The shabby blue office coat hangs on the hook in the little sporting room where Blackie placed it. No one dreams of moving it. There it dangles1, out at elbows, disreputable, its pockets burned from many a hot pipe thrust carelessly into them, its cuffs2 frayed3, its lapels bearing the marks of cigarette, paste-pot and pen.
It is that faded old garment, more than anything else, which makes us fail to realize that its owner will never again slip into its comfortable folds. We cannot believe that a lifeless rag like that can triumph over the man of flesh and blood and nerves and sympathies. With what contempt do we look upon those garments during our lifetime! And how they live on, defying time, long, long after we have been gathered to our last rest.
In some miraculous4 manner Blackie had lived on for two days after that ghastly ride. Peter had been killed instantly, the doctors said. They gave no hope for Blackie. My escape with but a few ridiculous bruises5 and scratches was due, they said, to the fact that I had sat in the tonneau. I heard them all, in a stupor6 of horror and grief, and wondered what plan Fate had in store for me, that I alone should have been spared. Norah and Max came, and took things in charge, and I saw Von Gerhard, but all three appeared dim and shadowy, like figures in a mist. When I closed my eyes I could see Peter's tense figure bending over Blackie at the wheel, and heard his labored7 breathing as he struggled in his mad fury, and felt again the helpless horror that had come to me as we swerved8 off the road and into the ditch below, with Blackie, rigid9 and desperate, still clinging to the wheel. I lived it all over and over in my mind. In the midst of the blackness I heard a sentence that cleared the fog from my mind, and caused me to raise myself from my pillows.
Some one—Norah, I think—had said that Blackie was conscious, and that he was asking for some of the men at the office, and for me. For me! I rose and dressed, in spite of Norah's protests. I was quite well, I told them. I must see him. I shook them off with trembling fingers and when they saw that I was quite determined10 they gave in, and Von Gerhard telephoned to the hospital to learn the hour at which I might meet the others who were to see Blackie for a brief moment.
I met them in the stiff little waiting room of he hospital—Norberg, Deming, Schmidt, Holt—men who had known him from the time when they had yelled, “Heh, boy!” at him when they wanted their pencils sharpened. Awkwardly we followed the fleet-footed nurse who glided12 ahead of us down the wide hospital corridors, past doorways14 through which we caught glimpses of white beds that were no whiter than the faces that lay on the pillows. We came at last into a very still and bright little room where Blackie lay.
Had years passed over his head since I saw him last? The face that tried to smile at us from the pillow was strangely wizened15 and old. It was as though a withering16 blight17 had touched it. Only the eyes were the same. They glowed in the sunken face, beneath the shock of black hair, with a startling luster18 and brilliancy.
I do not know what pain he suffered. I do not know what magic medicine gave him the strength to smile at us, dying as he was even then.
“Well, what do you know about little Paul Dombey?” he piped in a high, thin voice. The shock of relief was too much. We giggled20 hysterically21, then stopped short and looked at each other, like scared and naughty children.
“Sa-a-ay, boys and girls, cut out the heavy thinking parts. Don't make me do all the social stunts22. What's the news? What kind of a rotten cotton sportin' sheet is that dub23 Callahan gettin' out? Who won to-day—Cubs or Pirates? Norberg, you goat, who pinned that purple tie on you?”
He was so like the Blackie we had always known that we were at our ease immediately. The sun shone in at the window, and some one laughed a little laugh somewhere down the corridor, and Deming, who is Irish, plunged24 into a droll25 description of a brand-new office boy who had arrived that day.
“S'elp me, Black, the kid wears spectacles and a Norfolk suit, and low-cut shoes with bows on 'em. On the square he does. Looks like one of those Boston infants you see in the comic papers. I don't believe he's real. We're saving him until you get back, if the kids in the alley26 don't chew him up before that time.”
An almost imperceptible shade passed over Blackie's face. He closed his eyes for a moment. Without their light his countenance27 was ashen28, and awful.
A nurse in stripes and cap appeared in the doorway13. She looked keenly at the little figure in the bed. Then she turned to us.
“You must go now,” she said. “You were just to see him for a minute or two, you know.”
Blackie summoned the wan11 ghost of a smile to his lips. “Guess you guys ain't got th' stimulatin' effect that a bunch of live wires ought to have. Say, Norberg, tell that fathead, Callahan, if he don't keep the third drawer t' the right in my desk locked, th' office kids'll swipe all the roller rink passes surest thing you know.”
“I'll—tell him, Black,” stammered29 Norberg, and turned away.
