Tessie Golden sat on the top step of the back porch now, a slim, inert2 heap in a cotton kimono whose colour and design were libels on the Nipponese. Her head was propped3 wearily against the porch post. Her hands were limp in her lap. Her face was turned toward the west, where shone that mingling4 of orange and rose known as salmon5 pink. But no answering radiance in the girl's face met the glow in the Wisconsin sky.
Saturday night, after supper in Chippewa, Wis., Tessie Golden of the pre-sunset era would have been calling from her bedroom to the kitchen: "Ma, what'd you do with my pink georgette waist?"
And from the kitchen: "It's in your second bureau drawer. The collar was kind of mussed from Wednesday night, and I give it a little pressing while my iron was on."
At seven-thirty Tessie would have emerged from her bedroom in the pink georgette blouse that might have been considered alarmingly frank as to texture6 and precariously7 V-cut as to neck had Tessie herself not been so reassuringly8 unopulent; a black taffeta skirt, lavishly10 shirred and very brief; white kid shoes, high-laced, whose height still failed to achieve the two inches of white silk stocking that linked skirt hem11 to shoe top; finally, a hat with a good deal of French blue about it.
As she passed through the sitting room on her way out her mother would appear in the doorway12, dish towel in hand. Her pride in this slim young thing and her love of her she concealed14 with a thin layer of carping criticism.
"Runnin' downtown again, I s'pose." A keen eye on the swishing skirt hem.
Tessie, the quick-tongued, would pat the arabesque15 of shining hair that lay coiled so submissively against either glowing cheek. "Oh, my, no! I just thought I'd dress up in case Angie Hatton drove past in her auto16 and picked me up for a little ride. So's not to keep her waiting."
Angie Hatton was Old Man Hatton's daughter. Any one in the Fox River Valley could have told you who Old Man Hatton was. You saw his name at the top of every letterhead of any importance in Chippewa, from the Pulp17 and Paper Mill to the First National Bank, and including the watch factory, the canning works, and the Mid-Western Land Company. Knowing this, you were able to appreciate Tessie's sarcasm18. Angie Hatton was as unaware19 of Tessie's existence as only a young woman could be whose family residence was in Chippewa, Wis., but who wintered in Italy, summered in the mountains, and bought (so the town said) her very hairpins20 in New York. When Angie Hatton came home from the East the town used to stroll past on Mondays to view the washing on the Hatton line. Angie's underwear, flirting21 so audaciously with the sunshine and zephyrs22, was of voile and silk and crêpe de Chine and satin—materials that we had always thought of heretofore as intended exclusively for party dresses and wedding gowns. Of course two years later they were showing practically the same thing at Megan's dry-goods store. But that was always the way with Angie Hatton. Even those of us who went to Chicago to shop never quite caught up with her.
Delivered of this ironic23 thrust, Tessie would walk toward the screen door with a little flaunting24 sway of the hips25. Her mother's eyes, following the slim figure, had a sort of grudging26 love in them. A spare, caustic27, wiry little woman, Tessie's mother. Tessie resembled her as a water colour may resemble a blurred28 charcoal29 sketch30. Tessie's wide mouth curved into humour lines. She was the cut-up of the escapement department at the watch factory; the older woman's lips sagged31 at the corners. Tessie was buoyant and colourful with youth. The other was shrunken and faded with years and labour. As the girl minced32 across the room in her absurdly high-heeled white kid shoes the older woman thought: "My, but she's pretty!" But she said aloud: "Them shoes could stand a cleaning. I should think you'd stay home once in a while and not be runnin' the streets every night."
"Time enough to be sittin' home when I'm old like you."
And yet between these two there was love, and even understanding. But in families such as Tessie's demonstration34 is a thing to be ashamed of; affection a thing to conceal13. Tessie's father was janitor35 of the Chippewa High School. A powerful man, slightly crippled by rheumatism37, loquacious38, lively, fond of his family, proud of his neat gray frame house, and his new cement sidewalk, and his carefully tended yard and garden patch. In all her life Tessie had never seen a caress40 exchanged between her parents.
Nowadays Ma Golden had little occasion for finding fault with Tessie's evening diversion. She no longer had cause to say: "Always gaddin' downtown, or over to Cora's or somewhere, like you didn't have a home to stay in. You ain't been in a evening this week, 'cept when you washed your hair."
Tessie had developed a fondness for sunsets viewed from the back porch—she who had thought nothing of dancing until three and rising at half-past six to go to work.
Stepping about in the kitchen after supper, her mother would eye the limp, relaxed figure on the back porch with a little pang41 at her heart. She would come to the screen door, or even out to the porch on some errand or other—to empty the coffee grounds; to turn the row of half-ripe tomatoes reddening on the porch railing; to flap and hang up a damp tea towel.
"Ain't you goin' out, Tess?"
"No."
"What you want to lop around here for? Such a grand evening. Why don't you put on your things and run downtown, or over to Cora's or somewhere, h'm?"
"What for?"—listlessly.
"What for! What does anybody go out for!"
"I don't know."
If they could have talked it over together, these two, the girl might have found relief. But the family shyness of their class was too strong upon them. Once Mrs. Golden had said, in an effort at sympathy: "Person'd think Chuck Mory was the only one who'd gone to war an' the last fella left in the world."
A grim flash of the old humour lifted the corners of the wide mouth. "He is. Who's there left? Stumpy Gans, up at the railroad crossing? Or maybe Fatty Weiman, driving the hack42. Guess I'll doll up this evening and see if I can't make a hit with one of them."
She relapsed into bitter silence. The bottom had dropped out of Tessie Golden's world.
In order to understand the Tessie of to-day you will have to know the Tessie of six months ago; Tessie the impudent43, the life-loving, the pleasureful. Tessie Golden could say things to the escapement-room foreman that any one else would have been fired for. Her wide mouth was capable of glorious insolences. Whenever you heard shrieks45 of laughter from the girls' wash room at noon you knew that Tessie was holding forth46 to an admiring group. She was a born mimic47; audacious, agile48, and with the gift of burlesque49. The autumn that Angie Hatton came home from Europe wearing the first hobble skirt that Chippewa had ever seen Tessie gave an imitation of that advanced young woman's progress down Grand Avenue in this restricted garment. The thing was cruel in its fidelity50, though containing just enough exaggeration to make it artistic51. She followed it up by imitating the stricken look on the face of Mattie Haynes, cloak and suit buyer at Megan's, who, having just returned from the East with what she considered the most fashionable of the new fall styles, now beheld52 Angie Hatton in the garb53 that was the last echo of the last cry in Paris modes—and no model in Mattie's newly selected stock bore even the remotest resemblance to it.
