You could not be so very tough in Chippewa, Wisconsin. But Buzz Werner managed magnificently with the limited means at hand. Before he was nineteen mothers were warning their sons against him, and brothers their sisters. Buzz Werner not only was tough—he looked tough. When he spoke1—which was often—his speech slid sinisterly2 out of the extreme left corner of his mouth. He had a trick of hitching4 himself up from the belt—one palm on the stomach and a sort of heaving jerk from the waist, as a prize fighter does it—that would have made a Van Bibber look rough.
His name was not really Buzz, but quotes are dispensed5 with because no one but his mother remembered what it originally had been. His mother called him Ernie and she alone, in all Chippewa, Wisconsin, was unaware6 that her son was the town tough guy. But even she sometimes mildly remonstrated7 with him for being what she called kind of wild. Buzz had yellow hair with a glint in it, and it curled up into a bang at the front. No amount of wetting or greasing could subdue8 that irrepressible forelock. A boy with hair like that never grows up in his mother's eyes.
If Buzz's real name was lost in the dim mists of boyhood, the origin and fitness of his nickname were apparent after two minutes' conversation with him. Buzz Werner was called Buzz not only because he talked too much, but because he was a braggart9. His conversation bristled10 with the perpendicular11 pronoun, and his pet phrase was, "I says to him—"
He buzzed.
By the time Buzz was fourteen he was stealing brass12 from the yards of the big paper mills down in the Flats and selling it to the junk man. How he escaped the reform school is a mystery. Perhaps it was the blond forelock. At nineteen he was running with the Kearney girl.
Twenty-five years hence Chippewa will have learned to treat the Kearney-girl type as a disease, and a public menace. Which she was. The Kearney girl ran wild in Chippewa, and Chippewa will be paying taxes on the fruit of her liberty for a hundred years to come. The Kearney girl was a beautiful idiot, with a lovely oval face, and limpid13, rather wistful blue eyes, and fair, fine hair, and a long slim neck. She looked very much like those famous wantons of history, from Lucrezia Borgia to Nell Gwyn, that you see pictured in the galleries of Europe—all very mild and girlish, with moist red mouths, like a puppy's, so that you wonder if they have not been basely defamed through all the centuries.
The Kearney girl's father ran a saloon out on Second Avenue, and every few days the Chippewa paper would come out with a story of a brawl14, a knifing, or a free-for-all fight following a Saturday night in Kearney's. The Kearney girl herself was forever running up and down Grand Avenue, which was the main business street. She would trail up and down from the old Armory15 to the post-office and back again. When she turned off into the homeward stretch on Outagamie Street there always slunk after her some stoop-shouldered, furtive16, loping youth. But he never was seen with her on Grand Avenue. She had often been up before old Judge Colt for some nasty business or other. At such times the shabby office of the Justice of the Peace would be full of shawled mothers and heavy-booted, work-worn fathers, and an aunt or two, and some cousins, and always a slinking youth fumbling17 with the hat in his hands, his glance darting19 hither and thither20, from group to group, but never resting for a moment within any one else's gaze. Of all these present, the Kearney girl herself was always the calmest. Old Judge Colt meted21 out justice according to his lights. Unfortunately, the wearing of a yellow badge on the breast was a custom that had gone out some years before.
This nymph it was who had taken a fancy to Buzz Werner. It looked very black for his future.
The strange part of it was that the girl possessed22 little attraction for Buzz. It was she who made all the advances. Buzz had sprung from very decent stock, as you shall see. And something about the sultry unwholesomeness of this girl repelled23 him, though he was hardly aware that this was so. Buzz and his gang would meet down town of a Saturday night, very moist as to hair and clean as to soft shirt. They would lounge on the corner of Grand and Outagamie, in front of Schroeder's brightly lighted drug store, watching the girls go by. They were, for the most part, a pimply-faced lot. They would shuffle24 their feet in a slow jig25, hands in pockets. When a late comer joined them it was considered au fait to welcome him by assuming a fistic attitude, after the style of the pugilists pictured in the barber-shop magazines, and spar a good-natured and make-believe round with him, with much agile26 dancing about in a circle, head held stiffly, body crouching27, while working a rapid and facetious28 right.
This corner, or Donovan's pool-shack, was their club, their forum29. Here they recounted their exploits, bragged30 of their triumphs, boasted of their girls, flexed31 their muscles to show their strength. And all through their talk there occurred again and again a certain term whose use is common to their kind. Their remarks were prefaced and interlarded and concluded with it, so that it was no longer an oath or a blasphemy32.
"Je's, I was sore at 'm. I told him where to get off at. Nobody can talk to me like that. Je's, I should say not."
So accustomed had it grown that it was not even thought of as profanity.
If Buzz's family could have heard him in his talk with his street-corner companions they would not have credited their ears. A mouthy braggart in company is often silent in his own home, and Buzz was no exception to this rule. Fortunately, Buzz's braggadocio33 carried with it a certain conviction. He never kept a job more than a month, and his own account of his leave-taking was always as vainglorious34 as it was dramatic.
"'G'wan!' I says to him, 'Who you talkin' to? I don't have to take nothin' from you nor nobody like you,' I says. 'I'm as good as you are any day, and better. You can have your dirty job,' I says. And with that I give him my time and walked out on 'm. Je's, he was sore!"
They would listen to him, appreciatively, but with certain mental reservations; reservations inevitable35 when a speaker's name is Buzz. One by one they would melt away as their particular girl, after flaunting36 by with a giggle37 and a sidelong glance for the dozenth time, would switch her skirts around the corner of Outagamie Street past the Brill House, homeward bound.
"Well, s'long," they would say. And lounging after her, would overtake her in the shadow of the row of trees in front of the Agassiz School.
