From the other side of the great cement-floored enclosure, or in muffled5 tones from beneath a car: "Whatcha want?"
"Dame6 on the wire."
"I ain't in."
The obliging voice again, dutifully repeating the message: "He ain't in.... Well, it's hard to say. He might be in in a couple hours and [Pg 2]then again he might not be back till late. I guess he's went to Hammond on a job——" (Warming to his task now.) "Say, won't I do?... Who's fresh! Aw, say, lady!"
You'd think, after repeated rebuffs of this sort, she could not possibly be so lacking in decent pride as to leave her name for Smitty or Mike or Elmer to bandy about. But she invariably did, baffled by Nick's elusiveness8. She was likely to be any one of a number. Miss Bauers phoned: Will you tell him, please? (A nasal voice, and haughty9, with the hauteur10 that seeks to conceal11 secret fright.) Tell him it's important. Miss Ahearn phoned: Will you tell him, please? Just say Miss Ahearn. A-h-e-a-r-n. Miss Olson: Just Gertie. But oftenest Miss Bauers.
Cupid's messenger, wearing grease-grimed overalls12 and the fatuous13 grin of the dalliant male, would transmit his communication to the uneager Nick.
"'S wonder you wouldn't answer the phone once yourself. Says you was to call Miss Bauers any time you come in between one and six at Hyde Park—wait a min't'—yeh—Hyde Park 6079, and any time after six at——"
"Wha'd she want?"
"Well, how the hell should I know! Says call Miss Bauers any time between one and six at Hyde Park 6——"[Pg 3]
"Swell14 chanst. Swell chanst!"
Which explains why the calls came oftenest for Nick. He was so indifferent to them. You pictured the patient and persistent15 Miss Bauers, or the oxlike Miss Olson, or Miss Ahearn, or just Gertie hovering16 within hearing distance of the telephone listening, listening—while one o'clock deepened to six—for the call that never came; plucking up fresh courage at six until six o'clock dragged on to bedtime. When next they met: "I bet you was there all the time. Pity you wouldn't answer a call when a person leaves their name. You could of give me a ring. I bet you was there all the time."
"Well, maybe I was."
Bewildered, she tried to retaliate17 with the boomerang of vituperation.
How could she know? How could she know that this slim, slick young garage mechanic was a woodland creature in disguise—a satyr in store clothes—a wild thing who perversely18 preferred to do his own pursuing? How could Miss Bauers know—she who cashiered in the Green Front Grocery and Market on Fifty-third Street? Or Miss Olson, at the Rialto ticket window? Or the Celtic, emotional Miss Ahearn, the manicure? Or Gertie the goof19? They knew nothing of mythology20; of pointed21 ears and pug noses and goat's feet. Nick's ears, to their fond gaze, presented an honest red surface pro[Pg 4]truding from either side of his head. His feet, in tan laced shoes, were ordinary feet, a little more than ordinarily expert, perhaps, in the convolutions of the dance at Englewood Masonic Hall, which is part of Chicago's vast South Side. No; a faun, to Miss Bauers, Miss Olson, Miss Ahearn, and just Gertie, was one of those things in the Lincoln Park Zoo.
Perhaps, sometimes, they realized, vaguely22, that Nick was different. When, for example, they tried—and failed—to picture him looking interestedly at one of those three-piece bedroom sets glistening23 like pulled taffy in the window of the installment24 furniture store, while they, shy yet proprietary25, clung to his arm and eyed the price ticket. Now $98.50. You couldn't see Nick interested in bedroom sets, in price tickets, in any of those settled, fixed26, everyday things. He was fluid, evasive, like quicksilver, though they did not put it thus.
Miss Bauers, goaded27 to revolt, would say pettishly28: "You're like a mosquito, that's what. Person never knows from one minute to the other where you're at."
"Yeh," Nick would retort. "When you know where a mosquito's at, what do you do to him? Plenty. I ain't looking to be squashed."
Miss Ahearn, whose public position (the Hygienic Barber Shop. Gent's manicure, 50c.) offered un[Pg 5]limited social opportunities, would assume a gay indifference29. "They's plenty boys begging to take me out every hour in the day. Swell lads, too. I ain't waiting round for any greasy30 mechanic like you. Don't think it. Say, lookit your nails! They'd queer you with me, let alone what else all is wrong with you."
In answer Nick would put one hand—one broad, brown, steel-strong hand with its broken discoloured nails—on Miss Ahearn's arm, in its flimsy georgette sleeve. Miss Ahearn's eyelids32 would flutter and close, and a little shiver would run with icy-hot feet all over Miss Ahearn.
Nick was like that.
Nick's real name wasn't Nick at all—or scarcely at all. His last name was Nicholas, and his parents, long before they became his parents, traced their origin to some obscure Czechoslovakian province—long before we became so glib33 with our Czechoslovakia. His first name was Dewey, knowing which you automatically know the date of his birth. It was a patriotic34 but unfortunate choice on the part of his parents. The name did not fit him; was too mealy; not debonair35 enough. Nick. Nicky in tenderer moments (Miss Bauers, Miss Olson, Miss Ahearn, just Gertie, et al.).