You would know from this that Tessie was not a particularly deft54 worker. Her big-knuckled fingers were cleverer at turning out a shirt waist or retrimming a hat. Hers were what are known as handy hands, but not sensitive. It takes a light and facile set of fingers to fit pallet and arbour and fork together: close work and tedious. Seated on low benches along the tables, their chins almost level with the table top, the girls worked with pincers and gas flame, screwing together the three tiny parts of the watch's anatomy55 that was their particular specialty56. Each wore a jeweller's glass in one eye. Tessie had worked at the watch factory for three years, and the pressure of the glass on the eye socket57 had given her the slightly hollow-eyed appearance peculiar58 to experienced watchmakers. It was not unbecoming, though, and lent her, somehow, a spiritual look which made her diablerie all the more piquant59.
Tessie wasn't always witty60, really. But she had achieved a reputation for wit which insured applause for even her feebler efforts. Nap Ballou, the foreman, never left the escapement room without a little shiver of nervous apprehension—a feeling justified61 by the ripple36 of suppressed laughter that went up and down the long tables. He knew that Tessie Golden, like a naughty schoolgirl when teacher's back is turned, had directed one of her sure shafts62 at him.
Ballou, his face darkling, could easily have punished her. Tessie knew it. But he never did, or would. She knew that, too. Her very insolence44 and audacity63 saved her.
"Some day," Ballou would warn her, "you'll get too gay, and then you'll find yourself looking for a job."
"Go on—fire me," retorted Tessie, "and I'll meet you in Lancaster"—a form of wit appreciated only by watchmakers. For there is a certain type of watch hand who is as peripatetic64 as the old-time printer. Restless, ne'er-do-well, spendthrift, he wanders from factory to factory through the chain of watchmaking towns: Springfield, Trenton, Waltham, Lancaster, Waterbury, Chippewa. Usually expert, always unreliable, certainly fond of drink, Nap Ballou was typical of his kind. The steady worker had a mingled65 admiration66 and contempt for him. He, in turn, regarded the other as a stick-in-the-mud. Nap wore his cap on one side of his curly head, and drank so evenly and steadily67 as never to be quite drunk and never strictly68 sober. He had slender, sensitive fingers like an artist's or a woman's, and he knew the parts of that intricate mechanism70 known as a watch from the jewel to the finishing room. It was said he had a wife or two. Forty-six, good-looking in a dissolute sort of way, possessing the charm of the wanderer, generous with his money, it was known that Tessie's barbs71 were permitted to prick72 him without retaliation73 because Tessie herself appealed to his errant fancy.
When the other girls teased her about this obvious state of affairs something fine and contemptuous welled up in her. "Him! Why, say, he ought to work in a pickle74 factory instead of a watch works. All he needs is a little dill and a handful of grape leaves to make him good eatin' as a relish75."
And she thought of Chuck Mory, perched on the high seat of the American Express wagon76, hatless, sunburnt, stockily muscular, shouting to his horse as he galloped77 clattering78 down Winnebago Street on his way to the depot79 and the 7:50 train.
I suppose there was something about the clear simplicity80 and uprightness of the firm little figure that appealed to Nap Ballou. He used to regard her curiously81 with a long, hard gaze before which she would grow uncomfortable. "Think you'll know me next time you see me?" But there was an uneasy feeling beneath her flip82 exterior83. Not that there was anything of the beautiful, persecuted84 factory girl and villainous foreman about the situation. Tessie worked at watchmaking because it was light, pleasant, and well paid. She could have found another job for the asking. Her money went for white shoes and pink blouses and lacy boudoir caps which she affected85 Sunday mornings. She was forever buying a vivid necktie for her father and dressing86 up her protesting mother in gay colours that went ill with the drab, wrinkled face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd go round looking like one of those Polack women down by the tracks," Tessie would scold. "It's a wonder you don't wear a shawl!"
That was the Tessie of six months ago, gay, care-free, holding the reins87 of her life in her own two capable hands. Three nights a week, and Sunday, she saw Chuck Mory. When she went downtown on Saturday night it was frankly88 to meet Chuck, who was waiting for her on Schroeder's drug-store corner. He knew it, and she knew it. Yet they always went through a little ceremony. She and Cora, turning into Grand from Winnebago Street, would make for the post office. Then down the length of Grand with a leaping glance at Schroeder's corner before they reached it. Yes, there they were, very clean-shaven, clean-shirted, slick looking. Tessie would have known Chuck's blond head among a thousand. An air of studied hauteur89 and indifference90 as they approached the corner. Heads turned the other way. A low whistle from the boys.
"Oh, how do!"
"Good evening!"
Both greetings done with careful surprise. Then on down the street. On the way back you took the inside of the walk, and your hauteur was now stony91 to the point of insult. Schroeder's corner simply did not exist. On as far as Megan's which you entered and inspected, up one brightly lighted aisle92 and down the next. At the dress-goods counter there was a neat little stack of pamphlets entitled "In the World of Fashion." You took one and sauntered out leisurely93. Down Winnebago Street now, homeward bound, talking animatedly94 and seemingly unconscious of quick footsteps sounding nearer and nearer. Just past the Burke House, where the residential95 district began, and where the trees cast their kindly96 shadows: "Can I see you home?" A hand slipped through her arm; a little tingling97 thrill.
"Oh, why, how do, Chuck! Hello, Scotty. Sure, if you're going our way."
At every turn Chuck left her side and dashed around behind her in order to place himself at her right again, according to the rigid98 rule of Chippewa etiquette99. He took her arm only at street crossings until they reached the tracks, which perilous100 spot seemed to justify101 him in retaining his hold throughout the remainder of the stroll. Usually they lost Cora and Scotty without having been conscious of their loss.