If the Werner family had been city folk they would, perforce, have burrowed38 in one of those rabbit-warren tenements39 that line block after block of city streets. But your small-town labouring man is likely to own his two-story frame house with a garden patch in the back and a cement walk leading up to the front porch, and pork roast on Sundays. The Werners had all this, no thanks to Pa Werner; no thanks to Buzz, surely; and little to Minnie Werner who clerked in the Sugar Bowl Candy Store and tried to dress like Angie Hatton whose father owned the biggest Pulp40 and Paper mill in the Fox River Valley. No, the house and the garden, the porch and the cement sidewalk, and the pork roast all had their origin in Ma Werner's tireless energy, in Ma Werner's thrift41; in her patience and unremitting toil42, her nimble fingers and bent43 back, her shapeless figure and unbounded and unexpressed (verbally, that is) love for her children. Pa Werner—sullen44, lazy, brooding, tyrannical—she soothed45 and mollified for the children's sake, or shouted down with a shrewish outburst, as the occasion required. An expert stone-mason by trade, Pa Werner could be depended on only when he was not drinking, or when he was not on strike, or when he had not quarrelled with the foreman. An anarchist46, Pa—dissatisfied with things as they were, but with no plan for improving them. His evil-smelling pipe between his lips, he would sit, stocking-footed, in silence, smoking and thinking vague, formless, surly thoughts. This sullen unrest and rebellion it was that, transmitted to his son, had made Buzz the unruly braggart that he was, and which, twenty or thirty years hence, would find him just such a one as his father—useless, evil-tempered, half brutal47, defiant48 of order.
It was in May, a fine warm sunny day, that Ma Werner, looking up from the garden patch where she was spading, a man's old battered49 felt hat perched grotesquely50 atop her white head, saw Buzz lounging homeward, cutting across lots from Bates Street, his dinner pail glinting in the sun. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Ma Werner straightened painfully and her over-flushed face took on a purplish tinge51. She wiped her moist chin with an apron-corner.
As Buzz espied52 her his gait became a swagger. At sight of that swagger Ma knew. She dropped her spade and plodded53 heavily through the freshly turned earth to the back porch as Buzz turned in at the walk. She shifted her weight ponderously55 as she wiped first one earth-crusted shoe and then the other.
"What's the matter, Ernie? You ain't sick, are you?"
"Naw."
"What you home so early for?"
"Because I feel like it, that's why."
He took the back steps at a bound and slammed the kitchen door behind him. Ma Werner followed heavily after. Buzz was hanging his hat up behind the kitchen door. He turned with a scowl56 as his mother entered. She looked even more ludicrous in the house than she had outside, with her skirts tucked up to make spading the easier, so that there was displayed an unseemly length of thick ankle rising solidly above the old pair of men's side-boots that encased her feet. The battered hat perched rakishly atop her knob of gray-white hair gave her a jaunty57, sporting look, as of a ponderous54, burlesque58 Watteau.
She abandoned pretense59. "Ernie, your pa'll be awful mad. You know the way he carried on the last time."
"Let him. He aint worked five days himself this month." Then, at a sudden sound from the front of the house, "He ain't home, is he?"
"That's the shade flapping."
Buzz turned toward the inside wooden stairway that led to the half-story above. But his mother followed, with surprising agility60 for so heavy a woman. She put a hand on his arm. "Such a good-payin' job, Ernie. An' you said only yesterday you liked it. Somethin' must've happened."
There broke a grim little laugh from Buzz. "Believe me something happened good an' plenty." A little frightened look came into his eyes. "I just had a run-in with young Hatton."
The red faded from her face and a grey-white mask seemed to slip down over it. "You don't mean Hatton! Not Hatton's son. Ernie, you ain't done—"
A dash of his street-corner bravado62 came back to him. "Aw, keep your hair on, Ma. I didn't know it was young Hatton when I hit'm. An' anyway nobody his age is gonna tell me where to get off at. Say, w'en a guy who ain't twenty-three, hardly, and that never done a lick in his life except go to college, the sissy, tries t'—"
But the first sentence only had penetrated63 her brain. She grappled with it, dizzily. "Hit him! Ernie, you don't mean you hit him! Not Hatton's son! Ernie!"
"Sure I did. You oughta seen his face." But there was very little triumph or satisfaction in Buzz Werner's face or voice as he said it. "Course, I didn't know it was him when I done it. I dunno would it have made any difference if I had."
She seemed so old and so shrunken, in spite of her bulk, as she looked up at him. The look in her eyes was so strained. The way her hand brought her apron-corner up to her mouth, as though to stifle64 the fear that shook her, was so groping, somehow, so uncertain, that, paradoxically, the pitifulness of it reacted to make him savage65.
When she quavered her next question, "What was he doin' in the mill?" he turned toward the stairway again, flinging his answer over his shoulder.
"Learnin' the business, that's what. From the ground up, see?" He turned at the first stair and leaned forward and down, one hand on the door-jamb. "Well, believe me he don't use me as no ground-dirt. An' when I'm takin' the screen off the big roll—see?—he comes up to me an' says I'm handlin' it rough an' it's a delicate piece of mechanism66. 'Who're you?' I says. 'Never mind who I am' he says, 'I'm working' on this job,' he says, 'an' this is a paper mill you're workin' in,' he says, 'not a boiler67 factory. Treat the machinery68 accordin', like a real workman,' he says. The simp! I just stepped down off the platform of the big press, and I says, 'Well, you look like a kinda delicate piece of mechanism yourself,' I says, 'an' need careful handlin', so take that for a starter,' I says. An' with that I handed him one in the nose." Buzz laughed, but there was little mirth in it. "I bet he seen enough wheels an' delicate machinery that minute to set up a whole new plant."
There was nothing of mirth in the woman's drawn69 face. "Oh, Ernie, f'r God's sake! What they goin' to do to you!"
He was half way up the narrow stairway, she at the foot of it, peering up at him. "They won't do anything. I guess old Hatton ain't so stuck on havin' his swell70 golf club crowd know his little boy was beat up by one of the workmen."
He was clumping71 about upstairs now. So she turned toward the kitchen, dazedly72. She glanced at the clock. Going on toward five. Still in the absurd hat she got out a panful of potatoes and began to peel them skilfuly, automatically. The seamed and hardened fingers had come honestly by their deftness74. They had twirled and peeled pecks—bushels—tons of these brown balls in their time.
At five-thirty Pa came in. At six, Minnie. She had to go back to the Sugar Bowl until nine. Five minutes later the supper was steaming on the table.