His method with women was firm and somewhat stern, but never brutal36. He never waited for them[Pg 6] if they were late. Any girl who assumed that her value was enhanced in direct proportion to her tardiness37 in keeping an engagement with Nick found herself standing38 disconsolate39 on the corner of Fifty-third and Lake trying to look as if she were merely waiting for the Lake Park car and not peering wistfully up and down the street in search of a slim, graceful40, hurrying figure that never came.
It is difficult to convey in words the charm that Nick possessed41. Seeing him, you beheld42 merely a medium-sized young mechanic in reasonably grimed garage clothes when working; and in tight pants, tight coat, silk shirt, long-visored green cap when at leisure. A rather pallid43 skin due to the nature of his work. Large deft44 hands, a good deal like the hands of a surgeon, square, blunt-fingered, spatulate. Indeed, as you saw him at work, a wire-netted electric bulb held in one hand, the other plunged45 deep into the vitals of the car on which he was engaged, you thought of a surgeon performing a major operation. He wore one of those round skullcaps characteristic of his craft (the brimless crown of an old felt hat). He would deftly48 remove the transmission case and plunge46 his hand deep into the car's guts49, feeling expertly about with his engine-wise fingers as a surgeon feels for liver, stomach, gall50 bladder, intestines51, appendix. When he brought up his hand, all dripping with grease (which is the warm[Pg 7] blood of the car), he invariably had put his finger on the sore spot.
All this, of course, could not serve to endear him to the girls. On the contrary, you would have thought that his hands alone, from which he could never quite free the grease and grit52, would have caused some feeling of repugnance53 among the lily-fingered. But they, somehow, seemed always to be finding an excuse to touch him: his tie, his hair, his coat sleeve. They seemed even to derive54 a vicarious thrill from holding his hat or cap when on an outing. They brushed imaginary bits of lint55 from his coat lapel. They tried on his seal ring, crying: "Oo, lookit, how big it is for me, even my thumb!" He called this "pawing a guy over"; and the lint ladies he designated as "thread pickers."
No; it can't be classified, this powerful draw he had for them. His conversation furnished no clue. It was commonplace conversation, limited, even dull. When astonished, or impressed, or horrified56, or amused, he said: "Ken31 yuh feature that!" When emphatic57 or confirmatory, he said: "You tell 'em!"
It wasn't his car and the opportunities it furnished for drives, both country and city. That motley piece of mechanism58 represented such an assemblage of unrelated parts as could only have been made to co?rdinate under Nick's expert guidance. It was out of commission more than half the time, and[Pg 8] could never be relied upon to furnish a holiday. Both Miss Bauers and Miss Ahearn had twelve-cylinder opportunities that should have rendered them forever unfit for travel in Nick's one-lung vehicle of locomotion59.
It wasn't money. Though he was generous enough with what he had, Nick couldn't be generous with what he hadn't. And his wage at the garage was $40 a week. Miss Ahearn's silk stockings cost $4.50.
His unconcern should have infuriated them, but it served to pique60. He wasn't actually as unconcerned as he appeared, but he had early learned that effort in their direction was unnecessary. Nick had little imagination; a gorgeous selfishness; a tolerantly contemptuous liking61 for the sex. Naturally, however, his attitude toward them had been somewhat embittered62 by being obliged to watch their method of driving a car in and out of the Ideal Garage doorway63. His own manipulation of the wheel was nothing short of wizardry.
He played the harmonica.
Each Thursday afternoon was Nick's half day off. From twelve until seven-thirty he was free to range the bosky highways of Chicago. When his car—he called it "the bus"—was agreeable, he went awheel in search of amusement. The bus being indisposed, he went afoot. He rarely made plans in advance; usually was accompanied by some success[Pg 9]ful telephonee. He rather liked to have a silken skirt beside him fluttering and flirting64 in the breeze as he broke the speed regulations.
On this Thursday afternoon in July he had timed his morning job to a miraculous65 nicety so that at the stroke of twelve his workaday garments dropped from him magically, as though he were a male (and reversed) Cinderella. There was a wash room and a rough sort of sleeping room containing two cots situated66 in the second story of the Ideal Garage. Here Nick shed the loose garments of labour for the fashionably tight habiliments of leisure. Private chauffeurs67 whose employers housed their cars in the Ideal Garage used this nook for a lounge and smoker69. Smitty, Mike, Elmer, and Nick snatched stolen siestas70 there in the rare absences of the manager. Sometimes Nick spent the night there when forced to work overtime71. His home life, at best, was a sketchy72 affair. Here chauffeurs, mechanics, washers lolled at ease exchanging soft-spoken gossip, motor chat, speculation73, comment, and occasional verbal obscenity. Each possessed a formidable knowledge of that neighbourhood section of Chicago known as Hyde Park. This knowledge was not confined to car costs and such impersonal75 items, but included meals, scandals, relationships, finances, love affairs, quarrels, peccadillos. Here Nick often played his harmonica, his lips sweeping76 the metal[Pg 10] length of it in throbbing77 rendition of such sure-fire sentimentality as The Long, Long Trail, or Mammy, while the others talked, joked, kept time with tapping feet or wagging heads.
