Southern.
So, having bestowed44 his mischievous45 advice, Berkley strolled on down Broadway, his destination being the offices of Craig and Son, City and Country Real Estate, where he had a desk to himself, a client or two in prospect46, and considerable leisure to study the street, gas, and sewer47 maps of New York City.
Tiring of this distraction48, he was always at liberty to twiddle his thumbs, twirl his pencil, yawn, blink, and look out of the window at the City Park across the way, where excited citizens maintained a steady yelling monotone before the neighbouring newspaper offices all day long.
He was also free to reflect upon his own personal shortcomings, a speculation49 perhaps less damaging than the recent one he had indulged in; and he thought about it sometimes; and sometimes about Ailsa Paige, whom he had not again seen since the unaccountable madness had driven him to trample50 and destroy the first real inclination51 he had ever had for a woman.
This inclination he occasionally found leisure to analyse, but, not understanding it, never got very far, except that, superficially, it had been more or less physical. From the moment he saw her he was conscious that she was different; insensibly the exquisitely53 volatile54 charm of her enveloped55 him, and he betrayed it, awaking her, first, to uneasy self-consciousness; then uneasy consciousness of him; then, imperceptibly, through distrust, alarm, and a thousand inexplicable56 psychological emotions, to a wistful interest that faintly responded to his. Ah! that response!—strange, childish, ignorant, restless—but still a response; and from obscure shallows unsuspected, uncomprehended—shallows that had never before warned her with the echo of an evanescent ripple57.
For him to have reflected, reasoned, halted himself, had been useless from the beginning. The sister-in-law of this girl knew who and what he was and had been. There was no hope for him. To let himself drift; to evoke58 in her, sometimes by hazard, at times with intent, the delicate response—faint echo—pale shadow of the virile59 emotions she evoked60 in him, that, too, was useless. He knew it, yet curious to try, intent on developing communication through those exquisite52 and impalpable lines that threaded the mystery from him to her—from her to him.
And then, when the mystery all about them was aquiver, and her vague eyes met his through the magic, acquiescent61 under a sorcery for which she had no name—then, when all things occult breathed silence—then he had said too much!
It was perhaps as well that he had said it then as later—as well perhaps that, losing self-control, defeat had moved his tongue to boast, had fixed62 the empty eye and stamped the smile he wore with a confidence dead in him for ever.
He had said that he would come back. He knew that he would not.
It was the pitiful defiance63 of a boaster hopelessly hurt.
He no longer desired to see her again. Never again would he risk enduring what she had evoked in him, whatever it was of good or of evil, of the spiritual or the impure—he did not know he was aware only of what his eyes had beheld64 and his heart had begun to desire.
On his way back from the office that evening he met Camilla Lent and her uncle, the Captain, and would have passed with an amiable65 salute66, but the girl evinced a decided67 desire to speak. So he turned and joined them.
"How do you do, Camilla? How are you, Captain Lent? This re-conversion of the nation's ploughshares and pruning68 hooks is a noisy affair, isn't it?"
"April 18th, 1861!" replied the Captain quickly. "What you hear, sir, is the attrition consequent upon the grinding together of certain millstones belonging to the gods."
"I have no doubt of it, Captain Lent; they'll probably make meal of us all. Are you offering your services, sir."
Camilla said quickly, and with gayest confidence: "Uncle has been looking about casually69. There are so many regiments70 forming, so many recruiting stations that we—we haven't decided—have we, uncle?" And she gave Berkley a wistful, harrowing glance that enlightened him.
He said gravely: "I suppose the average age of these volunteers will be about eighteen. And if the militia72 go, too, it will be comforting for a defenceless city to know she has men of your experience to count on, Captain Lent."
"I am going to the front," observed the Captain.
"There may be much to be done in New York, sir."
"Then let the police do it," said Captain Lent calmly. "The union must and shall be preserved. If any man attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him upon the spot. Et cetera, sir, et cetera."
"Certainly. But it's a question of niggers, too, I believe."
"No, sir. It is not a question of niggers. It is a question of who's at the wheel, union or State. I myself never had any doubts any more than I ever doubted the Unitarian faith! So it is no question for me, sir. What bothers me is to pick out the regiment71 most likely to be sent first."
"We've walked our legs off," said Camilla, aside, "and we've been in all kinds of frightful73 places where men are drilling and smoking and swearing and yelling; and I was dreadfully afraid a gun would go off or somebody would be impudent74 to uncle. The dear old thing," she whispered, "he is perfectly75 sure they want him and that he has only to choose a regiment and offer his sword. Oh, dear! I'm beginning to be terribly unhappy—I'm afraid they won't let him go and I'm deadly afraid they might! And I'm sure that Jim means to go. Oh, dear! Have you seen Ailsa Paige lately?"
"No. . . . I hope she is quite well."
"You are not very enthusiastic."
"I have every reason to be. She is a very winsome76 girl."
"She's a dear. . . . She has spoken of you several times."
"That is most amiable of her, and of you to say so."