"Ernie," called Ma, toward the ceiling. "Er-nie! Supper's on." The three sat down at the table without waiting. Pa had slipped off his shoes, and was in his stockinged feet. They ate in silence. It was a good meal. A European family of the same class would have considered it a banquet. There were meat and vegetables, butter and home-made bread, preserve and cake, true to the standards of the extravagant75 American labouring-class household. In the summer the garden supplied them with lettuce76, beans, peas, onions, radishes, beets77, potatoes, corn, thanks to Ma's aching back and blistered78 hands. They stored enough vegetables in the cellar to last through the winter.
Buzz usually cleaned up after supper. But to-night, when he came down, he was already clean-shaven, clean-shirted, and his hair was wet from the comb. He took his place in silence. His acid-stained work shoes had been replaced by his good tan ones. Evidently he was going down town after supper. Buzz never took any exercise for the sake of his body's good. Sometimes he and the Lembke boys across the way played a game of ball in the middle of the road, or in the vacant lot, but they did it out of the game instinct, and with no thought of their muscles' gain.
But to-night, evidently, there was to be no ball. Buzz ate little. His mother, forever between the stove and the table, ate less. But that was nothing unusual in her. She waited on the others, but mostly she hovered79 about the boy.
"Ernie, you ain't eaten your potatoes. Look how nice an' mealy they are."
"Don't want none."
"Ernie, would you rather have a baked apple than the raspberry preserve? I fixed80 a pan this morning."
"Naw. Lemme alone. I ain't hungry."
He slouched from the table. Minnie, teacup in hand, regarded him over its rim61 with wide, malicious81 eyes. "I saw that Kearney girl go by here before supper, and she rubbered in like everything."
"You're a liar," said Buzz, unemotionally.
"I did so! She went by and then she came back again. I saw her both times. Say, I guess I ought to know her. Anybody in town'd know Kearney."
Buzz had been headed toward the front porch. He hesitated and turned, now, and picked up the newspaper from the sitting-room82 sofa. Pa Werner, in trousers, shirt and suspenders, was padding about the kitchen with his pipe and tobacco. He came into the sitting room now and stood a moment, his lips twisted about the pipe-stem. The pipe's putt-putting gave warning that he was about to break into unaccustomed speech. He regarded Buzz with beady, narrowed eyes.
"You let me see you around with that Kearney girl and I'll break every bone in your body, and hers too. The hussy!"
"Oh, you will, will you?"
Ma, who had been making countless83 trips from the kitchen to the back garden with water pail and sprinkling can sagging84 from either arm, put in a word to stay the threatening storm. "Now, Pa! Now, Ernie!" The two men subsided85 into bristling86 silence.
Suddenly, "There she is again!" shrilled87 Minnie, from her bedroom. Buzz shrank back in his chair. Old man Werner, with a muttered oath, went to the open doorway88 and stood there, puffing89 savage little spurts90 of smoke streetward. The Kearney girl stared brazenly91 at him as she strolled slowly by, a slim and sinister3 figure. Old man Werner watched her until she passed out of sight.
"You go gettin' mixed up with dirt like that," threatened he, "and I'll learn you. She'll be hangin' around the mill yet, the brass-faced thing. If I hear of it I'll get the foreman to put her off the place. You'll stay home to-night. Carry a pail of water for your ma once."
"Carry it yourself."
Buzz, with a wary92 eye up the street, slouched out to the front porch, into the twilight93 of the warm May evening. Charley Lembke, from his porch across the street, called to him: "Goin' down town?"
"Yeh, I guess so."
"Ain't you afraid of bein' pinched?" Buzz turned his head quickly toward the room just behind him. He turned to go in. Charley's voice came again, clear and far-reaching. "I hear you had a run-in with Hatton's son, and knocked him down. Some class t' you, Buzz, even if it does cost you your job."
From within the sound of a newspaper hurled94 to the floor. Pa Werner was at the door. "What's that! What's that he's sayin'?"
Buzz, cornered, jutted95 a threatening jaw96 at his father and brazened it out. "Can't you hear good?"
"Come on in here."
Buzz hesitated a moment. Then he turned, slowly, and walked into the little sitting room with an attempt at a swagger that failed to convince even himself. He leaned against the side of the door, hands in pockets. Pa Werner faced him, black-browed. "Is that right, what he said? Lembke? Huh?"
"Sure it's right. I had a run-in with Hatton, an' licked him, and give'm my time. What you goin' to do about it?"
Ma Werner was in the room, now. Minnie, passing through on her way to work again, caught the electric current of the storm about to break and escaped it with a parting:
"Oh, for the land's sakes! You two. Always a-fighting."
The two men faced each other. The one a sturdy man-boy nearing twenty, with a great pair of shoulders and a clear eye, a long, quick arm and a deft73 hand—these last his assets as a workman. The other, gnarled, prematurely97 wrinkled, almost gnome-like. This one took his pipe from between his lips and began to speak. The drink he had had at Wenzel's on the way home sparked his speech.
He began with a string of epithets98. They flowed from his lips, an acid stream. Pick and choose as I will, there is none that can be repeated here. Old Man Werner had, perhaps, been something of a tough guy himself, in his youth. As he reviled99 his son now you saw that son, at fifty, just such another stocking-footed, bitter old man, smoking a glum100 pipe on the back porch, summer evenings, and spitting into the fresh young grass.
I don't say that this thought came to Buzz as his father flayed101 him with his abuse. But there was something unusual, surely, in the non-resistance with which he allowed the storm to beat about his head. Something in his steady, unruffled gaze caused the other man to falter102 a little in his tirade103, and finally to stop, almost apprehensively104. He had paid no heed105 to Ma Werner's attempts at pacification106. "Now, Pa!" she had said, over and over, her hand on his arm, though he shook it off again and again. "Now, Pa!—" But he stopped now, fist raised in a last profane107 period. Buzz stood regarding him with his unblinking stare.
Finally: "You through?" said Buzz.
"Ya-as," snarled108 Pa, "I'm through. Get to hell out of here. You'll be hung yet, you loafer. A good-for-nothing bum109, that's what. Get out o' here!"
"I'm gettin'," said Buzz. He took his hat off the hook and wiped it carefully with the lower side of his sleeve, round and round. He placed it on his head, jauntily110. He stepped to the kitchen, took a tooth-pick from the little red-and-white glass holder111 on the table, and—with this emblem112 of insouciance113, at an angle of ninety, between his teeth—strolled indolently, nonchalantly down the front steps, along the cement walk to the street and so toward town. The two old people, left alone in the sudden silence of the house, stared after the swaggering figure until the dim twilight blotted114 it out. And a sinister something seemed to close its icy grip about the heart of one of them. A vague premonition that she could only feel, not express, made her next words seem futile115.