Their talk? The girls and boys that each knew; the day's happenings at factory and express office; next Wednesday night's dance up in the Chute; and always the possibility of Chuck's leaving the wagon and assuming the managership of the office.
"Don't let this go any further, see? But I heard it straight that old Benke is goin' to be transferred to Fond du Lac. And if he is, why, I step in, see? Benke's got a girl in Fondy, and he's been pluggin' to get there. Gee102, maybe I won't be glad when he does!" A little silence. "Will you be glad, Tess? H'm?"
Tess felt herself glowing and shivering as the big hand closed more tightly on her arm. "Me? Why, sure I'll be pleased to see you get a job that's coming to you by rights, and that'll get you better pay, and all."
But she knew what he meant, and he knew she knew. And the clasp tightened103 until it hurt her, and she was glad.
No more of that now. Chuck—gone. Scotty—gone. All the boys at the watch works, all the fellows in the neighbourhood—gone. At first she hadn't minded. It was exciting. You kidded them at first: "Well, believe me, Chuck, if you shoot the way you play ball, you're a gone goose already."
"All you got to do, Scotty, is to stick that face of yours up over the top of the trench104 and the Germans'll die of fright an' save you wastin' bullets."
There was a great knitting of socks and sweaters and caps. Tessie's big-knuckled, capable fingers made you dizzy, they flew so fast. Chuck was outfitted105 as for a polar expedition. Tess took half a day off to bid him good-bye. They marched down Grand Avenue, that first lot of them, in their everyday suits and hats, with their shiny yellow suitcases and their paste-board boxes in their hands, sheepish, red-faced, awkward. In their eyes, though, a certain look. And so off for Camp Sherman, their young heads sticking out of the car windows in clusters—black, yellow, brown, red. But for each woman on the depot platform there was just one head. Tessie saw a blurred blond one with a misty107 halo around it. A great shouting and waving of handkerchiefs:
"Goo'-bye! Goo'-bye! Write, now! Be sure! Mebbe you can get off in a week, for a visit. Goo'-bye! Goo—"
They were gone. Their voices came back to the crowd on the depot platform—high, clear young voices; almost like the voices of children, shouting.
Well, you wrote letters; fat, bulging108 letters, and in turn you received equally plump envelopes with a red triangle in one corner. You sent boxes of homemade fudge (nut variety) and cookies and the more durable109 forms of cake.
Then, unaccountably, Chuck was whisked all the way to California. He was furious at parting with his mates, and his indignation was expressed in his letters to Tessie. She sympathized with him in her replies. She tried to make light of it, but there was a little clutch of terror in it, too. California! My land! Might as well send a person to the end of the world while they were about it. Two months of that. Then, inexplicably110 again, Chuck's letters bore the astounding111 postmark of New York. She thought, in a panic, that he was Franceward bound, but it turned out not to be so. Not yet. Chuck's letters were taking on a cosmopolitan112 tone. "Well," he wrote, "I guess the little old town is as dead as ever. It seems funny you being right there all this time and I've travelled from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Everybody treats me swell113. You ought to seen some of those California houses. They make Hatton's place look sick."
The girls, Cora and Tess and the rest, laughed and joked among themselves and assured one another, with a toss of the head, that they could have a good time without the fellas. They didn't need boys around. Well, I should say not!
They gave parties, and they were not a success. There was one of the type known as a stag. They dressed up in their brother's clothes, or their father's or a neighbour boy's, and met at Cora's. They looked as knock-kneed and slope-shouldered and unmasculine as girls usually do in men's attire114. All except Tessie. There was something so astonishingly boyish and straight about her; she swaggered about with such a mannish swing of the leg (that was the actress in her) that the girls flushed a little and said: "Honest, Tess, if I didn't know you was a girl, I'd be stuck on you. With that hat on a person wouldn't know you from a boy."
Tessie would cross one slim leg over the other and bestow115 a knowing wink116 upon the speaker. "Some hen party!" they all said. They danced to the music of the victrola and sang "Over There." They had ice cream and chocolate layer cake and went home in great hilarity117, with their hands on each other's shoulders, still singing. When they met a passer-by they giggled118 and shrieked119 and ran.
But the thing was a failure, and they knew it. Next day, at the lunch hour and in the wash room, there was a little desultory120 talk about the stag. But the meat of such an aftergathering is contained in phrases such as "I says t'him" and "He says t'me." They wasted little conversation on the stag. It was much more exciting to exhibit letters on blue-lined paper with the red triangle at the top. Chuck's last letter had contained the news of his sergeancy122.
Angie Hatton, home from the East, was writing letters, too. Everyone in Chippewa knew that. She wrote on that new art paper with the gnawed123 looking edges and stiff as a newly laundered124 cuff125. But the letters which she awaited so eagerly were written on the same sort of paper as were those Tessie had from Chuck: blue-lined, cheap in quality, a red triangle at one corner. A New York fellow, Chippewa learned; an aviator126. They knew, too, that young Hatton was an infantry127 lieutenant128 somewhere in the East. These letters were not from him.
Ever since her home-coming Angie had been sewing at the Red Cross shop on Grand Avenue. Chippewa boasted two Red Cross shops. The Grand Avenue shop was the society shop. The East-End crowd sewed there, capped, veiled, aproned—and unapproachable. Were your fingers ever so deft, your knowledge of seams and basting129 mathematical, your skill with that complicated garment known as a pneumonia130 jacket uncanny; if you did not belong to the East-End set, you did not sew at the Grand Avenue shop. No matter how grossly red the blood which the Grand Avenue bandages and pads were ultimately to stanch131, the liquid in the fingers that rolled and folded them was pure cerulean.
Tessie and her crowd had never thought of giving any such service to their country. They spoke132 of the Grand Avenue workers as "that stinkin' bunch," I regret to say. Yet each one of the girls was capable of starting a shirt waist in an emergency on Saturday night and finishing it in time for a Sunday picnic, buttonholes and all. Their help might have been invaluable134. It never was asked.
Without warning Chuck came home on three days' leave. It meant that he was bound for France right enough this time. But Tessie didn't care.
