Hardly a soul in the University remains3 behind. Even the reading men have closed their books for the afternoon, have given up their daily constitutional out beyond Trumpington, and are going down to see their college eights row.
2It is the last day of the races. Along the men tramp in little knots through the narrow winding5 streets—talking excitedly as they go, and making many bets as to the fortune of the day—and then, across the wet grass, down to the water side.
Here those who are to row cross the floating bridge to the boat-houses, while the others walk slowly along the banks, to see the boats as they paddle by on their way down. Soon they come; John’s in its blazing scarlet6, Trinity in dark blue, cherry-coloured Emanuel, chocolate Corpus, and violet Caius; Trinity Hall in its sober grey, Sidney in bright orange, and Queen’s in green.[1] These and many others sweep past, and the narrow river seems alive with the flashing oars7.
1. Many of the colours have since been changed.
The men on the banks hurry now, to be up at the starting posts in time.
Some trot9 along for a little way, by the side of the boat they are most interested in, watching with anxious eye, the condition and form of each man, and the regular swing of the crew. Now they have arrived at the post-reach, and are clustered along the towing path, while the boats, 3by this time empty, lie at their respective stations. Their crews stand alongside, looking grave and anxious, and receive the final words of advice and admonition from their captains.
At length the last boat has arrived at its post, and the first gun fires. There are three minutes yet, but the men take their places in their boats, strip off the upper jerseys10 and comforters in which they are wrapped, and, amid a perfect babel of last words, of little speeches of encouragement and good will, from their friends on the bank, push slowly off.
The crowd on the towing-path clusters thickest round the first three boats, but our place is by the fifth, for that contains the men whose fortunes will be the subject of this story. It is Caius; before it lies Emanuel, behind it Trinity Hall, confessedly the best crew of the three. Another gun. The tumult11 on the bank is hushed as if by magic, umbrellas are closed, coats buttoned up, and all prepare for a start. The boats lie out in the middle of the stream; twenty of them in a long line; each with its eight stalwart oarsmen, all in white, their caps forming the only distinguishing badges. Each 4of the coxswains holds in his hand a rope attached to his post. These are forty yards apart, and each boat’s bow is therefore only some sixty feet from the rudder of the one before it.
There is a dead silence, broken only by voices of men on the bank counting the seconds, and by the short quick orders of the coxswains.
“Fifteen seconds gone;”—“Paddle bow and two;”—“Twenty;” “Thirty;” “Forty seconds gone;” “Forty-five;”—“Pull half a stroke bow;”—“Fifty;” “Fifty-five;”—“Forward all;”—“Sixty.” As the word is heard, the gun is fired; a hundred and sixty oars strike the water as if by one impulse. At the same moment a roar of exhortation12 and encouragement breaks from the crowd on the bank; they set off to run—a wild, pushing, shouting throng13.
No easy matter is it to keep up with the flying boats, jostled and pushed in that excited, eager crowd. Woe14 be to him who falls,—fortunate by comparison he who is pushed into the river. A wild looking set are they: men in boating dresses of every variety of colour, their arms waving frantically15; men in pea-jackets, and waterproof16 coats and wraps of every description; sober 5reading men, lost in the tumult, bewildered and hustled17, intent only on keeping their feet, all shouting in voices which grow momentarily hoarse18 and broken.
The boats had got an equally good start, but in the first few hundred yards Trinity Hall had considerably19 lessened20 the gap between itself and Caius, while the latter had gained but slightly upon Emanuel. In this order they round the post corner, and dash on through the gut21 to Grassy22. “Now bow and three, now bow and three,” is the shout, and the boats sweep round the sharp curve.
Here Emanuel steers23 rather wild, and her pursuer has palpably gained upon her. The shouting redoubles; men who have dropped behind from the leading boats join the throng and take up the cry, “Now, Caius, now; you’re gaining, you’re gaining.” “Now, Trinity Hall, take her along.” There are not thirty feet between Emanuel and Caius, while Trinity Hall is not twenty behind the latter. On they fly, the boats leaping forward at each stroke like long hungry water snakes after their prey24, past the Plough, and round Ditton corner. Here a fresh burst 6cheering breaks out from the opposite bank, from numbers stationed there;—dons too old and staid to run along the towing path, and men on horse-back, who start to gallop25 alongside. Many ladies are there too; these wave their handkerchiefs and parasols, and would like to run along with the rest. On the boats dart26; rounding the corner the tired crews pull with renewed energy and hope. It is straight home now; only another half mile. They are nearing each other fast. There is certain to be a bump: which boat will make it? Nearer and nearer. Trinity Hall overlaps27 Caius; but her bow has not touched her flying adversary28, and whenever it draws near, the rudder of the Caius boat is slightly turned, and a rush of water thrown against it. This cannot last. Inch by inch they draw up, and Caius is still three feet behind Emanuel. Her chance seems hopeless. All at once, in a momentary29 lull30 of the shouting, a well-known voice from the throng, that of one of the college tutors, himself once a famous oar8, comes out clear and strong—“Now, Caius, now—twenty strokes, and you are in to them. One—two—three.” The crowd take up the cry: “four”—“five”—“six;” 7and at each stroke the boat seems to leap upon its adversary. “Seven”—“eight”—“three more and you do it.” “Nine”—“ten”—“eleven;” and a last wild cheer breaks out as the nose of the Caius boat touches the rudder of Emanuel, and the bump is made.
