It was a beautiful night, and Crocker thought that they might as well walk a little way. It was pleasant under the bright stars to hear of the love adventures of his new friend, especially as he himself was now the happy hero. "For three years?" he asked.
"Indeed I have, Crocker." That glass of hot whiskey-and-water, though it enhanced the melancholy6 tenderness of the young man, robbed him of his bashfulness, and loosened the strings7 of his tongue. "For three years! And there was a time when she worshipped the very stool on which I sat at the office. I don't like to boast."
"You have to be short, sharp, and decisive if you mean to get a girl like that to travel with you."
"I should have taken the ball at the hop8, Crocker; that's what I ought to have done. But I see it all now. She's as fickle9 as she is fair;—fickler, perhaps, if anything."
"Come, Tribbledale; I ain't going to let you abuse her, you know."
"I don't want to abuse her. God knows I love her too well in spite of all. It's your turn now. I can see that. There's a great many of them have had their turns."
"Were there now?" asked Crocker anxiously.
"There was Pollocky;—him at the Highbury Gas Works. He came after me. It was because of him she dropped me."
"Was that going on for a marriage?"
"Right ahead, I used to think. Pollocky is a widower10 with five children."
"Oh Lord!"
"But he's the head of all the gas, and has four hundred a year. It wasn't love as carried her on with him. I could see that. She wouldn't go and meet him anywhere about the City, as she did me. I suppose Pollocky is fifty, if he's a day."
"And she dropped him also?"
"Or else it was he." On receipt of this information Crocker whistled. "It was something about money," continued Tribbledale. "The old woman wouldn't part."
"There is money I suppose?"
"The old woman has a lot."
"And isn't the niece to have it?" asked Crocker.
"No doubt she will; because there never was a pair more loving. But the old lady will keep it herself as long as she is here." Then there entered an idea into Crocker's head that if he could manage to make Clara his own, he might have power enough to manage the aunt as well as the niece. They had a little more whiskey-and-water at the Angel at Islington before they got into the cab which was to take them down to the Paphian Music-Hall, and after that Tribbledale passed from the realm of partial fact to that of perfect poetry. "He would never," he said, "abandon Clara Demijohn, though he should live to an age beyond that of any known patriarch. He quite knew all that there was against him. Crocker he thought might probably prevail. He rather hoped that Crocker might prevail;—for why should not so good a fellow be made happy, seeing how utterly11 impossible it was that he, Daniel Tribbledale, should ever reach that perfect bliss12 in dreaming of which he passed his miserable13 existence. But as to one thing he had quite made up his mind. The day that saw Clara Demijohn a bride would most undoubtedly14 be the last of his existence."
"Oh, no, damme; you won't," said Crocker turning round upon him in the cab.
"I shall!" said Tribbledale with emphasis. "And I've made up my mind how to do it too. They've caged up the Monument, and you're so looked after on the Duke of York's, that there isn't a chance. But there's nothing to prevent you from taking a header at the Whispering Gallery of Saint Paul's. You'd be more talked of that way, and the vergers would be sure to show the stains made on the stones below. 'It was here young Tribbledale fell,—a clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, who dashed out his brains for love on the very day as Clara Demijohn got herself married.' I'm of that disposition15, Crocker, as I'd do anything for love;—anything." Crocker was obliged to reply that he trusted he might never be the cause of such a fatal attempt at glory; but he went on to explain that in the pursuit of love a man could not in any degree give way to friendship. Even though numberless lovers might fall from the Whispering Gallery in a confused heap of mangled17 bodies, he must still tread the path which was open to him. These were his principles, and he could not abandon them even for the sake of Tribbledale. "Nor would I have you," shouted Tribbledale, leaning out over the door of the cab. "I would not delay you not for a day, not for an hour. Were to-morrow to be your bridal morning it would find me prepared. My only request to you is that a boy might be called Daniel after me. You might tell her it was an uncle or grandfather. She would never think that in her own child was perpetuated18 a monument of poor Daniel Tribbledale." Crocker, as he jumped out of the cab with a light step in front of the Paphian Hall, promised that in this particular he would attend to the wishes of his friend.
The performances at the Paphian Hall on that festive19 occasion need not be described here with accuracy. The New Year had been seen well in with music, dancing, and wine. The seeing of it in was continued yet for an hour, till an indulgent policeman was forced to interfere20. It is believed that on the final ejection of our two friends, the forlorn lover, kept steady, no doubt, by the weight of his woe21, did find his way home to his own lodgings22. The exultant23 Crocker was less fortunate, and passed his night without the accommodation of sheets and blankets somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bow Street. The fact is important to us, as it threatened to have considerable effect upon our friend's position at his office. Having been locked up in a cell during the night, and kept in durance till he was brought on the following morning before a magistrate24, he could not well be in his room at ten o'clock. Indeed when he did escape from the hands of the Philistines25, at about two in the day, sick, unwashed and unfed, he thought it better to remain away altogether for that day. The great sin of total absence would be better than making an appearance before Mr. Jerningham in his present tell-tale condition. He well knew his own strength and his own weakness. All power of repartee26 would be gone from him for the day. Mr. Jerningham would domineer over him, and ?olus, should the violent god be pleased to send for him, would at once annihilate27 him. So he sneaked28 home to Gower Street, took a hair of the dog that bit him, and then got the old woman who looked after him to make him some tea and to fry a bit of bacon for him. In this ignominious29 way he passed New Year's Day,—at least so much of it as was left to him after the occurrences which have been described.