"I don't care where you're goin'," she said, exultantly135, her eyes lingering on the stocky, straight, powerful figure in its rather ill-fitting khaki. "You're here now. That's enough. Ain't you tickled136 to be home, Chuck? Gee!"
"I sh'd say," responded Chuck. But even he seemed to detect some lack in his tone and words. He elaborated somewhat shamefacedly: "Sure. It's swell to be home. But I don't know. After you've travelled around, and come back, things look so kind of little to you. I don't know—kind of—" he floundered about at a loss for expression. Then tried again: "Now, take Hatton's place, f'r example. I always used to think it was a regular palace, but, gosh, you ought to see places where I was asked in San Francisco and around there. Why, they was—were—enough to make the Hatton house look like a shack137. Swimmin' pools of white marble, and acres of yard like a park, and a Jap help always bringin' you something to eat or drink. And the folks themselves—why, say! Here we are scrapin' and bowin' to Hattons and that bunch. They're pikers to what some people are that invited me to their houses in New York and Berkeley, and treated me and the other guys like kings or something. Take Megan's store, too"—he was warming to his subject, so that he failed to notice the darkening of Tessie's face—"it's a joke compared to New York and San Francisco stores. Reg'lar rube joint138."
Tessie stiffened139. Her teeth were set, her eyes sparkled. She tossed her head. "Well, I'm sure, Mr. Mory, it's good enough for me. Too bad you had to come home at all now you're so elegant and swell, and everything. You better go call on Angie Hatton instead of wastin' time on me. She'd probably be tickled to see you."
He stumbled to his feet, then, awkwardly. "Aw, say, Tessie, I didn't mean—why, say—you don't suppose—why, believe me, I pretty near busted140 out cryin' when I saw the Junction141 eatin' house when my train came in. And I been thinkin' of you every minute. There wasn't a day—"
"Tell that to your swell New York friends. I may be a rube, but I ain't a fool." She was perilously142 near to tears.
"Why, say, Tess, listen! Listen! If you knew—if you knew—a guy's got to—he's got no right to—"
And presently Tessie was mollified, but only on the surface. She smiled and glanced and teased and sparkled. And beneath was terror. He talked differently. He walked differently. It wasn't his clothes or the army. It was something else—an ease of manner, a new leisureliness143 of glance, an air. Once Tessie had gone to Milwaukee over Labour Day. It was the extent of her experience as a traveller. She remembered how superior she had felt for at least two days after. But Chuck! California! New York! It wasn't the distance that terrified her. It was his new knowledge, the broadening of his vision, though she did not know it and certainly could not have put it into words.
They went walking down by the river to Oneida Springs, and drank some of the sulphur water that tasted like rotten eggs. Tessie drank it with little shrieks and shudders145 and puckered146 her face up into an expression indicative of extreme disgust.
"It's good for you," Chuck said, and drank three cups of it, manfully. "That taste is the mineral qualities the water contains—sulphur and iron and so forth."
"I don't care," snapped Tessie, irritably147. "I hate it!" They had often walked along the river and tasted of the spring water, but Chuck had never before waxed scientific. They took a boat at Baumann's boathouse and drifted down the lovely Fox River.
"Want to row?" Chuck asked. "I'll get an extra pair of oars148 if you do."
"I don't know how. Besides, it's too much work. I guess I'll let you do it."
Chuck was fitting his oars in the oarlocks. She stood on the landing looking down at him. His hat was off. His hair seemed blonder than ever against the rich tan of his face. His neck muscles swelled149 a little as he bent150. Tessie felt a great longing151 to bury her face in the warm red skin. He straightened with a sigh and smiled at her. "I'll be ready in a minute." He took off his coat and turned his khaki shirt in at the throat, so that you saw the white, clean line of his untanned chest in strange contrast to his sunburnt throat. A feeling of giddy faintness surged over Tessie. She stepped blindly into the boat and would have fallen if Chuck's hard, firm grip had not steadied her. "Whoa, there! Don't you know how to step into a boat? There. Walk along the middle." She sat down and smiled up at him. "I don't know how I come to do that. I never did before."
Chuck braced152 his feet, rolled up his sleeves, and took an oar106 in each brown hand, bending rhythmically153 to his task. He looked about him, then at the girl, and drew a deep breath, feathering his oars. "I guess I must have dreamed about this more'n a million times."
"Have you, Chuck?"
They drifted on in silence. "Say, Tess, you ought to learn to row. It's good exercise. Those girls in California and New York, they play baseball and row and swim as good as the boys. Honest, some of 'em are wonders!"
"Oh, I'm sick of your swell New York friends! Can't you talk about something else?"
He saw that he had blundered without in the least understanding how or why. "All right. What'll we talk about?" In itself a fatal admission.
"About—you." Tessie made it a caress.
"Me? Nothin' to tell about me. I just been drillin' and studyin' and marchin' and readin' some—Oh, say, what d'you think?"
"What?"
"They been learnin' us—teachin' us, I mean—French. It's the darnedest language! Bread is pain. Can you beat that? If you want to ask for a piece of bread, you say like this: Donnay ma un morso doo pang. See?"
"My!" breathed Tessie, all admiration.
And within her something was screaming: "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He knows French. And those girls that can row and everything. And me, I don't know anything. Oh, God, what'll I do?"
It was as though she could see him slipping away from her, out of her grasp, out of her sight. She had no fear of what might come to him in France. Bullets and bayonets would never hurt Chuck. He'd make it, just as he always made the 7.50 when it seemed as if he was going to miss it sure. He'd make it there and back, all right. But he—he'd be a different Chuck, while she stayed the same Tessie. Books, travel, French, girls, swell folks—
And all the while she was smiling and dimpling and trailing her hand in the water. "Bet you can't guess what I got in that lunch box."
"Chocolate cake."
"Well, of course I've got chocolate cake. I baked it myself this morning."
"Yes, you did!"
"Why, Chuck Mory, I did so! I guess you think I can't do anything, the way you talk."
"Oh, don't I! I guess you know what I think."
"Well, it isn't the cake I mean. It's something else."
"Fried chicken!"
"Oh, now you've gone and guessed it." She pouted154 prettily155.