"Pa, you oughtn't to talked to him like that. He's just a little wild. He looked so kind of funny when he went out. I don'no, he looked so kind of—"
"He looked like the bum he is, that's what. No respect for nothing. For his pa, or ma, or nothing. Down on the corner with the rest of 'em, that's where he's goin'. Hatton ain't goin' to let this go by. You see."
But she, on her way to the kitchen, repeated, "I don'no, he looked so kind of funny. He looked so kind of—"
Considering all things—the happenings of the past few hours, at least—Buzz, as he strolled on down toward Grand Avenue with his sauntering, care-free gait, did undoubtedly116 look kind of funny. The red-hot rage of the afternoon and the white-hot rage of the evening had choked the furnace of brain and soul with clinkers so that he was thinking unevenly117 and disconnectedly. On the surface he was cool and unruffled. He stopped for a moment at the railroad tracks to talk with Stumpy Gans, the one-legged gateman. The little bell above Stumpy's shanty118 was ringing its warning, so he strolled leisurely119 over to the depot120 platform to see the 7:15 come in from Chicago. When the train pulled out Buzz went on down the street. His mind was darting here and there, planning this revenge, discarding it; seizing on another, abandoning that. He'd show'm. He'd show'm. Sick of the whole damn bunch, anyway.... Wonder was Hatton going to raise a shindy.... Let'm. Who cares?... The old man was a drunk, that's what.... Ma had looked kinda sick....
He put that uncomfortable thought out of his mind and slammed the door on it. Anyway, he'd show'm.
Out of the shadows of the great trees in front of the Agassiz School stepped the Kearney girl, like a lean and hungry cat. One hand clutched his arm.
Buzz jumped and said something under his breath. Then he laughed, shortly. "Might as well kill a guy as scare him to death!"
She thrust one hand through his arm and linked it with the other. "I've been waiting for you, Buzz."
"Yeh. Well, let me tell you something. You quit traipsing up and down in front of my house, see?"
"I wanted to see you. An' I didn't know whether you was coming down town to-night or not."
"Well, I am. So now you know." He pulled away from her, but she twined her arm the tighter about his.
"Ain't sore at me, are yuh, Buzz?"
"No. Leggo my arm."
"If you're sore because I been foolin' round with that little wart121 of a Donahue—" She turned wise eyes up to him, trying to make them limpid in the darkness.
"What do I care who you run with?"
"Don't you care, Buzz?" The words were soft but there was a steel edge to her utterance122.
"No."
"Oh, Buzz, I'm batty about you. I can't help it, can I? H'm? Look here, you go on to Grand, and hang around for an hour, maybe, and I'll meet you here an' we'll walk a ways. Will you? I got something to tell you."
"Naw, I can't to-night. I'm busy."
And then the steel edge cut. "Buzz, if you turn me down I'll have you up."
"Up?"
"Before old Colt. I can fix up charges. He'll believe it. Say, he knows me, Judge Colt does. I can name you an'—"
"Me!" Sheer amazement123 rang in his voice. "Me? You must be crazy. I ain't had anything to do with you. You make me sick."
"That don't make any difference. You can't prove it. I told you I was crazy about you. I told you—"
He jerked loose from her then and was off. He ran one block. Then, after a backward glance, fell into a quick walk that brought him past the Brill House and to Schroeder's drug store corner. There was his crowd—Spider, and Red, and Bing, and Casey. They took him literally124 unto their breasts. They thumped125 him on the back. They bestowed126 on him the low epithets with which they expressed admiration127. Red worked at one of the bleaching128 vats129 in the Hatton paper mill. The story of Buzz's fistic triumph had spread through the big plant like a flame.
"Go on, Buzz, tell 'em about it," Red urged, now. "Je's, I like to died laughing when I heard it. He must of looked a sight, the poor boob. Go on, Buzz, tell 'em how you says to him he must be a kind of delicate piece of—you know; go on, tell 'em."
Buzz hitched131 himself up with a characteristic gesture, and plunged132 into his story. His audience listened entranced, interrupting him with an occasional "Je's!" of awed133 admiration. But the thing seemed to lack a certain something. Perhaps Casey put his finger on that something when, at the recital's finish he asked:
"Didn't he see you was goin' to hit him?"
"No. He never see a thing."
Casey ruminated134 a moment. "You could of give him a chanst to put up his dukes," he said at last. A little silence fell upon the group. Honour among thieves.
Buzz shifted uncomfortably. "He's a bigger guy than I am. I bet he's over six foot. The papers was always telling how he played football at that college he went to."
Casey spoke up again. "They say he didn't wait for this here draft. He's goin' to Fort Sheridan, around Chicago somewhere, to be made a officer."
"Yeh, them rich guys, they got it all their own way," Spider spoke up, gloomily. "They—"
From down the street came a dull, muffled135 thud-thud-thud-thud. Already Chippewa, Wisconsin, had learned to recognise it. Grand Avenue, none too crowded on this mid-week night, pressed to the curb136 to see. Down the street they stared toward the moving mass that came steadily137 nearer. The listless group on the corner stiffened138 into something like interest.
"Company G," said Red. "I hear they're leavin' in a couple of days."
And down the street they came, thud-thud-thud, Company G, headed for the new red-brick Armory for the building of which they had engineered everything from subscription139 dances and exhibition drills to turkey raffles140. Chippewa had never taken Company G very seriously until now. How could it, when Company G was made up of Willie Kemp, who clerked in Hassell's shoe store; Fred Garvey, the reporter on the Chippewa Eagle; Hermie Knapp, the real-estate man, and Earl Hanson who came around in the morning for your grocery order.
Thud-thud-thud-thud. And to Chippewa, standing141 at the curb, quite suddenly these every-day men and boys were transformed into something remote and almost terrible. Something grim. Something sacrificial. Something sacred.
Thud-thud-thud-thud. Looking straight ahead.
"The poor boobs," said Spider, and spat142, and laughed.
The company passed on down the street—vanished. Grand Avenue went its way.
A little silence fell upon the street-corner group. Bing was the first to speak.