To-day the hot little room was empty except for Nick, shaving before the cracked mirror on the wall, and old Elmer, reading a scrap78 of yesterday's newspaper as he lounged his noon hour away. Old Elmer was thirty-seven, and Nicky regarded him as an octogenarian. Also, old Elmer's conversation bored Nick to the point of almost sullen79 resentment80. Old Elmer was a family man. His talk was all of his family—the wife, the kids, the flat. A garrulous81 person, lank82, pasty, dish-faced, and amiable83. His half day off was invariably spent tinkering about the stuffy84 little flat—painting, nailing up shelves, mending a broken window shade, puttying a window, playing with his pasty little boy, aged47 sixteen months, and his pasty little girl, aged three years. Next day he regaled his fellow workers with elaborate recitals85 of his holiday hours.
"Believe me, that kid's a caution. Sixteen months old, and what does he do yesterday? He unfastens the ketch on the back-porch gate. We got a gate on the back porch, see." (This frequent "see" which interlarded Elmer's verbiage86 was not used in an interrogatory way, but as a period, and by way of emphasis. His voice did not take the rising inflec[Pg 11]tion as he uttered it.) "What does he do, he opens it. I come home, and the wife says to me: 'Say, you better get busy and fix a new ketch on that gate to the back porch. Little Elmer, first thing I know, he'd got it open to-day and was crawling out almost.' Say, can you beat that for a kid sixteen months——"
Nick had finished shaving, had donned his clean white soft shirt. His soft collar fitted to a miracle about his strong throat. Nick's sartorial87 effects were a triumph—on forty a week. "Say, can't you talk about nothing but that kid of yours? I bet he's a bum88 specimen89 at that. Runt, like his pa."
Elmer flung down his newspaper in honest indignation as Nick had wickedly meant he should. "Is that so! Why, we was wrastling round—me and him, see—last night on the floor, and what does he do, he raises his mitt3 and hands me a wallop in the stomick it like to knock the wind out of me. That's all. Sixteen months——"
"Yeh. I suppose this time next year he'll be boxing for money."
Elmer resumed his paper. "What do you know." His tone mingled90 pity with contempt.
Nick took a last critical survey of the cracked mirror's reflection and found it good. "Nothing, only this: you make me sick with your kids and your missus and your place. Say, don't you never have no fun?"[Pg 12]
"Fun! Why, say, last Sunday we was out to the beach, and the kid swum out first thing you know——"
"Oh, shut up!" He was dressed now. He slapped his pockets. Harmonica. Cigarettes. Matches. Money. He was off, his long-visored cloth cap pulled jauntily91 over his eyes.
Elmer, bearing no rancour, flung a last idle query92: "Where you going?"
"How should I know? Just bumming93 around. Bus is outa commission, and I'm outa luck."
He clattered94 down the stairs, whistling.
Next door for a shine at the Greek bootblack's. Enthroned on the dais, a minion95 at his feet, he was momentarily monarchial96. How's the boy? Good? Same here. Down, his brief reign97 ended. Out into the bright noon-day glare of Fifty-third Street.
A fried-egg sandwich. Two blocks down and into the white-tiled lunchroom. He took his place in the row perched on stools in front of the white slab98, his feet on the railing, his elbows on the counter. Four white-aproned vestals with blotchy99 skins performed rites100 over the steaming nickel urns101, slid dishes deftly along the slick surface of the white slab, mopped up moisture with a sly grey rag. No nonsense about them. This was the rush hour. Hungry men from the shops and offices and garages of the[Pg 13] district were bent102 on food (not badinage). They ate silently, making a dull business of it. Coffee? What kinda pie do you want? No fooling here. "Hello, Jessie."
As she mopped the slab in front of him you noticed a slight softening103 of her features, intent so grimly on her task. "What's yours?"
"Bacon-and-egg sandwich. Glass of milk. Piece of pie. Blueberry."
Ordinarily she would not have bothered. But with him: "The blueberry ain't so good to-day, I noticed. Try the peach?"
"All right." He looked at her. She smiled. Incredibly, the dishes ordered seemed to leap out at her from nowhere. She crashed them down on the glazed104 white surface in front of him. The bacon-and-egg sandwich was served open-faced, an elaborate confection. Two slices of white bread, side by side. On one reposed105 a fried egg, hard, golden, delectable106, indigestible. On the other three crisp curls of bacon. The ordinary order held two curls only. A dish so rich in calories as to make it food sufficient for a day. Jessie knew nothing of calories, nor did Nick. She placed a double order of butter before him—two yellow pats, moisture-beaded. As she scooped108 up his milk from the can you saw that the glass was but three quarters filled. From a deep crock she ladled a smaller scoop107 and[Pg 14] filled the glass to the top. The deep crock held cream. Nick glanced up at her again. Again Jessie smiled. A plain damsel, Jessie, and capable. She went on about her business. What's yours? Coffee with? White or rye? No nonsense about her. And yet: "Pie all right?"