But on the next morning the great weight of his troubles fell upon him heavily. In his very heart of hearts he was afraid of ?olus. In spite of his "brummagem" courage the wrath30 of the violent god was tremendous to him. He knew what it was to stand with his hand on the lock of the door and tremble before he dared to enter the room. There was something in the frown of the god which was terrible to him. There was something worse in the god's smile. He remembered how he had once been unable to move himself out of the room when the god had told him that he need not remain at the office, but might go home and amuse himself just as he pleased. Nothing crushes a young man so much as an assurance that his presence can be dispensed31 with without loss to any one. Though Crocker had often felt the mercies of ?olus, and had told himself again and again that the god never did in truth lift up his hand for final irrevocable punishment, still he trembled as he anticipated the dread32 encounter.
When the morning came, and while he was yet in his bed, he struggled to bethink himself of some strategy by which he might evade33 the evil hour. Could he have been sent for suddenly into Cumberland? But in this case he would of course have telegraphed to the Post Office on the preceding day. Could he have been taken ill with a fit,—so as to make his absence absolutely necessary, say for an entire week? He well knew that they had a doctor at the Post Office, a crafty34, far-seeing, obdurate35 man, who would be with him at once and would show him no mercy. He had tried these schemes all round, and had found that there were none left with which ?olus was not better acquainted than was he himself. There was nothing for it but to go and bear the brunt.
Exactly at ten o'clock he entered the room, hung his hat up on the accustomed peg36, and took his seat on the accustomed chair before any one spoke37 a word to him. Roden on the opposite seat took no notice of him. "Bedad, he's here anyhow this morning," whispered Geraghty to Bobbin, very audibly. "Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham, "you were absent throughout the entire day yesterday. Have you any account to give of yourself?" There was certainly falsehood implied in this question, as Mr. Jerningham knew very well what had become of Crocker. Crocker's misadventure at the police office had found its way into the newspapers, and had been discussed by ?olus with Mr. Jerningham. I am afraid that Mr. Jerningham must have intended to tempt16 the culprit into some false excuse.
"I was horribly ill," said Crocker, without stopping the pen with which he was making entries in the big book before him. This no doubt was true, and so far the trap had been avoided.
"What made you ill, Mr. Crocker?"
"Headache."
"It seems to me, Mr. Crocker, you're more subject to such attacks as these than any young man in the office."
"I always was as a baby," said Crocker, resuming something of his courage. Could it be possible that ?olus should not have heard of the day's absence?
"There is ill-health of so aggravated38 a nature," said Mr. Jerningham, "as to make the sufferer altogether unfit for the Civil Service."
"I'm happy to say I'm growing out of them gradually," said Crocker. Then Geraghty got up from his chair and whispered the whole truth into the sufferer's ears. "It was all in the Pall39 Mall yesterday, and ?olus knew it before he went away." A sick qualm came upon the poor fellow as though it were a repetition of yesterday's sufferings. But still it was necessary that he should say something. "New Year's Day comes only once a year, I suppose."
"It was only a few weeks since that you remained a day behind your time when you were on leave. But Sir Boreas has taken the matter up, and I have nothing to say to it. No doubt Sir Boreas will send for you." Sir Boreas Bodkin was that great Civil servant in the General Post Office whom men were wont40 to call ?olus.
It was a wretched morning for poor Crocker. He was not sent for till one o'clock, just at the moment when he was going to eat his lunch! That horrid42 sickness, the combined result of the dinner in the City, of Mrs. Demijohn's brandy, and of the many whiskies which followed, still clung to him. The mutton-chop and porter which he had promised himself would have relieved him; but now he was obliged to appear before the god in all his weakness. Without a word he followed a messenger who had summoned him, with his tail only too visibly between his legs. ?olus was writing a note when he was ushered43 into the room, and did not condescend44 to arrest himself in the progress merely because Crocker was present. ?olus well knew the effect on a sinner of having to stand silent and all alone in the presence of an offended deity45.
"So, Mr. Crocker," said ?olus at last, looking up from his completed work; "no doubt you saw the Old Year out on Wednesday night." The jokes of the god were infinitely46 worse to bear than his most furious blasts. "Like some other great men," continued ?olus, "you have contrived47 to have your festivities chronicled in the newspapers." Crocker found it impossible to utter a word. "You have probably seen the Pall Mall of yesterday, and the Standard of this morning?"