"They won't git me in this draft. I got a mother an' two kid sisters to support."
"Yeh, a swell lot of supportin' you do!"
"Who says I don't! I can prove it."
"They'll get me all right," said Casey. "I ain't kickin'."
"I'm under age," from Red.
Spider said nothing. His furtive eyes darted143 here and there. Spider was of age. And Spider had no family to support. But Spider had reason to know that no examining board would pass him into the army of his country. And it was a reason of which one did not speak. "You're only twenty, ain't you, Buzz?" he asked, to cover the gap in the conversation.
"Yeh." Silence fell again. Then, "But I wouldn't mind goin'. Anything for a change. This place makes me sick."
Spider laughed. "You better be a hero and go and enlist144."
Buzz's head came up with a jerk. "Je's, I never thought of that!"
Red struck an attitude, one hand on his breast. "Now's your chanct, Buzz, to save your country an' your flag. Enlistment145 office's right over the Golden Eagle clothing store. Step up. Don't crowd gents! This way!"
Buzz was staring at him, open-mouthed. His gaze was fixed, tense. Suddenly he seemed to gather all his muscles together as for a spring. But he only threw his cigarette into the gutter146, yawned elaborately, and moved away. "S'long," he said; and lounged off. The others looked after him a moment, puzzled, speculative147. Buzz was not usually so laconic148. But evidently he was leaving with no further speech.
"I guess maybe he ain't so dead sure that Hatton bunch won't git him for this, anyway," Casey said. Then, raising his voice: "Goin' home, Buzz?"
"Yeh."
But he did not. If they had watched him they would have seen him change his lounging gait when he reached the corner. They would have seen him stand a moment, sending a quick glance this way and that, then turn, retrace149 his steps almost at a run, and dart18 into the doorway that led to the flight of wooden stairs at the side of the Golden Eagle clothing store.
A dingy150 room. A man at a bare table. Another seated at the window, his chair tipped back, his feet on the sill, a pipe between his teeth. Buzz, shambling, suddenly awkward, stood in the door.
"This the place where you enlist?"
The man at the table stood up. The chair in front of the open window came down on all-fours.
"Sure," said the first man. "What's your name?"
Buzz told him.
"Meet Sergeant151 Keith. He's a Canadian. Been through the whole game."
Five minutes later Buzz's fine white torso rose above his trousers like a great pillar. Unconsciously his sagging shoulders had straightened. His stomach was held in. His chest jutted, shelf-like. His ribs152 showed through the pink-white flesh.
"Get some of that pork off of him," observed Sergeant Keith, "and he'll do in a couple of Fritzes before he's through."
"Me!" blurted153 Buzz, struggling now with his shirt. "A couple! Say, you don't know me. Whaddyou mean, a couple? I can lick a whole regiment154 of them beerheads with one hand tied behind me an' my feet in a sack." He emerged from the struggle with his shirt, his face very red, his hair rumpled155.
Sergeant Keith smiled a grim little smile. "Keep your shirt on, kid," he said, "and remember, this isn't a fist fight you're going into. It's war."
Buzz, fumbling with his hat, put his question. "When—when do I go?" For he had signed his name in his round, boyish, sixth-grade scrawl156.
"To-morrow. Now listen to these instructions."
"T-to-morrow?" gasped157 Buzz.
He was still gasping158 as he reached the street and struck out toward home. To-morrow! When the Kearney girl again stepped out of the tree-shadows he stared at her as at something remote and trivial.
"I thought you tried to give me the slip, Buzz. Where you been?"
"Never mind where I've been."
She fell into step beside him, but had difficulty in matching his great strides. She caught at his arm. At that Buzz turned and stopped. It was too dark to see his face, but something in his voice—something new, and hard, and resolute—reached even the choked and slimy cells of this creature's consciousness.
"Now looka here. You beat it. I got somethin' on my mind to-night and I can't be bothered with no fool girl, see? Don't get me sore. I mean it."
Her hand dropped away from his arm. "I didn't mean what I said about havin' you up, Buzz; honest t' Gawd I didn't."
"I don't care what you meant."
'Will you meet me to-morrow night? Will you, Buzz?"
"If I'm in this town to-morrow night I'll meet you. Is that good enough?"
He turned and strode away. But she was after him. "Where you goin' to-morrow?"
"I'm goin' to war, that's where."
"Yes you are!" scoffed159 Miss Kearney. Then, at his silence: "You didn't go and do a fool thing like that?"
"I sure did."
"When you goin'?"
"To-morrow."
"Well, of all the big boobs," sneered160 Miss Kearney; "what did you go and do that for?"
"Search me," said Buzz, dully. "Search me."
Then he turned and went on toward home, alone. The Kearney girl's silly, empty laugh came back to him through the darkness. It might have been called a scornful laugh if the Kearney girl had been capable of any emotion so dignified162 as scorn.
The family was still up. The door was open to the warm May night. The Werners, in their moments of relaxation163, were as unbuttoned and highly negligée as one of those group pictures you see of the Robert Louis Stevenson family. Pa, shirt-sleeved, stocking-footed, asleep in his chair. Ma's dress open at the front. Minnie, in an untidy kimono, sewing.
On this flaccid group Buzz burst, bomb-like. He hung his hat on the hook, wordlessly. The noise he made woke his father, as he had meant that it should. There came a muttered growl164 from the old man. Buzz leaned against the stairway door, negligently165. The eyes of the three were on him.
"Well," he said, "I guess you won't be bothered with me much longer." Ma Werner's head came up sharply at that.
"What you done, Ernie?"
"Enlisted166."
"Enlisted—for what?"
"For the war; what do you suppose?"
Ma Werner rose at that, heavily. "Ernie! You never!"
Pa Werner was wide awake now. Out of his memory of the old country, and soldier service there, he put his next question. "Did you sign to it?"
"Yeh."
"When you goin'?"
"To-morrow."
Even Pa Werner gasped at that.
In families like the Werners emotion is rarely expressed. But now, because of something in the stricken face and starting eyes of the woman, and the open-mouthed dumbfoundedness of the old man, and the sudden tender fearfulness in the face of the girl; and because, in that moment, all these seemed very safe, and accustomed, and, somehow, dear, Buzz curled his mouth into the sneer161 of the tough guy and spoke out of the corner of that contorted feature.
