It was not a lucky "find," for some of the largest nuggets in the State had been taken out at Tough Case. It was not a grand spree, for all sprees at Tough Case were grand, and they took place every Sunday. It was not a fight, for when the average of fully-developed fights fell below one a fortnight, some patriotic3 citizen would improvise4 one, that the honor of his village should not suffer.
No; all these promoters of delicious and refreshing5 Tumult6 were as nothing to the agitation7 which, commencing three months before, had increased and taken firmer hold of all hearts at Tough Case, until to-day it had reached its culmination8.
Blizzer's wife had come out, and was to reach camp by that day's boat.
Since Blizzer had first announced his expectation, every man in camp had been secretly preparing for the event; but to-day all secrecy9 was at an end, and white shirts, standing10 collars, new pants, black hats, polished boots, combs, brushes and razors, and even hair-oil and white handkerchiefs, so transformed the tremulous miners, that a smart detective would have been puzzled in looking for any particular citizen of Tough Case.
Even old Hatchetjaw, whose nickname correctly indicated the moral import of his countenance11, sheepishly gave Moosoo, the old Frenchman, an ounce of gold-dust for an hour's labor12 bestowed13 on Hatchetjaw's self-asserting red hair.
Bets as to what she looked like were numerous; and, as no one had the slightest knowledge on the subject, experienced bettists made handsome fortunes in betting against every description which was backed by money. For each man had so long pondered over the subject, that his ideal portrait seemed to him absolutely correct; and an amateur phrenologist, who had carefully studied Blizzer's cranium and the usually accepted laws of affinity14, consistently bet his last ounce, his pistol, hut, frying-pan, blankets, and even a pack of cards in a tolerable state of preservation15.
Sailors, collegemen, Pikes, farmers, clerks, loafers, and sentimentalists, stood in front of Sim Ripson's store, and stared their eyes into watery16 redness in vain attempts to hurry the boat.
A bet of drinks for the crowd, lost by the non-arrival of the boat on time, was just being paid, when Sim Ripson, whose bar-window commanded the river, exclaimed:
"She's comin'!"
Many were the heeltaps left in glasses as the crowd hurried to the door; numerous were the stealthy glances bestowed on shirt-cuffs and finger-nails and boot-legs. Crosstree, a dandyish young sailor, hung back to regard himself in a small fragment of looking-glass he carried in his pocket, but was rebuked17 for his vanity by stumbling over the door-sill—an operation which finally resulted in his nose being laid up in ordinary.
The little steamer neared the landing, whistled shrilly18, snorted defiantly19, buried her nose in the muddy bank in front of the store, and shoved out a plank20.
Several red-shirted strangers got off, but no one noticed them; at any other time, so large an addition to the population of Tough Case would have justified21 an extra spree.
Sundry22 barrels were rolled out, but not even old Guzzle23 inspected the brand; barrels and bags of onions and potatoes were stacked on the bank, but though the camp was sadly in need of vegetables, no one expressed becoming exultation24.
All eyes were fixed25 on the steamer-end of the gang-plank, and every heart beat wildly as Blizzer appeared, leading a figure displaying only the top of a big bonnet26 and a blanket-shawl hanging on one arm.
They stepped on the gang-plank, they reached the shore, and then the figure raised its head and dropped the shawl.
"Thunder!" ejaculated Fourteenth Street, and immediately retired27 and drank himself into a deplorable condition.
The remaining observers dispersed28 respectfully; but the reckless manner in which they wandered through mud-puddles and climbed over barrels and potato-sacks, indicated plainly that their disappointment had been severe.
After another liquid bet had been paid, and while sleeves but lately tenderly protected were carelessly drying damp mustaches, an old miner remarked:
"Reckon that's why he left the States;" and the emphatic29 "You bet!" which followed his words showed that the Tough Caseites were unanimous on the subject of Mrs. Blizzer.
