THERE was one thing about writing which Felix felt had never been done justice to by those who had praised the art of literature—it could quite astonishingly fill up the hollow emptiness of one’s idle hours. This quality, to be sure, it shared with drinking, opium-smoking, mathematics, pure science, pre-pragmatic philosophy, chess and the collecting of first editions, Japanese prints and postage stamps. But it was less debilitating2 than drink and philosophy; a surer refuge than chess; and there were no auctions3 to attend. Moreover one could work out the third act of a play with a triumphant4 certitude and power such as is denied to people who are engaged in trying to work out conclusions in their personal lives.
When he finished his play, late in January, he was appalled5 to find that he had nothing with which to occupy his spare time.... Of course, he might write his play over again. But he was angry at that play, now he had finished it. It had ended happily. Couldn’t one end anything happily except on paper?
On a sudden impulse, he went to the railway station one evening and inquired what time a train left for Springfield. He had got to thinking of Rose-Ann’s father. For some reason he wanted to see him.... He found that there was a train leaving in half an hour which would reach Springfield in the middle of the night....
He wanted to see Rose-Ann’s father: if he waited to make sensible arrangements and pack a bag, something would happen to keep him from going.... He bought a ticket, feeling of his unshaven cheek with ink-stained fingers and 402reflecting that he looked like a tramp—and went aboard the train.
2
The streets of Springfield were covered with new fallen snow. There were apparently6 no street cars running at that hour. Felix started to walk toward the Prentiss residence.
He walked for an hour. It was still dark when he reached the big house on the corner. As he approached from a side-street he could see a light burning in the Rev7. Mr. Prentiss’s study, at the back of the house.
The ground slanted8 upward from the street, and Felix climbed the stone coping and scrambled9 up into the back yard. Going up a terrace at the back end of the lot, he could see into the window of the study upstairs. Rose-Ann’s father was sitting at his desk, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth, not reading or writing, but just sitting there, looking at the lamp. Felix watched him. Once he moved abruptly10, and shifted his unlighted cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other, and then sat quietly as before, looking at the lamp.
Felix moved incautiously, and stumbled off the terrace, covering himself with snow. He stood up and brushed it off, and then went down by the back porch underneath11 the studio window. A memory of Eddie Silver, throwing dollars at the window of his Canal street home, came into his mind, and he felt in his pocket for a coin and rather cautiously threw it up at the window.
It went wide of the mark. He threw another and it tinkled12 sharply against the glass. He stepped back, and he could see a shadow on the window-pane1 where Rose-Ann’s father had moved between it and the lamp.
He waited a half-minute, and threw a third coin. It rapped squarely against the pane, and a moment later the window was raised and Rose-Ann’s father had leaned out. His unlighted cigar was still in his mouth, and a lock of his grey hair fell forward from the back of his head, 403waving like a plume13. He saw Felix standing14 in the snow.
For a moment the two stared at each other, and then Rose-Ann’s father leaned out still further and pointed15 downward with an angular arm. Felix pointed toward the porch inquiringly, and Rose-Ann’s father nodded emphatically. Then, it being clear that they understood each other, he shut the window.
Felix went up on the porch, after stamping the snow from his shoes. A light was turned on in the kitchen, and the door opened. Mr. Prentiss came out, closed the door softly behind him, and pressed Felix’s hand.
“Come on up to my study,” he whispered, “but be quiet, so we won’t wake everybody up.”
With an air of two conspirators16, they went softly through the kitchen and dining room, into the hall, and up the stairs. When he had closed his study door behind them, Mr. Prentiss spoke17 aloud:
“It’s all right now. Nobody can hear us up here.” And again he shook hands with Felix. “You look done up,” he said.
“I walked from the station,” said Felix, “and I fell down in your back yard.” He laughed. “I look like a disreputable character—I wonder what Rose-Ann’s brothers would say if they saw me now!”
“Sit down,” said Rose-Ann’s father, and pulled up a chair in front of his own. “Have a cigar? You’ll find it more restful than those cigarettes of yours. Try this one.”
“Thanks,” said Felix.
Rose-Ann’s father threw away his gnawed18 unlighted cigar and took another. They lighted up, and smoked for a moment in silence.
“So you came to see me...,” said Rose-Ann’s father. “I was thinking about coming up to Chicago to see you....”
“I suppose,” said Felix, “that you know what the situation is?”
“Mm—yes.... Rose-Ann never tells me anything. I have to be a mind-reader. But usually I can figure out 404what’s going on. When she was here this time it wasn’t hard to guess what the trouble was.”
“I suppose not,” said Felix. “It must seem simple enough to any one on the outside....”
“And then,” said Mr. Prentiss with a guilty look, “I’ve a habit of getting into correspondence with some of Rose-Ann’s friends. They drop a bit of news now and then.... I used to have quite a correspondence with Will Blake at the Community House. That is why I wasn’t so surprised when I heard you two were married.... And lately I’ve been writing to Clive Bangs—very interesting young man: He tells me about a novel he’s writing; and sometimes he puts in a word or two about Rose-Ann; not very much, but then I know Rose-Ann; so I can figure things out.... I had a letter from him today....”