"Yeh. It's good."
She actually blushed.
He finished, swung himself off the stool, nodded to Jessie. She stacked his dishes with one lean, capable hand, mopped the slab with the other, but as she made for the kitchen she flung a glance at him over her shoulder.
"Day off?"
"Yeh."
"Some folks has all the luck."
He grinned. His teeth were strong and white and even. He walked toward the door with his light quick step, paused for a toothpick as he paid his check, was out again into the July sunlight. Her face became dull again.
Well, not one o'clock. Guessed he'd shoot a little pool. He dropped into Moriarty's cigar store. It was called a cigar store because it dealt in magazines, newspapers, soft drinks, golf balls, cigarettes, pool, billiards109, chocolates, chewing gum, and cigars. In the rear of the store were four green-topped tables, three for pool and one for billiards. He[Pg 15] hung about aimlessly, watching the game at the one occupied table. The players were slim young men like himself, their clothes replicas110 of his own, their faces lean and somewhat hard. Two of them dropped out. Nick took a cue from the rack, shed his tight coat. They played under a glaring electric light in the heat of the day, yet they seemed cool, aloof111, immune from bodily discomfort112. It was a strangely silent game and as mirthless as that of the elfin bowlers113 in Rip Van Winkle. The slim-waisted shirted figures bent plastically over the table in the graceful postures114 of the game. You heard only the click of the balls, an occasional low-voiced exclamation115. A solemn crew, and unemotional.
Now and then: "What's all the shootin' fur?"
"In she goes."
Nick, winner, tired of it in less than an hour. He bought a bottle of some acidulous116 drink just off the ice and refreshed himself with it, drinking from the bottle's mouth. He was vaguely restless, dissatisfied. Out again into the glare of two o'clock Fifty-third Street. He strolled up a block toward Lake Park Avenue. It was hot. He wished the bus wasn't sick. Might go in swimming, though. He considered this idly. Hurried steps behind him. A familiar perfume wafted117 to his senses. A voice nasal yet cooing. Miss Bauers. Miss Bauers on pleasure bent, palpably, being attired118 in the briefest[Pg 16] of silks, white-strapped slippers119, white silk stockings, scarlet120 hat. The Green Front Grocery and Market closed for a half day each Thursday afternoon during July and August. Nicky had not availed himself of the knowledge.
"Well, if it ain't Nicky! I just seen you come out of Moriarty's as I was passing." (She had seen him go in an hour before and had waited a patient hour in the drug store across the street.) "What you doing around loose this hour the day, anyway?"
"I'm off 'safternoon."
"Are yuh? So'm I." Nicky said nothing. Miss Bauers shifted from one plump silken leg to the other. "What you doing?"
"Oh, nothing much."
"So'm I. Let's do it together." Miss Bauers employed the direct method.
"Well," said Nick, vaguely. He didn't object particularly. And yet he was conscious of some formless programme forming mistily121 in his mind—a programme that did not include the berouged, be-powdered, plump, and silken Miss Bauers.
"I phoned you this morning, Nicky. Twice."
"Yeh?"
"They said you wasn't in."
"Yeh?"
A hard young woman, Miss Bauers, yet simple:[Pg 17] powerfully drawn122 toward this magnetic and careless boy; powerless to forge chains strong enough to hold him. "Well, how about Riverview? I ain't been this summer."
"Oh, that's so darn far. Take all day getting there, pretty near."
"Not driving, it wouldn't."
"I ain't got the bus. Busted124."
His apathy125 was getting on her nerves. "How about a movie, then?" Her feet hurt. It was hot.
His glance went up the street toward the Harper, down the street toward the Hyde Park. The sign above the Harper offered Mother o' Mine. The lettering above the Hyde Park announced Love's Sacrifice.
"Gawd, no," he made decisive answer.
Miss Bauers's frazzled nerves snapped. "You make me sick! Standing there. Nothing don't suit you. Say, I ain't so crazy to go round with you. Cheap guy! Prob'ly you'd like to go over to Wooded Island or something, in Jackson Park, and set on the grass and feed the squirrels. That'd be a treat for me, that would." She laughed a high, scornful tear-near laugh.
"Why—say——" Nick stared at her, and yet she felt he did not see her. A sudden peace came into his face—the peace of a longing126 fulfilled. He turned his head. A Lake Park Avenue street car[Pg 18] was roaring its way toward them. He took a step toward the roadway. "I got to be going."
Fear flashed its flame into Miss Bauers's pale blue eyes. "Going! How do you mean, going? Going where?"
"I got to be going." The car had stopped opposite them. His young face was stern, implacable. Miss Bauers knew she was beaten, but she clung to hope tenaciously127, piteously. "I got to see a party, see?"
"You never said anything about it in the first place. Pity you wouldn't say so in the first place. Who you got to see, anyway?" She knew it was useless to ask. She knew she was beating her fists against a stone wall, but she must needs ask notwithstanding: "Who you got to see?"
"I got to see a party. I forgot." He made the car step in two long strides; had swung himself up. "So long!" The car door slammed after him. Miss Bauers, in her unavailing silks, stood disconsolate on the hot street corner.