For she was short and fat, and had a pug nose, and a cast in one eye; her forehead was low and square, and her hair was of a color which seemed "fugitive," as the paper-makers say. Her hands were large and pudgy, her feet afforded broad foundations for the structure above them, and her gait was not suggestive of any popular style. Besides, she seemed ten years older than her husband, who was not yet thirty.
For several days boots were allowed to grow rusty30 and chins unshaven, as the boys gradually drank and worked themselves into a dumb forgetfulness of their lately cherished ideals.
But one evening, during a temporary lull31 in the conversation at Sim Ripson's, old Uncle Ben, ex-deacon of a New Hampshire church, lifted up his voice, and remarked:
"'Pears to me Blizzer's beginnin' to look scrumptious. He used to be the shabbiest man in camp."
Through the open door the boys saw Blizzer carrying a pail of water; and though water-carrying in the American manner is not an especially graceful33 performance, Blizzer certainly looked unusually neat.
Palette, who had spoiled many canvases and paintbrushes in the East, attentively34 studied Blizzer in detail, and found his hair was combed, his shirt buttoned at the collar, and his trowsers lacking the California soil which always adorns35 the seat and knees of orthodox mining pantaloons.
"It's her as did it," said Pat Fadden; "an' 'tain't all she's done. Fhat d'ye tink she did dhis mornin'? I was a-fixin' me pork, jist as ivery other bye in camp allers does it, an' jist then who should come along but hersilf. I tuk off me pork, and comminced me breakfast, when sez she to me, sez she, 'Ye don't ate it widout gravy36, do ye?' 'Gravy, is it?' sez I. 'Nobody iver heard of gravy here,' sez I. 'Thin it's toime,' sez she, an' she poured off the fat, an' crumbled37 a bit of cracker38 in the pan, an' put in some wather, an' whin I thought the ould thing 'ud blow up for the shteam it made, she poured the gravy on me plate—yes, she did."
There were but a few men at Tough Case who were not willing to have their daily fare improved, and as Mrs. Blizzer did not make a tour of instruction, the boys made it convenient to stand near Mrs. Blizzer's own fire, and see the mysteries of cooking.
As a natural consequence, Sim Ripson began to have inquiries39 for articles which he had never heard of, much less sold, and he found a hurried trip to 'Frisco was an actual business necessity.
As several miners took their departure, after one of these culinary lessons, Arkansas Bill, with a mysterious air, took Fourteenth Street aside.
"Forty," said he, in a most appealing tone, "ken1 you see what 'twas about? She kep' a-lookin' at my left han' all the time, ez ef she thort there wuz somethin' the matter with it. Mebbe she thort I was tuckin' biscuits up my sleeves, like keerds in a live game. Ken you see any thin' the matter with that paw?"
The aristocratic young reprobate41 gave the hand a critical glance, and replied:
"Perhaps she thought you didn't know what buttons and buttonholes were made for."
"Thunder!" exclaimed the miner, with an expression of countenance which Archimedes might have worn when he made his famous discovery.
From that day forward the gentleman from Arkansas instituted a rigid42 buttonhole inspection43 before venturing from his hut, besides purchasing a share in a new clothesbroom.
"'Pears to me I don't see Blizzer playin' keerds with you fellers ez much ez he wuz," remarked Uncle Ben one evening at the store.
"No," said Flipp, the champion euchre-player, with a sad face and a strong oath. "He used to lose his ounces like a man. But t'other night I knocked at his door, and asked him to come down an' hev a han'. He didn't say nothin', but she up an' sed he'd stopped playin'. I reely tuk it to be my duty to argy with her, an' show her how tough it wuz to cut off a feller's enjoyment45; but she sed 'twas too high-priced fur the fun it fetched."
"That ain't the wust, nuther," said Topjack Flipp's usual partner. "There wuz Arkansas Bill an' Jerry Miller46, thet used to be ez fond of ther little game ez anybody. Now, ev'ry night they go up thar to Blizzer's, an' jest do nothin' but sit aroun' an' talk. It's enough to make a marble statoo cuss to see good men spiled that way."