"What did you think I was goin' to do? Huh? Stick around here and take dirt from the bunch of you! Nix! I'm through!"
There was nothing dramatic about Buzz's going. He seemed to be whisked away. One moment he was eating his breakfast at an unaccustomed hour, in his best shirt and trousers, his mother, only half understanding even now, standing over him with the coffee pot; the next he was standing with his cheap shiny suitcase in his hand. Then he was waiting on the depot platform, and Hefty Burke, the baggage man, was saying, "Where you goin', Buzz?"
"Goin' to fight the Germans."
Hefty had hooted167 hoarsely168: "Ya-a-as you are, you big bluff169!"
"Who you callin' a bluff, you baggage-smasher, you! I'm goin' to war, I'm tellin' you."
Hefty, still scoffing170, turned away to his work. "Well, then, I guess it's as good as over. Give old Willie a swipe for me, will you?"
"You bet I will. Watch me!"
I think he more than half meant it.
And thus Buzz Werner went to war. He was vague about its locality. Somewhere in Europe. He was pretty sure it was France. A line from his Fourth Grade geography came back to him. "The French," it had said, "are a gay people, fond of dancing and light wines."
Well, that sounded all right.
The things that happened to Buzz Werner in the next twelve months cannot be detailed171 here. They would require the space of what the publishers call a 12-mo volume. Buzz himself could never have told you. Things happened too swiftly, too concentratedly.
Chicago first. Buzz had never seen Chicago. Now that he saw it, he hardly believed it. His first glimpse of it left him cowering172, terrified. The noise, the rush, the glitter, the grimness, the vastness, were like blows upon his defenceless head. They beat the braggadocio and the self-confidence temporarily out of him. But only temporarily.
Then came a camp. A rough, temporary camp compared to which the present cantonments are luxurious173. The United States Government took Buzz Werner by the slack of the trousers and the slack of the mind, and, holding him thus, shook him into shape—and into submission174. And eventually—though it required months—into an understanding of why that submission was manly175, courageous176, and fine. But before he learned that he learned many other things. He learned there was little good in saying, "Aw, g'wan!" to a dapper young lieutenant177 if they clapped you into the guard-house for saying it. There was little point to throwing down your shovel178 and refusing to shovel coal if they clapped you into the guard house for doing it; and made you shovel harder than ever when you came out. He learned what it was to rise at dawn and go thud-thud-thudding down a dirt road for endless weary miles. He became an olive-drab unit in an olive-drab village. He learned what it was to wake up in the morning so sore and lame130 that he felt as if he had been pulled apart, limb from limb, during the night, and never put together again. He stood out with a raw squad179 in the dirt of No Man's Land between barracks and went through exercises that took hold of his great slack muscles and welded them into whip-cords. And in front of him, facing him, stood a slim, six-foot whipper-snapper of a lieutenant, hatless, coatless, tireless, merciless—a creature whom Buzz at first thought he could snap between thumb and finger—like that!—who made life a hell for Buzz Werner. Until his muscles became used to it.
"One—two!—three! One—two—three! One—two—three!" yelled this person. And, "Inhale180! Exhale181! Inhale! Exhale!" till Buzz's lungs were bursting, his eyes were starting from his head, his chest carried a sledge182 hammer inside it, his thigh183-muscles screamed, and his legs, arms, neck, were no longer parts of him, but horrid184 useless burdens, detached, yet clinging. He learned what this person meant when he shouted (always with the rising inflection), "Comp'ny! Right! Whup!" Buzz whupped with the best of 'em. The whipper-snapper seemed tireless. Long after Buzz felt that another moment of it would kill him the lithe185 young lieutenant would be leaping about like a faun, and pride kept Buzz going though he wanted to drop with fatigue186, and his shirt and hair and face were wet with sweat.
So much for his body. It soon became accustomed to the routine, then hardened. His mind was less pliable187. But that, too, was undergoing a change. He found that the topics of conversation that used to interest his little crowd on the street corner in Chippewa were not of much interest, here. There were boys from every part of the great country. And they talked of the places whence they had come and speculated about the places to which they were going. And Buzz listened and learned. There was strangely little talk about girls. There usually is when muscles and mind are being driven to the utmost. But he heard men—men as big as he—speak openly of things that he had always sneered at as soft. After one of these conversations he wrote an awkward, but significant scrawl home to his mother.
"Well Ma," he wrote, "I guess maybe you would like to hear a few words from me. Well I like it in the army it is the life for me you bet. I am feeling great how are you all—"
Ma Werner wasted an entire morning showing it around the neighbourhood, and she read and reread it until it was almost pulp.
Six months of this. Buzz Werner was an intelligent machine composed of steel, cord, and iron. I think he had forgotten that the Kearney girl had ever existed. One day, after three months of camp life, the man in the next cot had thrown him a volume of Kipling. Buzz fingered it, disinterestedly188. Until that moment Kipling had not existed for Buzz Werner. After that moment he dominated his leisure hours. The Y.M.C.A. hut had many battered volumes of this writer. Buzz read them all.
The week before Thanksgiving Buzz found himself on his way to New York. For some reason unexplained to him he was separated from his company in one of the great shake-ups performed for the good of the army. He never saw them again. He was sent straight to a New York camp. When he beheld189 his new lieutenant his limbs became fluid, and his heart leaped into his throat, and his mouth stood open, and his eyes bulged190. It was young Hatton—Harry Hatton—whose aristocratic nose he had punched six months before, in the Hatton Pulp and Paper Mill.
And even as he stared young Hatton fixed him with his eye, and then came over to him and said, "It's all right, Werner."
Buzz Werner could only salute191 with awkward respect, while with one great gulp192 his heart slid back into normal place. He had not thought that Hatton was so tall, or so broad-shouldered, or so—
He no more thought of telling the other men that he had once knocked this man down than he thought of knocking him down again. He would almost as soon have thought of taking a punch at the President.