They said good-by, awkwardly enough. Not one of them that did not owe him an unpayable debt of gratitude30. Not one that had not the memory of some secret kindness stored away in his heart. It was Blackie who had furnished the money that had sent Deming's sick wife west. It had been Blackie who had rescued Schmidt time and again when drink got a strangle-hold. Blackie had always said: “Fire Schmidt! Not much! Why, Schmidt writes better stuff drunk than all the rest of the bunch sober.” And Schmidt would be granted another reprieve31 by the Powers that Were.
Suddenly Blackie beckoned32 the nurse in the doorway. She came swiftly and bent33 over him.
“Gimme two minutes more, that's a good nursie. There's something I want to say t' this dame34. It's de rigger t' hand out last messages, ain't it?”
The nurse looked at me, doubtfully. “But you're not to excite yourself.”
“Sa-a-ay, girl, this ain't goin' t' be no scene from East Lynne. Be a good kid. The rest of the bunch can go.”
And so, when the others had gone, I found myself seated at the side of his bed, trying to smile down at him. I knew that there must be nothing to excite him. But the words on my lips would come.
“Blackie,” I said, and I struggled to keep my voice calm and emotionless, “Blackie, forgive me. It is all my fault—my wretched fault.”
“Now, cut that,” interrupted Blackie. “I thought that was your game. That's why I said I wanted t' talk t' you. Now, listen. Remember my tellin' you, a few weeks ago, 'bout19 that vacation I was plannin'? This is it, only it's come sooner than I expected, that's all. I seen two three doctor guys about it. Your friend Von Gerhard was one of 'em. They didn't tell me t' take no ocean trip this time. Between 'em, they decided35 my vacation would come along about November, maybe. Well, I beat 'em to it, that's all. Sa-a-ay, girl, I ain't kickin'. You can't live on your nerves and expect t' keep goin'. Sooner or later you'll be suein' those same nerves for non-support. But, kid, ain't it a shame that I got to go out in a auto36 smashup, in these days when even a airship exit don't make a splash on the front page!”
The nervous brown hand was moving restlessly over the covers. Finally it met my hand, and held it in a tense little grip.
“We've been good pals37, you and me, ain't we, kid?”
“Yes, Blackie.”
“Ain't regretted it none?”
“Regretted it! I am a finer, truer, better woman for having known you, Blackie.”
He gave a little contented38 sigh at that, and his eyes closed. When he opened them the old, whimsical smile wrinkled his face.
“This is where I get off at. It ain't been no long trip, but sa-a-ay, girl, I've enjoyed every mile of the road. All kinds of scenery—all kinds of lan'scape—plain—fancy—uphill—downhill—”
I leaned forward, fearfully.
“Not—yet,” whispered Blackie. “Say Dawn—in the story books—they—always—are strong on the—good-by kiss, what?”
And as the nurse appeared in the doorway again, disapproval39 on her face, I stooped and gently pressed my lips to the pain-lined cheek.
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dangles
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悬吊着( dangle的第三人称单数 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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cuffs
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n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打,拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3
frayed
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adj.磨损的v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
miraculous
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adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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5
bruises
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n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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6
stupor
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v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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labored
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adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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8
swerved
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v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
rigid
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adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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wan
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(wide area network)广域网 | |
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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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13
doorway
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n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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14
doorways
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n.门口,门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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15
wizened
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adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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16
withering
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使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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17
blight
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n.枯萎病;造成破坏的因素;vt.破坏,摧残 | |
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18
luster
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n.光辉;光泽,光亮;荣誉 | |
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19
bout
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n.侵袭,发作;一次(阵,回);拳击等比赛 | |
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20
giggled
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v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
hysterically
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ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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22
stunts
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n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 );(广告中)引人注目的花招;愚蠢行为;危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长],抑制,妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23
dub
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vt.(以某种称号)授予,给...起绰号,复制 | |
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24
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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25
droll
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adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
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26
alley
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n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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27
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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28
ashen
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adj.灰的 | |
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29
stammered
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v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
gratitude
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adj.感激,感谢 | |
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31
reprieve
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n.暂缓执行(死刑);v.缓期执行;给…带来缓解 | |
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beckoned
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v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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34
dame
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n.女士 | |
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decided
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adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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36
auto
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n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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37
pals
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n.朋友( pal的名词复数 );老兄;小子;(对男子的不友好的称呼)家伙 | |
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38
contented
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adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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39
disapproval
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n.反对,不赞成 | |
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