He swayed on the car platform until Sixty-third Street was reached. There he alighted and stood a moment at the curb128 surveying idly the populous129 corner. He purchased a paper bag of hot peanuts from a vender's glittering scarlet and nickel stand, and crossed the street into the pathway that led to Jackson Park, munching130 as he went. In an open[Pg 19] space reserved for games some boys were playing baseball with much hoarse131 hooting132 and frenzied133 action. He drew near to watch. The ball, misdirected, sailed suddenly toward him. He ran backward at its swift approach, leaped high, caught it, and with a long curving swing, so easy as to appear almost effortless, sent it hurtling back. The lad on the pitcher's mound134 made as if to catch it, changed his mind, dodged135, started after it.
The boy at bat called to Nick: "Heh, you! Wanna come on and pitch?"
Nick shook his head and went on.
He wandered leisurely136 along the gravel137 path that led to the park golf shelter. The wide porch was crowded with golfers and idlers. A foursome was teed up at the first tee. Nick leaned against a porch pillar waiting for them to drive. That old boy had pretty good practise swing ... Stiff, though ... Lookit that dame. Je's! I bet she takes fifteen shots before she ever gets on to the green ... There, that kid had pretty good drive. Must of been hundred and fifty, anyway. Pretty good for a kid.
Nick, in the course of his kaleidoscopic138 career, had been a caddie at thirteen in torn shirt and flapping knickers. He had played the smooth, expert, scornful game of the caddie with a natural swing from the lithe139 waist and a follow-through that was[Pg 20] the envy of the muscle-bound men who watched him. He hadn't played in years. The game no longer interested him. He entered the shelter lunchroom. The counters were lined with lean, brown, hungry men and lean, brown, hungry women. They were eating incredible dishes considering that the hour was 3 P. M. and the day a hot one. Corned-beef hash with a poached egg on top; wieners and potato salad; meat pies; hot roast beef sandwiches; steaming cups of coffee in thick white ware140; watermelon. Nick slid a leg over a stool as he had done earlier in the afternoon. Here, too, the Hebes were of stern stuff, as they needs must be to serve these ravenous141 hordes142 of club swingers who swarmed143 upon them from dawn to dusk. Their task it was to wait upon the golfing male, which is man at his simplest—reduced to the least common denominator and shorn of all attraction for the female eye and heart. They represented merely hungry mouths, weary muscles, reaching fists. The waitresses served them as a capable attendant serves another woman's child—efficiently and without emotion.
"Blueberry pie à la mode," said Nick—"with strawberry ice cream."
Inured144 as she was to the horrors of gastronomic145 miscegenation146, the waitress—an old girl—recoiled at this.
"Say, I don't think you'd like that. They don't[Pg 21] mix so very good. Why don't you try the peach pie instead with the strawberry ice cream—if you want strawberry?" He looked so young and cool and fresh.
"Blueberry," repeated Nick sternly, and looked her in the eye. The old waitress laughed a little and was surprised to find herself laughing. "'S for you to say." She brought him the monstrous147 mixture, and he devoured148 it to the last chromatic149 crumb150.
"Nothing the matter with that," he remarked as she passed, dish-laden.
She laughed again tolerantly, almost tenderly. "Good thing you're young." Her busy glance lingered a brief moment on his face. He sauntered out.
Now he took the path to the right of the shelter, crossed the road, struck the path again, came to a rustic151 bridge that humped high in the middle, spanning a cool green stream, willow-bordered. The cool green stream was an emerald chain that threaded its way in a complete circlet about the sylvan152 spot known as Wooded Island, relic153 of World's Fair days.
The little island lay, like a thing under enchantment154, silent, fragrant155, golden, green, exquisite156. Squirrels and blackbirds, rabbits and pigeons mingled in ?sopian accord. The air was warm and[Pg 22] still, held by the encircling trees and shrubbery. There was not a soul to be seen. At the far north end the two Japanese model houses, survivors157 of the exposition, gleamed white among the trees.
Nick stood a moment. His eyelids closed, languorously158. He stretched his arms out and up deliciously, bringing his stomach in and his chest out. He took off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket. He strolled across the thick cool nap of the grass, deserting the pebble159 path. At the west edge of the island a sign said: "No One Allowed in the Shrubbery." Ignoring it, Nick parted the branches, stopped and crept, reached the bank that sloped down to the cool green stream, took off his coat, and lay relaxed upon the ground. Above him the tree branches made a pattern against the sky. Little ripples160 lipped the shore. Scampering161 velvet-footed things, feathered things, winged things made pleasant stir among the leaves. Nick slept.
He awoke in half an hour refreshed. He lay there, thinking of nothing—a charming gift. He found a stray peanut in his pocket and fed it to a friendly squirrel. His hand encountered the cool metal of his harmonica. He drew out the instrument, placed his coat, folded, under his head, crossed his knees, one leg swinging idly, and began to play rapturously. He was perfectly162 happy. He played Gimme Love, whose jazz measures are stolen from Mendelssohn's[Pg 23] Spring Song. He did not know this. The leaves rustled163. He did not turn his head.