"Somethin' 'stonishin' 'bout40 what comes of it, though," resumed the deacon. "'Twas only yestiddy thet Bill was kerryin' a bucket of dirt to the crick, an' jest ez he got there his foot slipped in, an' he went kerslosh. Knowin' Bill's language on sech occasions ain't what a church-member ort to hear, I was makin' it convenient to leave, when along come her, an' he choked off ez suddin ez a feller on the gallers."
Day by day the boys dug dirt, and carried it to the creek47, and washed out the precious gold; day by day the denizens48 of Tough Case worked as many hours and as industriously49 as men anywhere. But no Tough Caseite was so wicked as to work on Sunday.
Sunday at Tough Case commenced at sunset on Saturday, after the good old Puritan fashion, and lasted through until working-time on Monday morning. But beyond this matter of time the Puritan parallel could not be pursued, for on Sunday was transacted50 all the irregular business of the week; on Sunday was done all the hard drinking and heavy gambling51; and on Sunday were settled such personal difficulties as were superior to the limited time and low liquor-pressure of the week.
The evening sun of the first Saturday of Mrs. Blizzer's residence at Tough Case considered his day's work done, and retired under the snowy coverlets the Sierras lent him. The tired miners gladly dropped pick, shovel52, and pan, but bedclothing was an article which at that moment they scorned to consider; there was important business and entertainment, which would postpone53 sleep for many hours.
The express would be along in the morning, and no prudent54 man could sleep peaceably until he had deposited his gold dust in the company's strong box. Then there were two or three old feuds56 which might come to a head—they always did on Sunday. And above all, Redwing, a man with enormous red whiskers, had been threatening all week to have back the money Flipp had won from him on the preceding Sunday, and Redwing had been very lucky in his claim all week, and the two men were very nearly matched, and were magnificent players, so the game promised to last many hours, and afford handsome opportunities for outside betting.
Sim Ripson understood his business. By sunset he had all his bottles freshly filled, and all his empty boxes distributed about the room for seats, and twice as many candles lighted as usual, and the card-tables reinforced by some upturned barrels. He also had a neat little woodpile under the bar to serve as a barricade57 against stray shots.
The boys dropped in pleasantly, two or three at a time, and drank merrily with each other; and the two or three who were not drinking men sauntered in to compare notes with the others.
There were no aristocrats58 or paupers59 at Tough Case, nor any cliques60; whatever the men were at home, here they were equal, and Sim Ripson's was the general gathering-place for everybody.
But in the course of two or three hours there was a perceptible change of the general tone at Sim Ripson's—it was so every Saturday night, or Sunday morning. Old Hatchetjaw said it was because Sim Ripson's liquor wasn't good; Moosoo, the Frenchman, maintained it was due to the absence of chivalrous61 spirit; Crosstree, the sailor, said it was always so with landsmen; Fourteenth Street privately62 confided63 to several that 'twas because there was no good blood in camp; the amateur phrenologist ascribed it to an undue64 cerebral65 circulation; and Uncle Ben, the deacon, insisted upon it that the fiend, personally, was the disturbing element.
Probably all of them were right, for it seemed impossible that the Sunday excitements at Sim Ripson's could proceed from any single cause—their proportions were too magnificent.
Drinking, singing, swearing, gambling, and fighting, the Tough Caseites made night so hideous66 that Uncle Ben spent half the night in earnest prayer for these misguided men, and the remainder of it in trying to make up his mind to start for home.
But by far the greater number of the boys, on that particular night, surrounded the table at which sat Redwing and Flip44. Both were playing their best, and as honestly as each was compelled to do by his adversary's watchfulness67.
Each had several times accused the other of cheating; each had his revolver at his right hand; and the crowd about them had the double pleasure of betting on the game and on which would shoot first.