"You asked me to, didn't you?"
Then they laughed together, as at something exquisitely156 witty.
Down the river, drifting, rowing. Tessie pointed157 to a house half hidden among the trees on the farther shore: "There's Hatton's camp. They say they have grand times there with their swell crowd some Saturdays and Sundays. If I had a house like that, I'd live in it all the time, not just a couple of days out of the whole year." She hesitated a moment. "I suppose it looks like a shanty158 to you now."
Chuck surveyed it, patronizingly. "No, it's a nice little place."
They beached their boat, and built a little fire, and had supper on the river bank, and Tessie picked out the choice bits for him—the breast of the chicken, beautifully golden brown; the ripest tomato; the firmest, juiciest pickle; the corner of the little cake which would give him a double share of icing. She may not have been versed159 in French, Tessie, but she was wise in feminine wiles160.
From Chuck, between mouthfuls: "I guess you don't know how good this tastes. Camp grub's all right, but after you've had a few months of it you get so you don't believe there is such a thing as fried chicken and chocolate cake."
"I'm glad you like it, Chuck. Here, take this drumstick. You ain't eating a thing!" His fourth piece of chicken.
Down the river as far as the danger line just above the dam, with Tessie pretending fear just for the joy of having Chuck reassure161 her. Then back again in the dusk, Chuck bending to the task now against the current. And so up the hill homeward bound. They walked very slowly, Chuck's hand on her arm. They were dumb with the tragic162, eloquent163 dumbness of their kind. If she could have spoken the words that were churning in her mind, they would have been something like this:
"Oh, Chuck, I wish I was married to you. I wouldn't care if only I had you. I wouldn't mind babies or anything. I'd be glad. I want our house, with a dining-room set, and a brass164 bed, and a mahogany table in the parlour, and all the housework to do. I'm scared. I'm scared I won't get it. What'll I do if I don't?"
And he, wordlessly: "Will you wait for me, Tessie, and keep on loving me and thinking of me? And will you keep yourself clean in mind and body so that if I come back—"
Aloud, she said: "I guess you'll get stuck on one of those French girls. I should worry! They say wages at the watch factory are going to be raised, workers are so scarce. I'll prob'ly be as rich as Angie Hatton time you get back."
And he, miserably165: "Little old Chippewa girls are good enough for Chuck. I ain't counting on taking up with those Frenchies. I don't like their jabber166, from what I know of it. I saw some pictures of 'em, last week, a fellow in camp had who'd been over there. Their hair is all funny, and fixed167 up with combs and stuff, and they look real dark like foreigners. Nix!"
It had been reassuring9 enough at the time. But that was six months ago. Which brings us to the Tessie who sat on the back porch, evenings, surveying the sunset. A listless, lackadaisical168, brooding Tessie. Little point to going downtown Saturday nights now. There was no familiar, beloved figure to follow you swiftly as you turned off Elm Street, homeward bound. If she went downtown now, she saw only those Saturday-night family groups which are familiar to every small town. The husband, very wet as to hair and clean as to shirt, guarding the gocart outside while the woman accomplished169 her Saturday-night trading at Ding's or Halpin's. Sometimes there were as many as half a dozen gocarts outside Halpin's, each containing a sleeping burden, relaxed, chubby170, fat-cheeked. The waiting men smoked their pipes and conversed171 largely. "Hello, Ed. Th' woman's inside, buyin' the store out, I guess."
"Tha' so? Mine, too. Well, how's everything?"
Tessie knew that presently the woman would come out, bundle laden172, and that she would stow these lesser173 bundles in every corner left available by the more important sleeping bundle—two yards of goods; a spool174 of 100, white; a banana for the baby; a new stewpan at the Five-and-Ten.
There had been a time when Tessie, if she thought of these women at all, felt sorry for them; worn, drab, lacking in style and figure. Now she envied them. For the maternal175 may be strong at twenty.
There were weeks upon weeks when no letter came from Chuck. In his last letter there had been some talk of his being sent to Russia. Tessie's eyes, large enough now in her thin face, distended176 with a great fear. Russia! His letter spoke, too, of French villages and chateaux. He and a bunch of fellows had been introduced to a princess or a countess or something—it was all one to Tessie—and what do you think? She had kissed them all on both cheeks! Seems that's the way they did in France.
The morning after the receipt of this letter the girls at the watch factory might have remarked her pallor had they not been so occupied with a new and more absorbing topic.
"Tess, did you hear about Angie Hatton?"
"What about her?"
"She's going to France. It's in the Milwaukee paper, all about her being Chippewa's fairest daughter, and a picture of the house, and her being the belle178 of the Fox River Valley, and she's giving up her palatial179 home and all to go to work in a Y.M.C.A. canteen for her country and bleeding France."
"Ya-as she is!" sneered180 Tessie, and a dull red flush, so deep as to be painful, swept over her face from throat to brow. "Ya-as she is, the doll-faced simp! Why, say, she never wiped up a floor in her life, or baked a cake, or stood on them feet of hers. She couldn't cut up a loaf of bread decent. Bleedin' France! Ha! That's rich, that is." She thrust her chin out brutally181, and her eyes narrowed to slits182. "She's goin' over there after that fella of hers. She's chasin' him. It's now or never, and she knows it and she's scared, same's the rest of us. On'y we got to set home and make the best of it. Or take what's left." She turned her head slowly to where Nap Ballou stood over a table at the far end of the room. She laughed a grim, unlovely little laugh. "I guess when you can't go after what you want, like Angie, why, you gotta take second choice."
All that day, at the bench, she was the reckless, insolent183, audacious Tessie of six months ago. Nap Ballou was always standing33 over her, pretending to inspect some bit of work or other, his shoulder brushing hers. She laughed up at him so that her face was not more than two inches from his. He flushed, but she did not. She laughed a reckless little laugh.
"Thanks for helpin' teach me my trade, Mr. Ballou. 'Course I only been at it over three years now, so I ain't got the hang of it yet."
He straightened up slowly, and as he did so he rested a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment. She did not shrug184 it off.