The two boats immediately pull aside to let those behind them pass, and the gasping31 crews lean on their oars, exhausted32 and breathless. One or two get out, too done-up to pull farther, while friends on the bank take their places. The light University blue flag, with the Caius’ arms in the centre, is hoisted33 triumphantly34 in the stern, and the boat paddles quietly on again, saluted35 by a burst of “see the conquering hero comes,” from the band on the barge36 near the railway bridge. The excitement is over, and the men on the bank, awaking to the consciousness that they are terribly wet, once more put up their umbrellas, and make the best of their way back to college.
It is evening now in the quiet courts of Caius. The wind has quite dropped, the rain has ceased, and the night is still and dark; but from some of the windows the lights stream out brightly into the gloom, and sounds of singing and loud 8laughter at times break out across the deserted37 court.
Now a man crosses the court, smoking a short pipe, with a very battered38 cap upon his head, and a very short gown over his shoulders; goes up the stairs to one of the rooms from which the laughter and noise come loudest, stops at a door over which the name of Grahame is painted in white letters, opens it, and goes in.
His arrival is greeted with shouts of welcome, with a great thumping39 of tumblers, and cries of “Hurrah, seven! Well rowed, old man!”
“Come up this way, Frank,” a voice from the other end of the room shouted through the smoke; “I have kept a place for you here by me.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can see my way,” the new-comer answered; “but, upon my word, considering that it’s barely nine o’clock yet, you have managed to blow a very fair amount of tobacco smoke between you.” Accordingly he made his way up to the end of the room, and took his seat by the side of his host, who was the captain and stroke of the Caius eight, and had given this party to celebrate the victory of the day, 9and the termination of the last month’s training. The men round the table, by the unanimity40 and earnestness with which they were smoking, seemed determined41 to make up for their long abstinence from the fragrant42 weed.
Frank Maynard, the new comer, was a tall, wiry man, lithe43 and sinewy44, with broad sloping shoulders. His face was long and narrow, still whiskerless, or nearly so, and he would be probably a much better-looking man in another two or three years than he was now. But he could never be handsome; his features were by no means regular, and his honest eyes, frank smile, and powerful frame, constituted at present his only claims to attraction. He was generally addressed by his Christian45 name, a sure sign at the University of unusual popularity. Upon Frank’s left sat his cousin, Fred Bingham, and a stronger contrast could hardly be imagined. Fred Bingham was under the middle height, and his figure was extremely slight, almost as much so as that of a boy of fourteen, and his waist could have been spanned by the hands of an ordinary man. Apart from the extraordinary youthfulness of his appearance, 10he was good-looking, with well-cut aristocratic features. His hair was very fair, and his face had hardly a trace of colour. His voice was high-pitched and thin, and his laugh especially more resembled that of a girl than a man. He had small and well-formed feet, but his hands curiously46 were large, red, and coarse. Among a certain set in the college with whom he cared to make himself agreeable he was much liked, but among the boating set he was intensely unpopular. These big, strong men were antipathetic to him, their powerful figures dwarfed47 his, their deep hearty48 voices drowned his weak treble and girlish laugh, and his disagreeable remarks and cutting sneers49 frequently caused disputes which it needed all his cousin Frank’s influence to allay50. Indeed, had it not been for Frank’s popularity, the crew would never have retained him for their coxswain, notwithstanding the fact that he really was a most useful man, always cool and collected, with a perfect knowledge of the river, a good judge of rowing, and above all a feather-weight.
It is unnecessary to enter into any details as to the doings of the evening, the speech-making, 11the songs, the drinking, and the smoking. Every one can imagine the scene for himself, and may conceive the noise, the shouting and laughing which twenty young fellows in full health and spirits, highly satisfied with themselves and their day’s work, would make upon such an occasion. So great was the hubbub51 indeed that the dons across the court began to think that even the victory of the day, which they themselves had discussed with great satisfaction over their wine in the common room, could hardly excuse such an uproarious meeting as this. About midnight, however, the party began to break up, and the men scattered52 over the college to their respective rooms, singing snatches of songs as they went. And then the courts were still again. Frank Maynard, and a few of the quieter men, sat for another hour smoking and discussing the race, agreeing that the credit of the day was mainly due to Crockford, the don who had called upon them for the final ten strokes which had effected the bump. After this they, too, separated, and in a few minutes Caius was quiet for the night.