Suddenly Redwing arose, as Flipp played an ace2 on his adversary's last card, and raked the dust toward himself.
"Yer tuk that ace out of yer sleeve—I seed yer do it. Give me back my ounces," said Redwing.
"It's a lie!" roared the great Flipp, springing to his feet, and seizing Redwing's pistol-arm.
The weapon fell, and both men clutched like tigers. Sim Ripson leaped over the bar and separated them.
"No rasslin' here!" said he. "When gentlemen gits too mad to hold in, an' shoots at sight, I hev to stan' it, but rasslin's vulgar—you'll hev to go out o' doors to do it."
"I'll hev it out with him with pistols, then!" cried Redwing, picking up his weapon.
"'Greed!" roared Flip, whose pistol lay on the table. "We'll do it cross the crick, at daylight.
"It's daylight now," said Sim Ripson, hurriedly, after looking out of his window at the end of the bar.
He was a good storekeeper, was Sam Ripson, and he knew how to mix drinks, but he had an unconquerable aversion to washing blood stains out of the floor.
The two gamblers rushed out of the door, pistols in hand, and the crowd followed, each man talking at the top of his voice, and betting on the chances of the combatants.
Suddenly, above all the noise, they heard a cracked soprano voice singing with some unauthorized flatting and sharping:
"Another six days' work is done,
Another Sabbath is begun.
Return, my soul, enjoy thy rest,
Improve the day thy God has blessed."
Redwing stopped, and dropped his head to one side, as if expecting more; Flipp stopped; everybody did. Arkansas Bill, whose good habits had been laid aside late Saturday afternoon, exclaimed:
"Well, I'll be blowed!"
Bill didn't mean anything of the sort, but the tone in which he said it expressed precisely68 the feeling of the crowd. The voice was again heard:
"Oh, that our thoughts and thanks may rise,
As grateful incense69 to the skies;
And draw from heaven that sweet repose70
Which none but he that feels it knows."
Redwing turned abruptly71 on his heel.
"Keep the ounces," said he. "Ther's an old woman to hum that thinks a sight o' me—I reckon, myself, I'm good fur somethin' besides fillin' a hole in the ground."
That night Sim Ripson complained that it had been the poorest Sunday he had ever had at Tough Case; the boys drank, but it was a sort of nerveless, unbusinesslike way that Sim Ripson greatly regretted; and very few bets were settled in Sim Ripson's principal stock in trade.
When Sim finally learned the cause of his trouble, he promptly72 announced his intention of converting Mrs. Blizzer to common sense, and as he had argued Uncle Ben, first into a perfect frenzy73 and then into silence, the crowd considered Mrs. Blizzer's faith doomed74.
Monday morning, bright and early, as men with aching heads were taking their morning bitters, Mrs. Blizzer appeared at Sim Ripson's store, and purchased a bar of soap.
"Boys heard ye singin' yesterday," said Sim.
"Yes?" inquired Mrs. Blizzer.
"Yes—all of 'em delighted," said Sim, gallantly75. "But ye don't believe in no sich stuff, I s'pose, do ye?"
"What stuff?" asked Mrs. Blizzer.
"Why, 'bout heaven an' hell, an' the Bible, an' all them things. Do ye know what the Greek fur hell meant? An' do ye know the Bible's all the time contradictin' itself?" I can show ye—"
"I tell you what I do know, Mr. Ripson," said the woman; "I know some things in my heart that no mortal bein' never told me, an' they couldn't be skeered out by all the dictionaries an' commentators76 a-goin; that's what I know."
And Mrs. Blizzer departed, while the astonished theologian sheepishly admitted that he owed drinks to the crowd.
While the ex-deacon, Uncle Ben, was trying to determine to go home, he found quite a pretty nugget that settled his mind, and he announced that same night, at the store, that all his mining property was for sale, as he was going back East.
"I'll go with you, Uncle Ben," said Fourteenth Street.