That night, after supper, Tessie put on her hat and strolled down to Park Avenue. It wasn't for the walk. Tessie had never been told to exercise systematically185 for her body's good, or her mind's. She went in a spirit of unwholesome, brooding curiosity and a bitter resentment186. Going to France, was she? Lots of good she'd do there. Better stay home and—and what? Tessie cast about in her mind for a fitting job for Angie. Guess she might's well go, after all. Nobody'd miss her, unless it was her father, and he didn't see her but about a third of the time. But in Tessie's heart was a great envy for this girl who could bridge the hideous187 waste of ocean that separated her from her man. Bleedin' France. Yeh! Joke!
The Hatton place, built and landscaped twenty years before, occupied a square block in solitary188 grandeur189, the show place of Chippewa. In architectural style it was an impartial190 mixture of Norman castle, French chateau177, and Rhenish Schloss, with a dash of Coney Island about its fa?ade. It represented Old Man Hatton's realized dream of landed magnificence.
Tessie, walking slowly past it, and peering through the high iron fence, could not help noting an air of unwonted excitement about the place, usually so aloof191, so coldly serene192. Automobiles193 standing out in front. People going up and down. They didn't look very cheerful. Just as if it mattered whether anything happened to her or not!
Tessie walked around the block and stood a moment, uncertainly. Then she struck off down Grand Avenue and past Donovan's pool shack. A little group of after-supper idlers stood outside, smoking and gossiping, as she knew there would be. As she turned the corner she saw Nap Ballou among them. She had known that, too. As she passed she looked straight ahead, without bowing. But just past the Burke House he caught up to her. No half-shy "Can I walk home with you?" from Nap Ballou. No. Instead: "Hello, sweetheart!"
"Hello, yourself."
"Somebody's looking mighty194 pretty this evening, all dolled up in pink."
"Think so?"
She tried to be pertly indifferent, but it was good to have someone following, someone walking home with you. What if he was old enough to be her father, with graying hair? Lots of the movie heroes had graying hair at the sides. Twenty craves195 someone to tell it how wonderful it is. And Nap Ballou told her.
They walked for an hour. Tessie left him at the corner. She had once heard her father designate Ballou as "that drunken skunk196." When she entered the sitting room her cheeks held an unwonted pink. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in months. Her mother looked up quickly, peering at her over a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, very much askew197.
"Where you been, Tessie?"
"Oh, walkin'."
"Who with?"
"Cora."
"Why, she was here, callin' for you, not more'n an hour ago."
Tessie, taking the hatpins out of her hat on her way upstairs, met this coolly. "Yeh, I ran into her comin' back."
Upstairs, lying fully39 dressed on her hard little bed, she stared up into the darkness, thinking, her hands limp at her sides. Oh, well, what's the diff? You had to make the best of it. Everybody makin' a fuss about the soldiers: feedin' 'em, and askin' 'em to their houses, and sendin' 'em things, and givin' dances and picnics and parties so they wouldn't be lonesome. Chuck had told her all about it. The other boys told the same. They could just pick and choose their good times. Tessie's mind groped about, sensing a certain injustice198. How about the girls? She didn't put it thus squarely. Hers was not a logical mind, trained to think. Easy enough to paw over the menfolks and get silly over brass buttons and a uniform. She put it that way. She thought of the refrain of a popular song: "What Are You Going to Do to Help the Boys?" Tessie, smiling a crooked199 little smile up there in the darkness, parodied200 the words deftly201: "What're you going to do to help the girls?" she demanded. "What're you going to do—" She rolled over on one side and buried her head in her arms.
There was news again next morning at the watch factory. Tessie of the old days had never needed to depend on the other girls for the latest bit of gossip. Her alert eye and quick ear had always caught it first. But of late she had led a cloistered202 existence, indifferent to the world about her. The Chippewa Courier went into the newspaper pile behind the kitchen door without a glance from Tessie's incurious eye.
She was late this morning. As she sat down at the bench and fitted her glass in her eye the chatter203 of the others, pitched in the high key of unusual excitement, penetrated204 even her listlessness.
"An' they say she never screeched205 or fainted or anything. She stood there, kind of quiet, lookin' straight ahead, and then all of a sudden she ran to her pa—"
"Both comin' at once, like that—"
"I feel sorry for her. She never did anything to me. She—"
Tessie spoke, her voice penetrating206 the staccato fragments all about her and gathering121 them into a whole. "Say, who's the heroine of this picture? Somebody flash me a cut-in so I can kinda follow the story. I come in in the middle of the reel, I guess."
They turned on her with the unlovely eagerness of those who have ugly news to tell. They all spoke at once, in short sentences, their voices high with the note of hysteria.
"Angie Hatton's beau was killed—"
"They say his aireoplane fell ten thousan' feet—"
"The news come only last evenin' about eight—"
"She won't see nobody but her pa—"
Eight! At eight Tessie had been standing outside Hatton's house envying Angie and hating her. So that explained the people, and the automobiles, and the excitement. Tessie was not receiving the news with the dramatic reaction which its purveyors felt it deserved. Tessie, turning from one to the other quietly, had said nothing. She was pitying Angie. Oh, the luxury of it! Nap Ballou, coming in swiftly to still the unwonted commotion207 in work hours, found Tessie the only one quietly occupied in that chatter-filled room. She was smiling as she worked. Nap Ballou, bending over her on some pretence208 that deceived no one, spoke low-voiced in her ear. But she veiled her eyes insolently209 and did not glance up. She hummed contentedly210 all the morning at her tedious work.
She had promised Nap Ballou to go picnicking with him Sunday. Down the river, boating, with supper on shore. The small, still voice within her had said: "Don't go! Don't go!" But the harsh, high-pitched, reckless overtone said: "Go on! Have a good time. Take all you can get."
She would have to lie at home and she did it. Some fabrication about the girls at the watch works did the trick. Fried chicken, chocolate cake. She packed them deftly and daintily. High-heeled white kid shoes, flimsy blouse, rustling211 skirt. Nap Ballou was waiting for her over in the city park. She saw him before he espied212 her. He was leaning against a tree idly, staring straight ahead with queer, lack-lustre eyes. Silhouetted213 there against the tender green of the pretty square he looked very old, somehow, and different—much older than he looked in his shop clothes, issuing orders. Tessie noticed that he sagged where he should have stuck out, and protruded214 where he should have been flat. There flashed across her mind a vividly215 clear picture of Chuck as she had last seen him: brown, fit, high of chest, flat of stomach, slim of flank.