Frank Maynard had not been very long asleep 12when he was awakened54 by a shouting, and the sound of running in the street. He opened his eyes—the room was lit up with a dull red light—and he hardly needed the cry of “Fire! fire!” to tell him what was the matter. He leaped from his bed, threw up his window, and looked out. There were no flames visible, but the fronts of the houses on the opposite side of the road were aglow55 with a dark fiery56 glare. It was evident that the flames were behind him—that one of the colleges was on fire. He ran into the sitting-room—to the windows which looked into the court, and there, through the trees before him, across the court, was a great glare, and sparks flying up. It was close—so close that he could not tell whether it was in the next court of his own college or in Trinity Hall, which lies behind it, separated only by a narrow lane.
It was the work of a minute to throw on his clothes, and to run downstairs and across to the gateway57 leading to the next court; and then he saw that the fire was not there, but in Trinity Hall.
Turning back, he ran to the porter’s-lodge. It was already open, and the porter, in answer to 13an appeal at the gate for assistance, had just gone into the college to rouse the men.
Frank ran down the narrow lane between Caius and the schools, and in another minute was in Trinity Hall. From the rooms above the gateway a volume of flame and red smoke was pouring out. Not many men were as yet in the court; those there were, belonged to the college itself. They were looking on, ready enough to assist, but helpless at present. The engines had not yet arrived, and the flames were having it all their own way, pouring out with a fierce crackling from the windows of the first-floor. The volume of red smoke, lit up by an occasional tongue of flame, which filled the adjoining rooms, showed that it was rapidly spreading. Very soon a bright ripple58 of flame runs along the ceilings, the window curtains catch, the glass shivers into fragments at the fiery touch, and the flames rush out with a roar of triumph. Now the men from the colleges near, from Caius and Trinity and Clare, are clustering in, together with a few of the townspeople. Presently the engines come lumbering59 up, and the handles are seized by eager volunteers. But there is no 14water at hand, and the hose are not long enough to reach to the river behind. So long lines of men are formed down to the waterside, who pass the buckets along from hand to hand, and in a few minutes the engines begin to work. By this time the fire has got a firm hold of the part attacked, and the upper stories are one sheet of flame. Dainty food do the old colleges, with their rickety wooden staircases and wainscoted rooms, dry and inflammable as so much tinder, offer to the hungry fire. At last the engines are in full play, and work at a speed at which engines have seldom worked before. Most of those at the handles are boating-men, who have been for weeks in some sort of training. Beneath their powerful arms the cranks work up and down, with a rapid stroke, very unlike the usual monotonous60 clank of a fire-engine. The men encourage each other with cheering shouts and boating cries of “Now then, all together!” “Now she moves!” and the jets of water dash eagerly in at the blazing windows. But the fire still spreads. The roof falls in. The flames mount up more fiercely and brightly than before, with vast volumes of glowing smoke, and myriads61 15of fiery sparks. Day is dawning, and the crowded court presents a strange sight as the grey morning light breaks on the red flashing of the fire. Some of the men are in pea-jackets with boating-caps of every colour, others are in their caps and gowns. Here a party is working its engine with untiring vigour62, there another group is impatiently awaiting fresh supplies of water; long lines of men are passing the buckets to and from the river. Sober dons are as busy and excited as any; a few are directing the operations, the rest are hard at work among the undergraduates. In spite of their exertions63 the fire still spreads. All are anxious; for if the flames extend to the adjoining wing of the court, Trinity, which is only separated by a narrow lane, is certain to catch fire. These old places are terribly inflammable. Some of the dons therefore get upon the roof, Crockford of Caius most active among them, and direct the hose of the engines; not unfrequently in their haste and inexperience deluging64 themselves and each other with water, to the amusement of the undergraduates below. No attempt is now made to extinguish the fire in the part it has already seized upon, every effort 16being directed to prevent it from spreading. Several times the flames break into the adjoining rooms, but the dons with the hose, on ladders at the windows, stand their ground and beat them back. All this time the college servants are moving about with cans of beer among the men at work; the butteries of the colleges near are thrown open, and refreshments65 served to all comers.
At last the efforts to check the flames are successful, and they spread no farther. Another hour passes, and it is evident that all danger is over. The flames only shoot up at intervals66 from the shell they have destroyed. The gown then leave it to the firemen to pump upon the ruins, and scatter53 to their homes to breakfast.
By the time that Frank Maynard had changed his things and was ready, a friend who had been working next to him at the engine, and who had agreed to come in to breakfast, arrived. Arthur Prescott was a man with a short, thick-set figure, and a kindly67 face with a quaint68, old-fashioned expression—one of those faces which, on a boy’s shoulders, looks like that of an old man, but which never alters, and in old age looks younger than it had ever done before.