"I haven't looked at the newspaper, sir, since—"
"Since the festive occasion," suggested ?olus.
"Oh, Sir Boreas—"
"Well, Mr. Crocker; what is it that you have to say for yourself?"
"I did dine with a few friends."
"And kept it up tolerably late, I should think."
"And then afterwards went to a tea-party," said Crocker.
"A tea-party!"
"It was not all tea," said Crocker, with a whine48.
"I should think not. There was a good deal besides tea, I should say." Then the god left off to smile, and the blasts began to blow. "Now, Mr. Crocker, I should like to know what you think of yourself. After having read the accounts of your appearance before the magistrate in two newspapers, I suppose I may take it for granted that you were abominably49 drunk out in the streets on Wednesday night." It is very hard for a young man to have to admit under any circumstances that he has been abominably drunk out in the streets;—so that Crocker stood dumb before his accuser. "I choose to have an answer, sir. I must either have your own acknowledgment, or must have an official account from the police magistrate."
"I had taken something, sir."
"Were you drunk? If you will not answer me you had better go, and I shall know how to deal with you." Crocker thought that he had perhaps better go and leave the god to deal with him. He remained quite silent. "Your personal habits would be nothing to me, sir," continued ?olus, "if you were able to do your work and did not bring disgrace on the department. But you neglect the office. You are unable to do your work. And you do bring disgrace on the department. How long is it since you remained away a day before?"
"I was detained down in Cumberland for one day, after my leave of absence."
"Detained in Cumberland! I never tell a gentleman, Mr. Crocker, that I do not believe him,—never. If it comes to that with a gentleman, he must go." This was hard to bear; but yet Crocker was aware that he had told a fib on that occasion in reference to the day's hunting. Then Sir Boreas took up his pen and again had recourse to his paper, as though the interview was over. Crocker remained standing50, not quite knowing what he was expected to do. "It's of no use your remaining there," said Sir Boreas. Whereupon Crocker retired51, and, with his tail still between his legs, returned to his own desk. Soon afterwards Mr. Jerningham was sent for, and came back with an intimation that Mr. Crocker's services were no longer required, at any rate for that day. When the matter had been properly represented to the Postmaster-General, a letter would be written to him. The impression made on the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty was that poor Crocker would certainly be dismissed on this occasion. Roden, too, thought that it was now over with the unfortunate young man, as far as the Queen's service was concerned, and could not abstain52 from shaking hands with the unhappy wretch41 as he bade them all a melancholy good-bye. "Good afternoon," said Mr. Jerningham to him severely53, not condescending54 to shake hands with him at all.
But Mr. Jerningham heard the last words which the god had spoken on the subject, and was not therefore called upon to be specially3 soft-hearted. "I never saw a poor devil look so sick in my life," ?olus had said.
"He must have been very bad, Sir Boreas."
?olus was fond of a good dinner himself, and had a sympathy for convivial55 offences. Indeed for all offences he had a sympathy. No man less prone56 to punish ever lived. But what is a man to do with inveterate57 offenders58? ?olus would tear his hair sometimes in dismay because he knew that he was retaining in the service men whom he would have been bound to get rid of had he done his duty. "You had better tell him to go home," said ?olus,—"for to-day, you know."
"And what then, Sir Boreas?"
"I suppose he'll sleep it off by to-morrow. Have a letter written to him,—to frighten him, you know. After all, New Year's Day only does come once a year." Mr. Jerningham, having thus received instructions, went back to his room and dismissed Crocker in the way we have seen. As soon as Crocker's back was turned Roden was desired to write the letter.
Sir,
Your conduct in absenting yourself without leave from the office yesterday is of such a nature as to make it necessary for me to inform you, that should it be repeated I shall have no alternative but to bring your name under the serious consideration of my Lord the Postmaster-General.
I am, sir,
Your obedient servant,
(Signed) Boreas Bodkin.
In the same envelope was a short note from one of his brother clerks.
Dear Crocker,
You had better be here sharp at ten to-morrow. Mr. Jerningham bids me tell you.
Yours truly,
Bart. Bobbin.
Thus Crocker got through his troubles on this occasion.
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收听单词发音
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1
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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4
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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stipend
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| n.薪贴；奖学金；养老金 | |
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6
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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7
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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8
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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9
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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10
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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12
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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13
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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14
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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15
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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16
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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17
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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18
perpetuated
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| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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19
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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20
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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21
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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22
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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23
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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24
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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25
philistines
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| n.市侩，庸人( philistine的名词复数 )；庸夫俗子 | |
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26
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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27
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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28
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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29
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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30
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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31
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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32
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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33
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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34
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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35
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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36
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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37
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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38
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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39
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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40
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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41
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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42
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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43
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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45
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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46
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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47
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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48
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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49
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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50
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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51
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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52
abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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53
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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54
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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55
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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56
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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57
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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58
offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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