The crowd was astounded77; men of Fourteenth Street's calibre seldom had pluck enough to go to the mines, and their getting away, or their doing any thing that required manliness78, was of still more unfrequent occurrence.
"I know it," said the young man, translating the glances which met his eye. "You fellows think I don't amount to much, anyway. Perhaps I don't. I came out here because I fell out with a girl I thought I loved. She acted like a fool, and I made up my mind all women were fools. But that wife of Blizzer's has shown me more about true womanliness than all the girls I ever knew, and I'm going back to try it over again."
One morning a small crowd of early drinkers at Sim Ripson's dropped their glasses, yet did not go briskly out to work as usual. In fact, they even hung aloof79, in a most ungentlemanly manner, from Jerry Miller, who had just stood treat, and both these departures from the usual custom indicated that something unusual was the matter. Finally, Topjack remarked:
"He's a stranger, an' typhus is a bad thing to hev aroun', but somethin' 'ort to be done for him. 'Taint80 the thing to ax fur volunteers, fur it's danger without no chance of pleasin' excitement. We might throw keerds aroun', one to each feller in the camp, and him as gets ace of spades is to tend to the poor cuss."
"I think Jerry ought to go himself," argued Flipp.
"He's been exposed already, by lookin' in to the feller's shanty81, an's prob'bly hurt ez bad as he's goin' to be."
"I might go," said Sim Ripson, who, in his character of barkeeper, had to sustain a reputation for bravery and public spirit, "but 'twouldn't do to shut up the store, ye know, an' specially32 the bar—nobody'd stan' it."
"Needn't trouble yerselves," said Arkansas Bill, who had entered during the conversation; "she's thar."
"Thunder!" exclaimed Topjack, frowning, and then looking sheepish.
"Yes," continued Bill; "she stopped me ez I wuz comin' along, an' sed she'd jist heerd of it, an' was a-goin'. I tol' her ther' wuz men enough in camp to look out fur him, but she said she reckoned she could do it best. Wants some things from 'Frisco, though, an' I'm a-goin' for 'em."
And Arkansas Bill departed, while the men at Sim Ripson's sneaked82 guiltily down to the creek.
For many days the boys hung about the camp's single street every morning, unwilling83 to go to work until they had seen Mrs. Blizzer appear in front of the sick man's hut. The boys took turns at carrying water, making fires, and serving Mrs. Blizzer generally, and even paid handsomely for the chance.
One morning Mrs. Blizzer failed to appear at the usual hour. The boys walked about nervously—they smoked many pipes, and took hurried drinks, and yet she did not appear. The boys looked suggestingly at her husband, and he himself appeared to be anxious; but being one of the shiftless kind, he found anxiety far easier than action.
Suddenly Arkansas Bill remarked, "I can't stan' it any longer," and walked rapidly toward the sick man's hut, and knocked lightly on the door, and looked in. There lay the sick man, his eyes partly open, and on the ground, apparently84 asleep, and with a very purple face, lay Mrs. Blizzer.
"Do somethin' for her," gasped85 the sick man; "give her a chance, for God's sake. I don't know how long I've been here, but I kind o' woke up las' night ez ef I'd been asleep; she wuz a-standin' lookin' in my eyes, an' hed a han' on my cheek. 'I b'lieve it's turned,' sez she, still a-lookin'. After a bit she sez: 'It's turned sure,' an' all of a sudden she tumbled. I couldn't holler—I wish to God I could."
Arkansas Bill discovers the sick man and Mrs. Blizzer.
Arkansas Bill knocked lightly on the door, and
looked in. There lay the sick man, his eyes partly
open, and on the ground, apparently asleep, and with
purple face, lay Mrs. Blizzer.
Arkansas Bill opened the door, and called Blizzer, and the crowd followed Blizzer, though at a respectful distance. In a moment Blizzer reappeared with his wife, no longer fat, in his arms, and Arkansas Bill hurried on to open Blizzer's door. The crowd halted, and didn't know what to do, until Moosoo, the little Frenchman, lifted his hat, upon, which every man promptly uncovered his head.