"Hello, Pan!" said a voice. A girl came down the slope and seated herself beside him. She was not smiling.
Nick removed the harmonica from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hello who?"
"Hello, Pan."
"Wrong number, lady," Nick said, and again applied164 his lips to the mouth organ. The girl laughed then, throwing back her head. Her throat was long and slim and brown. She clasped her knees with her arms and looked at Nick amusedly. Nick thought she was a kind of homely165 little thing.
"Pan," she explained, "was a pagan deity166. He played pipes in the woods."
"'S all right with me," Nick ventured, bewildered but amiable. He wished she'd go away. But she didn't. She began to take off her shoes and stockings. She went down to the water's edge, then, and paddled her feet. Nick sat up, outraged167. "Say, you can't do that."
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Oh, yes, I can. It's so hot." She wriggled168 her toes ecstatically.
The leaves rustled again, briskly, unmistakably this time. A heavy tread. A rough voice. "Say,[Pg 24] looka here! Get out of there, you! What the——" A policeman, red-faced, wroth. "You can't do that! Get outa here!"
It was like a movie, Nick thought.
The girl turned her head. "Oh, now, Mr. Elwood," she said.
"Oh, it's you, miss," said the policeman. You would not have believed it could be the same policeman. He even giggled169. "Thought you was away."
"I was. In fact, I am, really. I just got sick of it and ran away for a day. Drove. Alone. The family'll be wild."
"All the way?" said the policeman, incredulously. "Say, I thought that looked like your car standing out there by the road; but I says no, she ain't in town." He looked sharply at Nick, whose face had an Indian composure, though his feelings were mixed. "Who's this?"
"He's a friend of mine. His name's Pan." She was drying her feet with an inadequate171 rose-coloured handkerchief. She crept crabwise up the bank, and put on her stockings and slippers.
"Why'n't you come out and set on a bench?" suggested the policeman, worriedly.
The girl shook her head. "In Arcadia we don't sit on benches. I should think you'd know that. Go on away, there's a dear. I want to talk to this—to Pan."[Pg 25]
He persisted. "What'd your pa say, I'd like to know!" The girl shrugged172 her shoulders. Nick made as though to rise. He was worried. A nut, that's what. She pressed him down again with a hard brown hand.
"Now it's all right. He's going. Old Fuss!" The policeman stood a brief moment longer. Then the foliage173 rustled again. He was gone. The girl sighed, happily. "Play that thing some more, will you? You're a wiz at it, aren't you?"
"I'm pretty good," said Nick, modestly. Then the outrageousness174 of her conduct struck him afresh. "Say, who're you, anyway?"
"My name's Berry—short for Bernice.... What's yours, Pan?"
"Nick—that is—Nick."
"Ugh, terrible! I'll stick to Pan. What d'you do when you're not Panning?" Then, at the bewilderment in his face: "What's your job?"
"I work in the Ideal Garage. Say, you're pretty nosey, ain't you?"
"Yes, pretty.... That accounts for your nails, h'm?" She looked at her own brown paws. "'Bout7 as bad as mine. I drove one hundred and fifty miles to-day."
"Ya-as, you did!"
"I did! Started at six. And I'll probably drive back to-night."[Pg 26]
"You're crazy!"
"I know it," she agreed, "and it's wonderful.... Can you play the Tommy Toddle175?"
"Yeh. It's kind of hard, though, where the runs are. I don't get the runs so very good." He played it. She kept time with head and feet. When he had finished and wiped his lips:
"Elegant!" She took the harmonica from him, wiped it brazenly176 on the much-abused, rose-coloured handkerchief and began to play, her cheeks puffed177 out, her eyes round with effort. She played the Tommy Toddle, and her runs were perfect. Nick's chagrin178 was swallowed by his admiration179 and envy.
"Say, kid, you got more wind than a factory whistle. Who learned you to play?"
She struck her chest with a hard brown fist. "Tennis ... Tim taught me."
"Who's Tim?"
"The—a chauffeur68."
Nick leaned closer. "Say, do you ever go to the dances at Englewood Masonic Hall?"
"I never have."
"'Jah like to go some time?"
"I'd love it." She grinned up at him, her teeth flashing white in her brown face.
"It's swell here," he said, dreamily. "Like the woods?"
"Yes."[Pg 27]
"Winter, when it's cold and dirty, I think about how it's here summers. It's like you could take it out of your head and look at it whenever you wanted to."
"Endymion."
"Huh?"
"A man said practically the same thing the other day. Name of Keats."
"Yeh?"
"He said: 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.'"
"That's one way putting it," he agreed, graciously.
Unsmilingly she reached over with one slim forefinger180, as if compelled, and touched the blond hairs on Nick's wrist. Just touched them. Nick remained motionless. The girl shivered a little, deliciously. She glanced at him shyly. Her lips were provocative181. Thoughtlessly, blindly, Nick suddenly flung an arm about her, kissed her. He kissed her as he had never kissed Miss Bauers—as he had never kissed Miss Ahearn, Miss Olson, or just Gertie. The girl did not scream, or push him away, or slap him, or protest, or giggle170 as would have the above-mentioned young ladies. She sat breathing rather fast, a tinge182 of scarlet showing beneath the tan.