Ballou saw her. He straightened and came toward her swiftly: "Somebody looks mighty sweet this afternoon."
Tessie plumped the heavy lunch box into his arms. "When you get a line you like you stick to it, don't you?"
Down at the boathouse even Tessie, who had confessed ignorance of boats and oars, knew that Ballou was fumbling216 clumsily. He stooped to adjust the oars to the oarlocks. His hat was off. His hair looked very gray in the cruel spring sunshine. He straightened and smiled up at her.
"Ready in a minute, sweetheart," he said. He took off his collar and turned in the neckband of his shirt. His skin was very white. Tessie felt a little shudder144 of disgust sweep over her, so that she stumbled a little as she stepped into the boat.
The river was very lovely. Tessie trailed her fingers in the water and told herself that she was having a grand time. She told Nap the same when he asked her.
"Having a good time, little beauty?" he said. He was puffing217 a little with the unwonted exercise. Alcohol-atrophied muscles do not take kindly to rowing.
Tessie tried some of her old-time pertness of speech. "Oh, good enough, considerin' the company."
He laughed, admiringly, at that and said she was a card.
When the early evening came on they made a clumsy landing and had supper. This time Nap fed her the titbits, though she protested. "White meat for you," he said, "with your skin like milk."
"You must of read that in a book," scoffed218 Tessie. She glanced around her at the deepening shadows. "We haven't got much time. It gets dark so early."
"No hurry," Nap assured her. He went on eating in a leisurely, finicking sort of way, though he consumed very little food actually.
"You're not eating much," Tessie said once, half-heartedly. She decided219 that she wasn't having such a very grand time, after all, and that she hated his teeth, which were very bad. Now, Chuck's strong, white double row ...
"Well," she said, "let's be going."
"No hurry," again.
Tessie looked up at that with the instinctive220 fear of her kind. "What d'you mean, no hurry! 'Spect to stay here till dark?" She laughed at her own joke.
"Yes."
She got up then, the blood in her face. "Well, I don't."
He rose, too. "Why not?"
"Because I don't, that's why." She stooped and began picking up the remnants of the lunch, placing spoons and glass bottles swiftly and thriftily221 in the lunch box. Nap stepped around behind her.
"Let me help," he said. And then his arm was about her and his face was close to hers, and Tessie did not like it. He kissed her after a little wordless struggle. And then she knew. Tessie's lips were not virgin222. She had been kissed before. But not like this. Not like this! She struck at him furiously. Across her mind flashed the memory of a girl who had worked in the finishing room. A nice girl, too. But that hadn't helped her. Nap Ballou was laughing a little as he clasped her.
At that she heard herself saying: "I'll get Chuck Mory after you—you drunken bum223, you! He'll lick you black and blue. He'll ..."
The face, with the ugly, broken brown teeth, was coming close again. With all the young strength that was in her she freed one hand and clawed at that face from eyes to chin. A howl of pain rewarded her. His hold loosened. Like a flash she was off. She ran. It seemed to her that her feet did not touch the earth. Over brush, through bushes, crashing against trees, on and on. She heard him following her, but the broken-down engine that was his heart refused to do the work. She ran on, though her fear was as great as before. Fear of what might have happened ... to her, Tessie Golden ... that nobody could even talk fresh to. She gave a little sob69 of fury and fatigue224. She was stumbling now. It was growing dark. She ran on again, in fear of the overtaking darkness. It was easier now. Not so many trees and bushes. She came to a fence, climbed over it, lurched as she landed, leaned against it weakly for support, one hand on her aching heart. Before her was the Hatton summer cottage, dimly outlined in the twilight225 among the trees. A warm, flickering226 light danced in the window.
Tessie stood a moment, breathing painfully, sobbingly227. Then, with a little instinctive gesture, she patted her hair, tidied her blouse, and walked uncertainly toward the house, up the steps to the door. She stood there a moment, swaying slightly. Somebody'd be there. The light. The woman who cooked for them or the man who took care of the place. Somebody'd—
She knocked at the door feebly. She'd tell 'em she had lost her way and got scared when it began to get dark. She knocked again, louder now. Footsteps. She braced herself and even arranged a crooked smile. The door opened wide. Old Man Hatton!
She looked up at him, terror and relief in her face. He peered over his glasses at her. "Who is it?" Tessie had not known, somehow, that his face was so kindly.
Tessie's carefully planned story crumbled228 into nothingness. "It's me!" she whimpered. "It's me!"
He reached out and put a hand on her arm and drew her inside.
"Angie! Angie! Here's a poor little kid...."
Tessie clutched frantically229 at the last crumbs230 of her pride. She tried to straighten, to smile with her old bravado231. What was that story she had planned to tell?
"Who is it, dad? Who...?" Angie Hatton came into the hallway. She stared at Angie. Then: "Why, my dear!" she said. "My dear! Come in here."
Angie Hatton! Tessie began to cry weakly, her face buried in Angie Hatton's expensive blouse. Tessie remembered later that she had felt no surprise at the act.
"There, there!" Angie Hatton was saying. "Just poke133 up the fire, dad. And get something from the dining room. Oh, I don't know. To drink, you know. Something...."
Then Old Man Hatton stood over her, holding a small glass to her lips. Tessie drank it obediently, made a wry232 little face, coughed, wiped her eyes, and sat up. She looked from one to the other, like a trapped little animal. She put a hand to her tousled head.
"That's all right," Angie Hatton assured her. "You can fix it after a while."
There they were, the three of them: Old Man Hatton with his back to the fire, looking benignly233 down upon her; Angie seated, with some knitting in her hands, as if entertaining bedraggled, tearstained young ladies at dusk were an everyday occurrence; Tessie, twisting her handkerchief in a torment234 of embarrassment235. But they asked no questions, these two. They evinced no curiosity about this dishevelled creature who had flung herself in upon their decent solitude236.