A moment later Arkansas Bill was on Sim Ripson's horse, and galloping86 off for a doctor, and Sim Ripson, who had always threatened sudden death to any one touching87 his beloved animal, saw him, and refrained even from profanity. The doctor came, and the boys crowded the door to hear what he had to say.
"Hum!" said the doctor, a rough miner himself, "new arrival—been fat—worn out—rainy season just coming on—not much chance. No business to come to California—ought to have had sense enough to stay home."
"Look a' here, doctor," said Arkansas Bill, indignantly; "she's got this way a-nussin' a feller—stranger, too—that ev'ry man in camp wuz afeard to go nigh."
"Is that so?" asked the doctor, in a tone considerably88 softened89; "then she shall get well, if my whole time and attention can bring it about."
The sick woman lay in a burning fever for days, and the boys industriously drank her health, and bet heavy odds90 on her recovery. No singing was 'allowed anywhere in camp, and when an old feud55 broke out afresh between two miners, and they drew their pistols, a committee was appointed to conduct them at least two miles from camp, before allowing them to shoot.
The Sundays were allowed to pass in the commonplace quietness peculiar91 to the rest of the week, and men who were unable to forego their regular weekly spree were compelled to emigrate. Sim Ripson, though admitting that the change was decidedly injurious to his business, declared that he would cheerfully be ruined in business rather than have that woman disturbed; he was ever heard to say that, though of course there was no such place as heaven, there ought to be, for such woman.
One evening, as the crowd were quietly drinking and betting, Arkansas Bill suddenly opened the door of the store, and cried: "She's mendin'! The fever's broke—'sh-h!"
"My treat, boys," said Sim Ripson, hurrying glasses and favorite bottles on the bar.
The boys were just clinking glasses with Blizzer himself, who, during his wife's absence and illness, had drifted back to the store, when Arkansas Bill again opened the door.
"She's a-sinkin', all of a sudden!" he gasped. "Blizzer, yer wanted."
The two men hurried away, and the crowd poured out of the store. By the light of a fire in front of the hut in which the sick woman lay, they saw Blizzer enter, and Arkansas Bill remain outside the hut, near the door.
The boys stood on one foot, put their hands into their pockets and took them out again, snapped their fingers, and looked at each other, as if they wanted to talk about something that they couldn't. Suddenly the doctor emerged from the hut, and said something to Arkansas Bill, and the boys saw Arkansas Bill put both hands up to his face. Then the boys knew that their sympathy could help Blizzer's wife no longer.
Slowly the crowd re-entered the store, and mechanically picked up the yet untasted glasses. Sim Ripson filled a glass for himself, looked a second at the crowd, and dropping his eyes, raised them again, looked as if he had something to say, looked intently into his glass, as if espying92 some irregularity, looked up again, and exclaimed:
"Boys, it's no use—mebbe ther's no hell—mebbe the Bible contradicts itself, but—but ther is a heaven, or such folks would never git their just dues. Here's to Blizzer's wife, the best man in camp, an' may the Lord send us somebody like her!"
In silence, and with uncovered heads, was the toast drank; and for many days did the boys mourn for her whose advent93 brought them such disappointment.
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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improvise
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| v.即兴创作；临时准备，临时凑成 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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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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affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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guzzle
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| v.狂饮，暴食 | |
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exultation
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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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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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37
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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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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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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42
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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43
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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44
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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46
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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49
industriously
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50
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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51
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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52
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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cliques
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| n.小集团，小圈子，派系( clique的名词复数 ) | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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75
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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commentators
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| n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 )；时事评论员；注释者；实况广播员 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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80
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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81
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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82
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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83
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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84
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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85
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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86
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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87
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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88
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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89
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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90
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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91
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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92
espying
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| v.看到( espy的现在分词 ) | |
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93
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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