"Oh, very," laughed Camilla, tossing her pretty head, "but it evidently does not interest you very much. In fact—" she glanced sidewise—"it is understood that no woman ever interests you for more than forty-eight consecutive77 hours."
"Pure slander78, Camilla. You do."
"Oh—not in the way I mean."
"Well, but you don't expect me to be interested in Mrs. Paige—in the way you mean do you?"
"Why not?" she asked mischievously79.
"Because, to begin properly, Mrs. Paige is not likely ever to become interested in me."
"I am heartily80 glad of it," retorted Camilla. "You'd forget her in a week,"
"That's more than forty-eight hours," he said, laughing. "You're flattering me now."
"Anyway," said Camilla, "I don't see why everybody that knows her isn't mad about Ailsa Paige. She has such high principles, such ideals, such wonderful aspirations—" She clasped her hands sentimentally81: "At times, Phil, she seems too ethereal, scarcely of earth—and yet I breakfasted with her and she ate twice as much as I did. How does she keep that glorious figure!"
Plumpness was the bane and terror of Camilla's life. Her smooth, suave82 white skin was glossy83 and tight; distracting curves, entrancing contours characterised her now; but her full red lips fairly trembled as she gazed at her parents' portraits in her bedroom, for they had both been of a florid texture84 and full habit; and she had now long refused sugar and the comforts of sweetmeats dear to the palate of her age and sex. And mostly was this self-denial practised for the sake of a young and unobservant friend, one Stephen Craig, who had so far evinced no unusual inclination for her, or for anything except cigars and masculine society of his own age and condition.
She managed to get Philip Berkley to talk about Stephen, which ingenuity85 soothed86 her. But Philip was becoming bored, and he presently escaped to retrace87 his steps up Broadway, up Fifth Avenue, and then west to the exceedingly modest lodgings whither fate and misfortune had wafted him.
On the way he passed Colonel Arran's big double house with a sullen88 and sidelong scowl89, and continued onward90 with a shrug91. But he smiled no more to himself.
Burgess was in the room, cross-legged on the floor, ironing out his master's best coat.
"What the devil are you about," said Philip ungraciously. "Get up.
I need what floor I've got to stand on."
Burgess obediently laid the board and the coat on a trunk and continued ironing; and Philip scowled92 at him askance.
"Why don't you enlist93?" he said. "Every car-driver, stage-driver, hackman, and racing-tout can become major-generals if they yell loud enough."
Burgess continued ironing, then stole a glance at his master.
"Are you thinking of enlisting94, sir?"
"No; I can't pass the examination for lung power. By the way," he added, laughing, "I overlooked the impudence95 of your question, too. But now is your time, Burgess. If I wanted you I'd have to put up with your insolence96, I suppose."
"But you don't want me, sir."
"Which restrains you," said Philip, laughing. "Oh, go on, my friend. Don't say 'sir' to me; it's a badge of servitude pasted onto the vernacular97. Say 'Hi!' if you like."
"Sir?"
"Hell! I say don't behave like a servant to me."
"I am a servant, sir."
"You're not mine."
"Yes, sir, I am. Will you wear this coat this evening, sir?"
"God knows," said the young fellow, sitting down and gazing about at the melancholy98 poverty of the place. . . . "Is there any of that corn whisky?"
"No, sir."
"Damn it, you said there was this morning!"
"No, sir, I didn't."
The man lied placidly99; the master looked at him, then laughed.
"Poor old Burgess," he said aloud as though to himself; "there wasn't a skinful in that bottle. Well, I can't get drunk, I can't lie here and count from six to midnight and keep my sanity100, I can't smoke—you rascal101, where's my cigar? And I certainly can't go out anywhere because I haven't any money."
"You might take the air on the avenue, sir. Your clothes are in order."
"Poor Burgess! That was your amusement, wasn't it?—to see me go out discreetly102 perfumed, in fine linen and purple, brave as the best of them in club and hall, in ballroom103 and supper room, and in every lesser104 hell from Crystal Palace cinders105 to Canal.
"Poor Burgess! Even the seventy-five pretty waitresses at the Gaities would turn up their seventy-five retrousse noses at a man with pockets as empty as mine."
"Your clothes are fashionable. So is your figger, sir."
"That settles it?" protested the young fellow, weak with laughter. "Burgess, don't go! Don't ever go! I do need you. Oh I do want you, Burgess. Because there never will be anybody exactly like you, and I've only one life in which to observe you, study you, and mentally digest you. You won't go, will you?"
"No sir," said Burgess with dignity.
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1
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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reeks
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| n.恶臭( reek的名词复数 )v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的第三人称单数 )；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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aromas
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| n.芳香( aroma的名词复数 )；气味；风味；韵味 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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lexicon
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| n.字典，专门词汇 | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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pilfer
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| v.盗，偷，窃 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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integument
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| n.皮肤 | |
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coupons
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| n.礼券( coupon的名词复数 )；优惠券；订货单；参赛表 | |
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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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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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promenading
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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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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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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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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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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50
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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57
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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58
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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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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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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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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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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95
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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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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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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99
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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100
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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101
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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102
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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103
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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104
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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105
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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