The day before Thanksgiving Buzz was told he might have a holiday. Also he was given an address and a telephone number in New York City and told that if he so desired he might call at that address and receive a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner. They were expecting him there. That the telephone exchange was Murray Hill, and the street Madison Avenue meant nothing to Buzz. He made the short trip to New York, floundered about the city, found every one willing and eager to help him find the address on the slip, and brought up, finally, in front of the house on Madison Avenue. It was a large, five-story stone place, and Buzz supposed it was a flat, of course. He stood off and surveyed it. Then he ascended194 the steps and rang the bell. They must have been waiting for him. The door was opened by a large amiable-looking, middle-aged195 man who said, "Well, well! Come in, come in, my boy!" a great deal as the folks in Chippewa, Wisconsin, might have said it. The stout196 old party also said he was glad to see him and Buzz believed it. They went upstairs, much to Buzz's surprise. In Buzz's experience upstairs always meant bedrooms. But in this case it meant a great bright sitting room, with books in it, and a fireplace, very cheerful. There were not a lot of people in the room. Just a middle-aged woman in a soft kind of dress, who came to him without any fuss and the first thing he knew he felt acquainted. Within the next fifteen minutes or so some other members of the family seemed to ooze197 in, unnoticeably. First thing you knew, there they were. They didn't pay such an awful lot of attention to you. Just took you for granted. A couple of young kids, a girl of fourteen, and a boy of sixteen who asked you easy questions about the army till you found yourself patronising him. And a tall black-haired girl who made you think of the vamps in the movies, only her eyes were different. And then, with a little rush, a girl about his own age, or maybe younger—he couldn't tell—who came right up to him, and put out her hand, and gave him a grip with her hard little fist, just like a boy, and said, "I'm Joyce Ladd."
"Pleased to meetcha," mumbled198 Buzz. And then he found himself talking to her quite easily. She knew a surprising lot about the army.
"I've two brothers over there," she said. "And all my friends, of course." He found out later, quite by accident, that this boyish, but strangely appealing person belonged to some sort of Motor Service League, and drove an automobile199, every day, from eight to six, up and down and round and about New York, working like a man in the service of the country. He never would have believed that the world held that kind of girl.
Then four other men in uniform came in, and it turned out that three of them were privates like himself, and the other a sergeant. Their awkward entrance made him feel more than ever at ease, and ten minutes later they were all talking like mad, and laughing and joking as if they had known these people for years. They all went in to dinner. Buzz got panicky when he thought of the knives and forks, but that turned out all right, too, because they brought these as you needed them. And besides, the things they gave you to eat weren't much different from the things you had for Sunday or Thanksgiving dinner at home, and it was cooked the way his mother would have cooked it—even better, perhaps. And lots of it. And paper snappers and caps and things, and much laughter and talk. And Buzz Werner, who had never been shown any respect or deference200 in his life, was asked, politely, his opinion of the war, and the army, and when he thought it all would end; and he told them, politely, too.
After dinner Mrs. Ladd said, "What would you boys like to do? Would you like to drive around the city and see New York? Or would you like to go to a matinée, or a picture show? Or do you want to stay here? Some of Joyce's girl friends are coming in a little later."
And Buzz found himself saying, stumblingly, "I—I'd kind of rather stay and talk with the girls." Buzz, the tough guy, blushing like a shy schoolboy.
They did not even laugh at that. They just looked as if they understood that you missed girls at camp. Mrs. Ladd came over to him and put her hand on his arm and said, "That's splendid. We'll all go up to the ballroom201 and dance." And they did. And Buzz, who had learned to dance at places like Kearney's saloon, and at the mill shindigs, glided202 expertly about with Joyce Ladd of Madison Avenue, and found himself seated in a great cushioned window-seat, talking with her about Kipling. It was like talking to another fellow, almost, only it had a thrill in it. She said such comic things. And when she laughed she threw back her head and your eyes were dazzled by her slender white throat. They all stayed for supper. And when they left Mrs. Ladd and Joyce handed them packages that, later, turned out to be cigarettes, and chocolate, and books, and soap, and knitted things and a wallet. And when Buzz opened the wallet and found, with relief, that there was no money in it he knew that he had met and mingled203 with American royalty204 as its equal.
Three days later he sailed for France.
Buzz Werner, the Chippewa tough guy, in Paris! Buzz Werner at Napoleon's tomb, that glorious white marble poem. Buzz Werner in the Place de la Concorde. Eating at funny little Paris restaurants.
Then a new life. Life in a drab, rain-soaked, mud-choked little French village, sleeping in barns, or stables, or hen coops. If the French were "a gay people, fond of dancing and light wines," he'd like to know where it came in! Nothing but drill and mud, mud and drill, and rain, rain, rain! And old women with tragic205 faces, and young women with old eyes. And unbelievable stories of courage and sacrifice. And more rain, and more mud, and more drill. And then—into it!
Into it with both feet. Living in the trenches207. Back home, in camp, they had refused to take the trenches seriously. They had played in them as children play bear under the piano or table, and had refused to keep their heads down. But Buzz learned to keep his down now, quickly enough. A first terrifying stretch of this, then back to the rear again. More mud and drill. Marches so long and arduous208 that walking was no longer walking but a dreadful mechanical motion. He learned what thirst was, did Buzz. He learned what it was to be obliged to keep your mind off the thought of pails of water—pails that slopped and brimmed over, so that you could put your head into them and lip around like a horse.
Then back into the trenches. And finally, over the top! Very little memory of what happened after that. A rush. Trampling209 over soft heaps that writhed210. Some one yelling like an Indian with a voice somehow like his own. The German trench206 reached. At them with his bayonet! He remembered, automatically, how his manual had taught him to jerk out the steel, after you had driven it home. He did it. Into the very trench itself. A great six-foot German struggling with a slim figure that Buzz somehow recognised as his lieutenant, Hatton. A leap at him, like an enraged211 dog:
"G'wan! who you shovin', you big slob you" yelled Buzz (I regret to say). And he thrust at him, and through him. The man released his grappling hold of Hatton's throat, and grunted212, and sat down. And Buzz laughed. And the two went on, Buzz behind his lieutenant, and then something smote213 his thigh, and he too sat down. The dying German had thrown his last bomb, and it had struck home.
Buzz Werner would never again do a double shuffle on Schroeder's drug-store corner.
Hospital days. Hospital nights. A wheel chair. Crutches214. Home.