17Arthur Prescott—he had been always called Old Prescott at school, and his intimate friends never spoke69 of him as anything else even now—was a general favourite. No one was ever heard to say a bad word of him. He was one of those men in whom all around him seem instinctively70 to confide71, and to make a depositary of secrets which they would never relate to anyone else; a straightforward72, sensible, true-hearted English gentleman.
Prescott and Maynard had been great friends when boys together at Westminster; and, indeed, it was principally the fact of the former’s coming to Caius which had induced Frank to choose that college in preference to any other.
Maynard greeted his arrival with, “That’s right, Prescott, you’re just in time to help me; there is the gridiron, put the steak on while I see about the coffee.”
For some time there was little conversation. Prescott was fully73 occupied with his culinary charge, and Maynard in the preparation of the coffee; the apparatus74 being one of those beautifully-scientific inventions, which, while they produce no doubt an excellent result, demand incessant75 18attention, and are liable, in the event of the least thing going wrong, to explode with disastrous76 consequences. At last all was ready, and they sat down to breakfast. They had scarcely begun when a new-comer entered.
“I thought I should find you at breakfast, Maynard. Give me some, like a good fellow. My fire is gone out, and I can’t find either my gyp or bed-maker, although I’ve been shouting from the window till I am as hoarse as a raven77. What are you eating? Steak, and mighty78 nicely done too.”
Their hunger once somewhat appeased79, they began to talk over the events of the past night, and of the boat supper.
“Do you know, Frank,” Teddy Drake said, after a pause, “that cousin of yours—Bingham—becomes more unpleasant every day. I thought last night there would have been a row half-a-dozen times. He is the most insufferable little beggar I ever came across.”
Frank laughed. “Bingham does make himself disagreeable, Drake, I quite allow; but it is really all manner, he is not a bad fellow.”
19“I only go by what I see and hear, Frank, and I call him a cantankerous80 little vermin.”
“It is all outside, Drake; he is a good-hearted fellow in the main.”
“I don’t think it, Frank. I tell you he is a chip of the evil one.”
“Without going as far as Drake,” Prescott said, smiling, “I confess, Frank, that I don’t like Bingham. It is not that he is disagreeable, although he certainly is that, but that I feel instinctively repelled81 by him. Frankly82, Maynard, he gives me the impression of being bad hearted. He is essentially83 a man I could not trust.”
“Oh come, Prescott,” Frank said, warmly, “that is not like you. I have known Fred for many years, and I believe him to be a very straightforward fellow. Disagreeable and cantankerous if you like, but a good fellow in the main. In his way he reminds me, although he is as straight as an arrow, of deformed84 people. They are generally kind-hearted, but they are often extremely sensitive. They imagine all sorts of slights where none are intended, and are not unfrequently very bitter in their remarks on those 20to whom nature has been more bountiful than to themselves. So with Fred; I am sure he feels it very much that he looks a mere85 boy, and it makes him irritable86 and snappish.”
“I have no doubt there is a good deal in what you say, Frank; but I confess that somehow or other I distrust as much as I dislike him.”
“He’s a chip of the evil one,” Teddy Drake muttered to himself, “and there are no two ways about it.”
“Now, Drake,” Frank said, “help me to push the table back, and let’s have a pipe. Another fortnight and we shall be going down; now the races are over I shall be glad to be away.”
“I am going to stop up and read,” Teddy Drake said, disconsolately87. “My coach says that I never open a book when the men are up, and that my only chance is in the vacations, when there is nothing to do. I am afraid he’s about right; and I’ve made up my mind to stick to it. I shall run up to town and see the ‘’Varsity,’ of course, but that’s all the holidays I mean to take.”
“Look here, Drake,” Frank said; “the best thing you can do is to come and stay for the 21week with me. My guardian88 is a capital old fellow, and there’s lots of room in the house.”
“I should like it of all things, Frank; but does he object to smoke, because I couldn’t do without that?”
“He wouldn’t like it in the breakfast-room,” Frank laughed; “but he smokes himself in his study, and I have a special smoking-room upstairs.”
“In that case, Frank, I shall be delighted. That guardian of yours must be a trump4. I wish my father saw things in the same reasonable light. He’s always down upon me about smoking; but I am afraid he will never cure me of it.”
“I am afraid not, Teddy. Well, you can smoke as much as you like while you are with us.”
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1
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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7
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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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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jerseys
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| n.运动衫( jersey的名词复数 ) | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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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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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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prey
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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overlaps
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| v.部分重叠( overlap的第三人称单数 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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adversary
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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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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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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deluging
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| v.使淹没( deluge的现在分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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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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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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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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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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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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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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