"Well, Pan," she said, low-voiced, "you're running true to form, anyway." She eyed him appraisingly183. "Your appeal is in your virility184, I suppose. Yes."[Pg 28]
"My what?"
She rose. "I've got to go."
Panic seized him. "Say, don't drive back to-night, huh? Wherever it is you've got to go. You ain't driving back to-night?"
She made no answer; parted the bushes, was out on the gravel path in the sunlight, a slim, short-skirted, almost childish figure. He followed. They crossed the bridge, left the island, reached the roadway almost in silence. At the side of the road was a roadster. Its hood74 was the kind that conceals185 power. Its lamps were two giant eyes rimmed186 in precious metal. Its line spelled strength. Its body was foreign. Nick's engine-wise eyes saw these things at a glance.
"That your car?"
"Yes."
"Gosh!"
She unlocked it, threw in the clutch, shifted, moved. "Say!" was wrung187 from Nick helplessly. She waved at him. "Good-bye, Pan." He stared, stricken. She was off swiftly, silently; flashed around a corner; was hidden by the trees and shrubs188.
He stood a moment. He felt bereaved189, cheated. Then a little wave of exaltation shook him. He wanted to talk to someone. "Gosh!" he said again. He glanced at his wrist. Five-thirty. He guessed[Pg 29] he'd go home. He guessed he'd go home and get one of Ma's dinners. One of Ma's dinners and talk to Ma. The Sixty-third Street car. He could make it and back in plenty time.
Nick lived in that section of Chicago known as Englewood, which is not so sylvan as it sounds, but appropriate enough for a faun. Not only that; he lived in S. Green Street, Englewood. S. Green Street, near Seventieth, is almost rural with its great elms and poplars, its frame cottages, its back gardens. A neighbourhood of thrifty190, foreign-born fathers and mothers, many children, tree-lined streets badly paved. Nick turned in at a two-story brown frame cottage. He went around to the back. Ma was in the kitchen.
Nick's presence at the evening meal was an uncertain thing. Sometimes he did not eat at home for a week, excepting only his hurried early breakfast. He rarely spent an evening at home, and when he did used the opportunity for making up lost sleep. Pa never got home from work until after six. Nick liked his dinner early and hot. On his rare visits his mother welcomed him like one of the Gracchi. Mother and son understood each other wordlessly, having much in common. You would not have thought it of her (forty-six bust123, forty waist, measureless hips), but Ma was a nymph at heart. Hence Nick.[Pg 30]
"Hello, Ma!" She was slamming expertly about the kitchen.
"Hello, yourself," said Ma. Ma had a line of slang gleaned191 from her numerous brood. It fell strangely from her lips. Ma had never quite lost a tinge of foreign accent, though she had come to America when a girl. A hearty192, zestful193 woman, savouring life with gusto, undiminished by child-bearing and hard work. "Eating home, Dewey?" She alone used his given name.
"Yeh, but I gotta be back by seven-thirty. Got anything ready?"
"Dinner ain't, but I'll get you something. Plenty. Platter ham and eggs and a quick fry. Cherry cobbler's done. I'll fix you some." (Cherry cobbler is shortcake with a soul.)
He ate enormously at the kitchen table, she hovering over him.
"What's the news, Dewey?"
"Ain't none." He ate in silence. Then: "How old was you when you married Pa?"
"Me? Say, I wasn't no more'n a kid. I gotta laugh when I think of it."
"What was Pa earning?"
She laughed a great hearty laugh, dipping a piece of bread sociably194 in the ham fat on the platter as she stood by the table, just to bear him company.
"Say, earn! If he'd of earned what you was[Pg 31] earning now, we'd of thought we was millionaires. Time Etty was born he was pulling down thirteen a week, and we saved on it." She looked at him suddenly, sharply. "Why?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
"Look what good money he's getting now! If I was you, I wouldn't stick around no old garage for what they give you. You could get a good job in the works with Pa; first thing you know you'd be pulling down big money. You're smart like that with engines.... Takes a lot of money nowadays for feller to get married."
"You tell 'em," agreed Nick. He looked up at her, having finished eating. His glance was almost tender. "How'd you come to marry Pa, anyway? You and him's so different."
The nymph in Ma leaped to the surface and stayed there a moment, sparkling, laughing, dimpling. "Oh, I dunno. I kept running away and he kept running after. Like that."
He looked up again quickly at that. "Yeh. That's it. Fella don't like to have no girl chasing him all the time. Say, he likes to do the chasing himself. Ain't that the truth?"
"You tell 'em!" agreed Ma. A great jovial195 laugh shook her. Heavy-footed now, but light of heart.
Suddenly: "I'm thinking of going to night school. Learn something. I don't know nothing."[Pg 32]
"You do, too, Dewey!"
"Aw, wha'd I know? I never had enough schooling196. Wished I had."
"Who's doings was it? You wouldn't stay. Wouldn't go no more than sixth reader and quit. Nothing wouldn't get you to go."