It was May once more when Buzz Werner's train came into the little red-brick depot at Chippewa, Wisconsin. Buzz, spick and span in his uniform, looked down rather nervously215, and yet with a certain pride at his left leg. When he sat down you couldn't tell which was the real one. As the train pulled in at the Chippewa Junction216, just before reaching the town proper, there was old Bart Ochsner ringing the bell for dinner at the Junction eating house. Well, for the love of Mike! Wouldn't that make you laugh. Ringing that bell, just like always, as if nothing had happened in the last year! Buzz leaned against the window, to see. There was some commotion217 in the train and some one spoke his name. Buzz turned, and there stood Old Man Hatton, and a lot of others, and he seemed to be making a speech, and kind of crying, though that couldn't be possible. And his father was there, very clean and shaved and queer. Buzz caught words about bravery, and Chippewa's pride, and he was fussed to death, and glad when the train pulled in at the Chippewa station. But there the commotion was worse than ever. There was a band, playing away like mad. Buzz's great hands grown very white, were fidgeting at his uniform buttons, and at the stripe on his sleeve, and the medal on his breast. They wouldn't let him carry a thing, and when he came out on the car platform to descend218 there went up a great sound that was half roar and half scream. Buzz Werner was the first of Chippewa's men to come back.
After that it was rather hazy219. There was his mother. His sister Minnie, too. He even saw the Kearney girl, with her loose red mouth, and her silly eyes, and she was as a strange woman to him. He was in Hatton's glittering automobile, being driven down Grand Avenue. There were speeches, and a dinner, and, later, when he was allowed to go home, rather white, a steady stream of people pouring in and out of the house all day. That night, when he limped up the stairs to his hot little room under the roof he was dazed, spent, and not so very happy.
Next morning, though, he felt more himself, and inclined to joke. And then there was a talk with old Man Hatton; a talk that left Buzz somewhat numb193, and the family breathless.
Visitors again, all that afternoon.
After supper he carried water for the garden, against his mother's outraged220 protests.
"What'll folks think!" she said, "you carryin' water for me?"
Afterward221 he took his smart visored cap off the hook and limped down town, his boots and leggings and uniform very spick and span from Ma Werner's expert brushing and rubbing. She refused to let Buzz touch them, although he tried to tell her that he had done that job for a year.
At the corner of Grand and Outagamie, in front of Schroeder's drug store, stood what was left of the gang, and some new members who had come during the year that had passed. Buzz knew them all.
They greeted him at first with a mixture of shyness and resentment222. They eyed his leg, and his uniform, and the metal and ribbon thing that hung at his breast. Bing and Red and Spider were there. Casey was gone.
Finally Spider spat and said, "G'wan, Buzz, give us your spiel about how you saved young Hatton—the simp!"
"Who says he's a simp?" inquired Buzz, very quietly. But there was a look about his jaw.
"Well—anyway—the papers was full of how you was a hero. Say, is that right that old Hatton's goin' to send you to college? Huh? Je's!"
"Yeh," chorused the others, "go on, Buzz. Tell us."
Red put his question. "Tell us about the fightin', Buzz. Is it like they say?"
It was Buzz Werner's great moment. He had pictured it a thousand times in his mind as he lay in the wet trenches, as he plodded the muddy French roads, as he reclined in his wheel chair in the hospital garden. He had them in the hollow of his hand. His eyes brightened. He looked at the faces so eagerly fixed on his utterance.
"G'wan, Buzz," they urged.
Buzz opened his lips and the words he used were the words he might have used a year before, as to choice. "There's nothin' to tell. A guy didn't have no time to be scairt. Everything kind of come at once, and you got yours, or either you didn't. That's all there was to it. Je's, it was fierce!"
They waited. Nothing more. "Yeh, but tell us—"
And suddenly Buzz turned away. The little group about him fell back, respectfully. Something in his face, perhaps. A quietness, a new dignity.
"S'long, boys," he said. And limped off, toward home.
And in that moment Buzz, the bully223 and braggart, vanished forever. And in his place—head high, chest up, eyes clear—limped Ernest Werner, the man.
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1
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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sinisterly
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| 不吉祥地，邪恶地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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32
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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braggadocio
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| n.吹牛大王 | |
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vainglorious
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| adj.自负的；夸大的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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36
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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37
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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38
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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39
tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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40
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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41
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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42
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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43
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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45
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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46
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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47
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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48
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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49
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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50
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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51
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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52
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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54
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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55
ponderously
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56
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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57
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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58
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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59
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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60
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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61
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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62
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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63
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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64
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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65
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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66
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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67
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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68
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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69
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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70
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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71
clumping
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| v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的现在分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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72
dazedly
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| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
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73
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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74
deftness
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75
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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76
lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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77
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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78
blistered
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|
| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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79
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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80
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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81
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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82
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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83
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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84
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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85
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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86
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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87
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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89
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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90
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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91
brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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92
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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93
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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94
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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95
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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96
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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97
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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98
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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99
reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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101
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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102
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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103
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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104
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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105
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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106
pacification
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| n. 讲和，绥靖，平定 | |
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107
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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108
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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109
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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110
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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111
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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112
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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113
insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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114
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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115
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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116
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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117
unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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118
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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119
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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120
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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121
wart
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| n.疣，肉赘；瑕疵 | |
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122
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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123
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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124
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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125
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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128
bleaching
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| 漂白法，漂白 | |
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129
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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130
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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131
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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132
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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133
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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134
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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135
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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136
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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137
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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138
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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139
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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140
raffles
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| n.抽彩售物( raffle的名词复数 )v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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141
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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142
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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143
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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144
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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145
enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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146
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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147
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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148
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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149
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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150
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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151
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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152
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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153
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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155
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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157
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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158
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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159
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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162
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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163
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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164
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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165
negligently
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166
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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167
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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169
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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170
scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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171
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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172
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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173
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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174
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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175
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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176
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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177
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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178
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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179
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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180
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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181
exhale
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| v.呼气，散出，吐出，蒸发 | |
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182
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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183
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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184
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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185
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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186
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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187
pliable
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| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
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188
disinterestedly
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189
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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190
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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191
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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192
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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193
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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194
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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197
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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198
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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200
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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201
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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202
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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203
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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204
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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205
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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206
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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207
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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208
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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209
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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210
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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212
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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213
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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214
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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215
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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216
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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217
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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218
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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219
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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220
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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221
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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222
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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223
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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