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One of the odd things about being in a hurry is that it seems so fiercely important when you yourself are the hurrier and so comically ludicrous when it is someone else. We see our friend Artaxerxes scorching6 up Church Street and we scream with laughter at him, because we know perfectly7 well that there is absolutely not one of his affairs important enough to cause him to buzz along like that. We look after him with a sort of mild and affectionate pity for a deluded8 creature who thinks that his concerns are of such glorious magnitude. And then, a few hours later, we find ourself on a subway car with only ten minutes to catch the train for Salamis at Atlantic Avenue. And what is our state of mind? We stand, gritting9 our teeth (we are too excited to sit, even if there were a seat) and holding our watch. The whole train, it seems to us, is occupied by invalids10, tottering11 souls and lumbago cripples, who creep off at the stations as though five seconds made not the[Pg 215] slightest difference. We glare and fume12 and could gladly see them all maced in sunder13 with battle-axes. Nothing, it seems to us, could soothe14 our bitter hunger for haste but to have a brilliant Lexington Avenue express draw up at the platform with not a soul in it. Out would step a polite guard, looking at his watch. “You want to catch a train at 5:27?” he asks. “Yes, sir, yes, sir; step aboard.” All the other competitors are beaten back with knotted thongs15 and we are ushered16 to a seat. The bells go chiming in quick sequence up the length of the train and we are off at top speed, flying wildly past massed platforms of indignant people. We draw up at Atlantic Avenue, and the solitary17 passenger, somewhat appeased18, steps off. “Compliments of the Interborough, sir,” says the guard.
The commuter19, urgently posting toward the 5:27, misses the finest flavour of the city's life, for it is in the two or three hours after office work is over that the town is at her best. What a spry and smiling mood is shown along the pavements, particularly on these clear, warm evenings when the dropping sun pours a glowing tide of soft rosy20 light along the cross-town streets. There is a cool lightness in the air; restaurants are not yet crowded (it is, let us say, a little after six) and beside snowy tablecloths21 the waiters stand indulgently with folded arms. Everybody seems in a blithe22 and spirited humour. Work is over for the day, and now what shall we do for[Pg 216] amusement? This is the very peak of living, it seems to us, as we sally cheerily along the street. It is like the beginning of an O. Henry story. The streets are fluttering with beautiful women; light summer frocks are twinkling in the busy frolic air. Oh, to be turned loose at the corner of Broadway and Thirty-second Street at 6:15 o'clock of a June evening, with nothing to do but follow the smile of adventure to the utmost! Thirty-second, we might add, is our favourite street in New York. It saddens us to think that the old boarding house on the corner of Madison Avenue is vanished now and all those quaint23 and humorous persons dispersed24. We can still remember the creak of the long stairs and the clink of a broken slab25 in the tiled flooring of the hall as one walked down to the dining room.
Affection for any particular street largely depends on the associations it has accumulated in one's mind. For several years most of our adventures in New York centred round Thirty-second Street; but its physique has changed so much lately that it has lost some of its appeal. We remember an old stone-yard that used to stand where the Pennsylvania Hotel is now, a queer jumbled26 collection of odd carvings27 and relics28. At the front door there was a bust3 of Pan on a tall pedestal, which used to face us with a queer crooked29 grin twice a day, morning and evening. We had a great affection for that effigy30, and even wrote a little piece about him in one of the[Pg 217] papers, for which we got about $4 at a time when it was considerably31 needed. We used to say to ourself that some day when we had a home in the country we would buy Pan and set him in a Long Island garden where he would feel more at home than in the dusty winds of Thirty-second Street. Time went on and we disappeared from our old haunts, and when we came back Pan had vanished, too. You may imagine our pleasure when we found him again the other day standing32 in front of a chop house on Forty-fourth Street.
But one great addition to the delights of the Thirty-second Street region is the new and shining white tunnel that leads one from the Penn Station subway platform right into the heart of what used (we think) to be called Greeley Square. It is so dazzling and candid33 in its new tiling that it seems rather like a vast hospital corridor. One emerges through the Hudson Tube station and perhaps sets one's course for a little restaurant on Thirty-fifth Street which always holds first place in our affection. It is somewhat declined from its former estate, for the upper floors, where the violent orchestra was and the smiling little dandruffian used to sing solos when the evening grew glorious, are now rented to a feather and ostrich34 plume35 factory. But the old basement is still there, much the same in essentials, by which we mean the pickled beet36 appetizers37, the minestrone soup, the delicious soft bread with its brittle38 crust,[Pg 218] and the thick slices of rather pale roast beef swimming in thin, pinkish gravy39. And the three old French waiters, hardened in long experience of the frailties40 of mortality, smile to see a former friend. One, grinning upon us rather bashfully, recalls the time when there was a hilarious41 Oriental wedding celebrating in a private room upstairs and two young men insisted on going in to dance with the bride. He has forgiven various pranks42, we can see, though he was wont43 to be outraged44 at the time. “Getting very stout,” he says, beaming down at us. “You weigh a hundred pounds more than you used to.” This is not merely cruel; it is untrue. We refrain from retorting on the growth of his bald spot.
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1 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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2 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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3 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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4 dawdle | |
vi.浪费时间;闲荡 | |
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5 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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6 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
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7 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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8 deluded | |
v.欺骗,哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 gritting | |
v.以沙砾覆盖(某物),撒沙砾于( grit的现在分词 );咬紧牙关 | |
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10 invalids | |
病人,残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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11 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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12 fume | |
n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟,气,汽 | |
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13 sunder | |
v.分开;隔离;n.分离,分开 | |
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14 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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15 thongs | |
的东西 | |
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16 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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18 appeased | |
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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19 commuter | |
n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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20 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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21 tablecloths | |
n.桌布,台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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22 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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23 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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24 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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25 slab | |
n.平板,厚的切片;v.切成厚板,以平板盖上 | |
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26 jumbled | |
adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
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27 carvings | |
n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 );雕刻术;雕刻品;雕刻物 | |
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28 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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29 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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30 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
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31 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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32 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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33 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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34 ostrich | |
n.鸵鸟 | |
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35 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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36 beet | |
n.甜菜;甜菜根 | |
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37 appetizers | |
n.开胃品( appetizer的名词复数 );促进食欲的活动;刺激欲望的东西;吊胃口的东西 | |
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38 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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39 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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40 frailties | |
n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 );虚弱;(性格或行为上的)弱点;缺点 | |
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41 hilarious | |
adj.充满笑声的,欢闹的;[反]depressed | |
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42 pranks | |
n.玩笑,恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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43 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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44 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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