He agreed gloomily. "I know it. I don't know what nothing is. Uh—Arcadia—or—now—vitality or nothing."
"Oh, that comes easy," she encouraged him, "when you begin once."
He reached for her hand gratefully. "You're a swell cook, Ma." He had a sudden burst of generosity197, of tenderness. "Soon's the bus is fixed I'll take you joy-riding over to the lake."
Ma always wore a boudoir cap of draggled lace and ribbon for motoring. Nick almost never offered her a ride. She did not expect him to.
She pushed him playfully. "Go on! You got plenty young girls to take riding, not your ma."
"Oh, girls!" he said, scornfully. Then in another tone: "Girls."
He was off. It was almost seven. Pa was late. He caught a car back to Fifty-third Street. Elmer was lounging in the cool doorway of the garage. Nick, in sheer exuberance198 of spirits, squared off, doubled his fists, and danced about Elmer in a[Pg 33] semicircle, working his arms as a prizefighter does, warily199. He jabbed at Elmer's jaw200 playfully.
"What you been doing," inquired that long-suffering gentleman, "makes you feel so good? Where you been?"
"Oh, nowheres. Bumming round. Park."
He turned in the direction of the stairway. Elmer lounged after him. "Oh, say, dame's been calling you for the last hour and a half. Like to busted the phone. Makes me sick."
"Aw, Bauers."
"No, that wasn't the name. Name's Mary or Berry, or something like that. A dozen times, I betcha. Says you was to call her as soon as you come in. Drexel 47—wait a min't'—yeh—that's right—Drexel 473——"
"Swell chanst," said Nick. Suddenly his buoyancy was gone. His shoulders drooped201. His cigarette dangled202 limp. Disappointment curved his lips, burdened his eyes. "Swell chanst!"
点击
收听单词发音
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1
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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3
mitt
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| n.棒球手套，拳击手套，无指手套；vt.铐住，握手 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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5
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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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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elusiveness
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| 狡诈 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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10
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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12
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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13
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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14
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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15
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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16
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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17
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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18
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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19
goof
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| v.弄糟；闲混；n.呆瓜 | |
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20
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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21
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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22
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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23
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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24
installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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25
proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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26
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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27
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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28
pettishly
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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30
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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31
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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32
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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33
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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34
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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35
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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36
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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37
tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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38
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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39
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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40
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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41
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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42
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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43
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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44
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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45
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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46
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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47
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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49
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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50
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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51
intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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52
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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53
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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54
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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55
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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56
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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57
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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58
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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59
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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60
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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61
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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62
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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64
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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65
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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66
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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67
chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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68
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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69
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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70
siestas
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| n.（气候炎热国家的）午睡，午休( siesta的名词复数 ) | |
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71
overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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72
sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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73
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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74
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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75
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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76
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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77
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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78
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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79
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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80
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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81
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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82
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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83
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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84
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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85
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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86
verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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87
sartorial
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| adj.裁缝的 | |
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88
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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89
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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90
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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91
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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92
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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93
bumming
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| 发哼（声），蜂鸣声 | |
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94
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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95
minion
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| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
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96
monarchial
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| 国王的，帝王风度的 | |
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97
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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98
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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99
blotchy
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| adj.有斑点的，有污渍的；斑污 | |
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100
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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101
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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102
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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103
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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104
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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105
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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107
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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108
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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109
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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110
replicas
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| n.复制品( replica的名词复数 ) | |
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111
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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112
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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113
bowlers
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| n.（板球）投球手( bowler的名词复数 )；圆顶高帽 | |
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114
postures
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| 姿势( posture的名词复数 )； 看法； 态度； 立场 | |
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115
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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116
acidulous
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| adj.微酸的；苛薄的 | |
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117
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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120
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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121
mistily
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| adv.有雾地，朦胧地，不清楚地 | |
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122
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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123
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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124
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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125
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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126
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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127
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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128
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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129
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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130
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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131
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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132
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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133
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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134
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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135
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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136
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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137
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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138
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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139
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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140
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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141
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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142
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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143
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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144
inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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145
gastronomic
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| adj.美食（烹饪）法的，烹任学的 | |
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146
miscegenation
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| n.人种混杂；混血 | |
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147
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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148
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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149
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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150
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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151
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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152
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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153
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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154
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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155
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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156
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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157
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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158
languorously
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| adv.疲倦地，郁闷地 | |
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159
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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160
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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161
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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162
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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163
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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165
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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166
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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167
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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168
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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169
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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171
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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172
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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173
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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174
outrageousness
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| n. 残暴 蛮横 | |
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175
toddle
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| v.（如小孩）蹒跚学步 | |
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176
brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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177
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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178
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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179
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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180
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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181
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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182
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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183
appraisingly
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| adv.以品评或评价的眼光 | |
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184
virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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185
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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186
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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187
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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188
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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189
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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190
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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191
gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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192
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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193
zestful
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| adj.有滋味 | |
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194
sociably
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| adv.成群地 | |
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195
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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196
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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197
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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198
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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199
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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200
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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201
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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