Tessie stared at the fire. She looked up at Old Man Hatton's face and opened her lips. She looked down and shut them again. Then she flashed a quick look at Angie, to see if she could detect there some suspicion, some disdain237. None. Angie Hatton looked—well, Tessie put it to herself, thus: "She looks like she'd cried till she couldn't cry no more—only inside."
And then, surprisingly, Tessie began to talk. "I wouldn't never have gone with this fella, only Chuck, he was gone. All the boys're gone. It's fierce. You get scared, sittin' home, waitin', and they're in France and everywheres, learnin' French and everything, and meetin' grand people and havin' a fuss made over 'em. So I got mad and said I didn't care, I wasn't goin' to squat238 home all my life, waitin'...."
Angie Hatton had stopped knitting now. Old Man Hatton was looking down at her very kindly. And so Tessie went on. The pent-up emotions and thoughts of these past months were finding an outlet239 at last. These things which she had never been able to discuss with her mother she now was laying bare to Angie Hatton and Old Man Hatton! They asked no questions. They seemed to understand. Once Old Man Hatton interrupted with: "So that's the kind of fellow they've got as escapement-room foreman, eh?"
Tessie, whose mind was working very clearly now, put out a quick hand. "Say, it wasn't his fault. He's a bum, all right, but I knew it, didn't I? It was me. I didn't care. Seemed to me it didn't make no difference who I went with, but it does." She looked down at her hands clasped so tightly in her lap.
"Yes, it makes a whole lot of difference," Angie agreed, and looked up at her father.
At that Tessie blurted240 her last desperate problem: "He's learnin' all kind of new things. Me, I ain't learnin' anything. When Chuck comes home he'll just think I'm dumb, that's all. He...."
"What kind of thing would you like to learn, Tessie, so that when Chuck comes home...."
Tessie looked up then, her wide mouth quivering with eagerness. "I'd like to learn to swim—and row a boat—and play ball—like the rich girls—like the girls that's makin' such a fuss over the soldiers."
Angie Hatton was not laughing. So, after a moment's hesitation241, Tessie brought out the worst of it. "And French. I'd like to learn to talk French."
Old Man Hatton had been surveying his shoes, his mouth grim. He looked at Angie now and smiled a little. "Well, Angie, it looks as if you'd found your job right here at home, doesn't it? This young lady's just one of hundreds, I suppose. Hundreds. You can have the whole house for them, if you want it, Angie, and the grounds, and all the money you need. I guess we've kind of overlooked the girls. H'm, Angie. What d'you say?"
But Tessie was not listening. She had scarcely heard. Her face was white with earnestness.
"C'n you speak French?"
"Yes," Angie answered.
"Well," said Tessie, and gulped242 once, "well, how do you say in French: 'Give me a piece of bread'? That's what I want to learn first."
Angie Hatton said it correctly.
"That's it! Wait a minute! Say it again, will you?"
Angie said it again.
Tessie wet her lips. Her cheeks were smeared243 with tears and dirt. Her hair was wild and her blouse awry244. "Donnay-ma-un-morso-doo-pang," she articulated, painfully. And in that moment, as she put her hand in that of Chuck Mory, across the ocean, her face was very beautiful to see.
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收听单词发音
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1
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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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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7
precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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12
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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15
arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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16
auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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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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18
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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zephyrs
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| n.和风，微风( zephyr的名词复数 ) | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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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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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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42
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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43
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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45
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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48
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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49
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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50
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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51
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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52
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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53
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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54
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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55
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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56
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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57
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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58
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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59
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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60
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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61
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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62
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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63
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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64
peripatetic
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| adj.漫游的，逍遥派的，巡回的 | |
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65
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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66
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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67
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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68
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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69
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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70
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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71
barbs
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| n.（箭头、鱼钩等的）倒钩( barb的名词复数 )；带刺的话；毕露的锋芒；钩状毛 | |
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72
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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73
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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74
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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75
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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76
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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77
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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78
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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79
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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80
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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81
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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82
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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83
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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84
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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85
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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86
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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87
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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88
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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89
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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90
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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91
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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92
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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93
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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94
animatedly
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| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
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95
residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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96
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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97
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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98
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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99
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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100
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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101
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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102
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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103
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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104
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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105
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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107
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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108
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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109
durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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110
inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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111
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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112
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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113
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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114
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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115
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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116
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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117
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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118
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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121
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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122
sergeancy
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| 警（士）官的职位，律师的职位 | |
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123
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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124
laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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125
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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126
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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127
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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128
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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129
basting
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| n.疏缝；疏缝的针脚；疏缝用线；涂油v.打( baste的现在分词 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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130
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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131
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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132
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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133
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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134
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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135
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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136
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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137
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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138
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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139
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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140
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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141
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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142
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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143
leisureliness
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| n.悠然，从容 | |
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144
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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145
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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146
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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148
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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149
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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150
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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151
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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152
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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153
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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154
pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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156
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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157
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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158
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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159
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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160
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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161
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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162
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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163
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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164
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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165
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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166
jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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167
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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168
lackadaisical
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| adj.无精打采的，无兴趣的；adv.无精打采地，不决断地 | |
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169
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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170
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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171
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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172
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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173
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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174
spool
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| n.（缠录音带等的）卷盘（轴）；v.把…绕在卷轴上 | |
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175
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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176
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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178
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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179
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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180
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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182
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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183
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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184
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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185
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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186
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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187
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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188
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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189
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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190
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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191
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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192
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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193
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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194
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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195
craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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196
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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197
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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198
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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199
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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200
parodied
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| v.滑稽地模仿，拙劣地模仿( parody的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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202
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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204
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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205
screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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206
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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207
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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208
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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209
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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210
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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211
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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212
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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213
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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214
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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215
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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216
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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217
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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218
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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219
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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220
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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221
thriftily
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| 节俭地； 繁茂地； 繁荣的 | |
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222
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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223
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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224
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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225
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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226
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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227
sobbingly
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| 啜泣地，呜咽地，抽抽噎噎地 | |
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228
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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229
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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230
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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231
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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232
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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233
benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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234
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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235
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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236
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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237
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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238
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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239
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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240
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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241
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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242
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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243
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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244
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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