“What does he say?” asked Felix.
“Nothing in particular; just that he hears that Rose-Ann is quite happy about her work in California.”
“You didn’t know she’d gone?”
“No—she never tells me anything. Not until a long time after it’s happened.”
“Well, were you surprised?”
Rose-Ann’s father puffed19 on his cigar. “No—I can’t say that I was surprised exactly. I’ve known her a long time.”
“And I’ve only known her a little more than two years,” said Felix.
“She always was a difficult child to manage,” said Mr. Prentiss. “Not that I was ever any good at managing her. I just let her have her own way.”
“I seem to be pursuing the same tactics,” said Felix grimly.
Rose-Ann’s father rose and walked across the room and back, his thumbs locked behind his back, the cigar still in his mouth.
He paused before Felix. “Well,” he demanded defensively, “what else can we do?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Felix. He laid 405down his cigar, looked at it with disapproval20 and lighted one of his own cigarettes.
“Is it—is it all over between you?” asked Rose-Ann’s father softly and rather timidly, looking down at Felix.
“It looks very much that way,” said Felix gloomily.
“I was afraid so,” said Rose-Ann’s father sadly, “I was afraid so.”
“It’s my fault,” said Felix.
“Mm—yes—yes,” said Rose-Ann’s father from the other side of the room where he had halted with his back to Felix. “Yes, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rose-Ann’s father hastily from his corner. “That can happen, too. Women are—they drive you to it.”
Felix looked at him in surprise.
Rose-Ann’s father turned around to face him. “I’m an old man,” he said apologetically, “and a priest. You can’t expect me to take things like that as seriously as you young folks do. I hear about the sins of the flesh too often to be very much impressed with them.”
“I just thought you ought to know,” murmured Felix.
“Well, now, to get to the point,” said Mr. Prentiss, “what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” said Felix. “I’m trying to consider Rose-Ann’s happiness.... She seems to be able to get along without me....”
“Seems to be? seems to be? You don’t seem so certain of it yourself?”
“Who is this some one else?” asked Rose-Ann’s father, taking up his march across the room. “Some one in California?”
“Yes, a poet.... I’ve my own little system of espionage24, too. I got very chummy with the art editor of the Motion Picture World before he left, and he writes me all the gossip.... Besides I’ve Rose-Ann’s description of 406him in her last letter to me—we’re still friends, you know. ‘Tall, awkward, black-haired, blazing black-eyed’—sounds quite romantic.”
“Another one of her young geniuses,” said Rose-Ann’s father with a sigh.
“Another?”
“Yes.... She’s always had an eye for young genius. Queer-looking specimens25 usually ... you should have seen the one she brought home from Chicago once. Name was—Dick, Dick something. A poet. Never heard what became of him, but I imagine that he died of drugs.”
“Was she in love with him?”
“It’s hard to say. I don’t know whether she’s ever been in love.”
“What!”
Rose-Ann’s father came to a halt again. “Oh, yes, she married you; but she ran away from you.... And the nearest I can come to telling you why, is that I suspect she ran away because she was afraid she would love you.... If that sounds foolish, just put it down to the maunderings of an old man.”
“It doesn’t sound foolish to me,” said Felix. “It sounds—true.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you something else. I imagine she’s nearer to being in love with you now than she was when she married you! What do you think of that?”
“Perhaps it’s only because it’s what I wish to believe,” said Felix, “but it sounds like gospel.”
“There’s such a thing as being afraid of falling in love,” mused26 Rose-Ann’s father. “I think she married you because she thought she would be safe from that danger—I know it doesn’t sound very complimentary27 to you, but maybe you know what I mean—and she ran away from you because she found out she was mistaken.”
“I know,” said Felix, “she’s always been afraid of love.... So have I, for that matter.”
“That’s why she chose you.”
“Yes.”
407“Well, there you are. I’m afraid this doesn’t help the situation any.” Mr. Prentiss moved away, puffing his cigar.
“So you think it’s no use?”
“The question is,” said Rose-Ann’s father, “can you tame her?”
Tame her! Felix remembered suddenly the conversation he had had with Rose-Ann at their restaurant rendezvous28....
Rose-Ann’s father sighed. “I’ve never tried....”
“Neither have I,” said Felix. “It might be worth while!”
Rose-Ann’s father looked at him quizzically, and for the first time Felix felt in his kindly29 smile the cynical30 quality which Rose-Ann had referred to more than once.
Rose-Ann’s father shook his head. “You’re too much like me,” he said.
“I’m her husband, confound it,” said Felix, jumping up. “Where is my hat?”
Rose-Ann’s father regarded him sympathetically. “You won’t stay to breakfast?” he said. “Well—good luck, young man!”
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1
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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debilitating
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| a.使衰弱的 | |
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auctions
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| n.拍卖，拍卖方式( auction的名词复数 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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6
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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9
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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14
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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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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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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18
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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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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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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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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25
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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27
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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29
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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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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