“Winter sharpens her spearheads,” said Dulcet. “Aye,” was my reply. Below us I saw the coaling-station at the Seventy-ninth Street pier11. “The merriest music the householder can hear nowadays is the roar of coal going down the chute into the cellar.”
He sighed, and seemed touched by a sudden melancholy12.
“Ben,” he said, “that coal-dump reminds me of Gloria Larsen. Did I ever tell you about her?”
“Never,” I said. “Coal, I presume, made you think of diamonds; and diamonds, of Miss Larsen. Were you engaged to her?”
“I might have been,” he said, sentimentally13. Before us was an empty bench, on a little knoll15 that looks out over the shining sweep of the river. I drew him to it, and we filled our pipes. When you can get a minor16 poet in an autobioloquacious mood, it is well to encourage him. No one takes life so seriously as the minor poet, and consequently his memoirs17 make fine sport for the disinterested18 bystander.
“No,” he said, blowing a waft19 of tobacco smoke into the soft, sun-brimmed air, and settling down into the curve of the bench. “The association was even more obvious than that of coal and diamonds. I always think of Gloria when winter begins to come in.”
“Ah!” I said. “She was cold?”
“It was a good many years ago,” he said at last; “before you knew me. When I first came to town, you know, I had a fine ambition to be a writer. I had just a little money, so I shut myself up in a hall room at the top of a cheap lodging-house on Seventy-fifth Street, hired a typewriter, and set about to butt21 my bead22 against all the walls that hem23 in the beginner.
“It was one of those old four-story dwellings24 that are now mostly boarding-houses, and it was run by a good-hearted widow who would let her rooms only to men, because she said they were less trouble than women. Her house was clean and incredibly cheap, and almost all the lodgers27 were young fellows like myself—students, or starveling artists, or chaps with literary ambitions. That was how I had heard of the place, through another fellow who lived there and had built up a little sort of coterie28 in the house. He was Black-more. You know his name; he gave up art long ago. He's now the art editor of the Mother, Home, and Heaven Magazine.
“Mrs. Vesey, our landlady29, was quite a character. I was always rather a favourite with her, because the very first day I came to her house I happened to find her cat, which had wandered away some days before, leaving her disconsolate30. The cat's name, I remember, was Nemo. She had called it so because, with that admirable virginity of mind that one finds only in a childless married woman, she was uncertain of the animal's sex. Anyway, it was a fine big creature, and the apple of Mrs. Vesey's pie. She talked so much about it that we used to chaff31 her a good deal on the subject, and say that we thought it was going to have kittens, and all that sort of thing. Blackmore used to say, remembering the title of some idiotic32 melodrama33 he had seen, that it was 'Neither Maid, Wife, nor Widow.' He was right, for it was the kind of cat that is not likely to be either a father or a mother without a miracle. But I don't want to be indelicate. I only mention Nemo because it was through him that I first talked with Gloria.
“The first day I was at Mrs. Vesey's I heard her groaning34 about the vanished cat. That evening I went out to supper, feeling rather lonely, and dropped in at an eccentric-looking little restaurant on Amsterdam Avenue. It was called Larsen's Physical Culture Chophouse, and I have never seen a more amusing place. Old man Larsen was a Swede, and all the Scandinavian fads35 ran riot in his head—vegetarian36 food, for instance. He didn't absolutely condemn37 meat, for he would serve it if you insisted, but all his joy was in weird38 combinations of calory, protose, and vitamine, or whatever those things are called. Bean “cutlets,” and protose “steak” that turned out, on examination, to be made of chopped walnuts39 and lentils, and the “Thousand-Calory Combination Dinner,” of which he made a specialty40. When you sat down, if you were a regular customer, old Larsen would come round and look you over and diagnose from your complexion41 the kind and quantity of calories you needed for that meal, and would give you combinations of spinach42 croquettes and lentil pie that he warranted would purge43 the blood and compose the mind. On the walls were charts of Swedish exercises and systems of calisthenics, and he sold a little pamphlet that he himself had written telling how to be strong and merry and full of physique.
“Well, to come back to my first visit to Larsen's restaurant. I hadn't been in there many minutes before I noticed the girl at the cashier's desk. My, my, what a girl! My table was close to her little throne, and I couldn't help watching her out of the end of my eye. I wondered if she was raised entirely44 on protose and lentils, for I have never seen anything so gloriously and vitally physical in my life. Great, bold blue eyes, and crisp, sparkling golden hair, and blood that spoke45 delicately through her skin, and a figure—well, just our old friend of Melos over again, that lively combination of grace and strength. She was just curves and waves and athletic46 softness—the kind of creature that makes your arms tingle47, you know. No corset, I suppose. In the old man's booklet on physical culture he defended the gymnastic doctrine48 that women should develop what he called a muscle corset by bending and swaying from the hips49 a thousand times a day. He said it must be done—well, au naturel, in front of an open window in one's bedroom in the morning. I'd be ashamed to admit that we fellows at Mrs. Vesey's used to set our alarm clocks at half-past six to go round the corner to Amsterdam Avenue——”
“But about the cat,” I reminded him presently.
“Yes,” he said. “Well, that first night I was at the chop-house I noticed a very fine, fat cat browsing51 about under the tables. I was amused at the corpulence of the animal. I said to myself that a cat as large as that must surely get some meat somewhere, because, while vegetarian protose food may be all right for Swedes, a cat is a realist in the matter of carnal meals. And when I went to the desk to pay my check, wanting some excuse to get into talk with the superb Gloria—who was, of course, the old man's daughter—I remarked on the sleek52, healthy appearance of her cat.
“'Oh, it's not ours,' she said. 'It came in here yesterday. I don't know whose he is.'
“I'll bet I know whose it is,” I said.
I told her that Mrs. Vesey, who ran the bachelor lodging-house on Seventy-Fifth Street, had lost her Nemo. She listened with interest, those thrilling blue eyes sizing me up in a keen, humorous way.
“'I shouldn't wonder it's hers,' she said.
“Welcoming any pretext53 for prolonging the discussion, I borrowed the phone at Gloria's elbow, and, studying the heart-rending curves of her chin and cheek and throat, I called up Mrs. Vesey and told her I thought I had found her pet. Mrs. Vesey hurried round to the restaurant, and swept up the vagabond Nemo with cries of joy into her lean and affectionate bosom54. Nemo purred, and I escorted Mrs. Vesey home, recapitulating55 in my mind the perfect contours of the girl's heavenly form. My enthusiasm was even such that when the other men came in I could not refrain from telling them all about her. I saw that I had made a mistake, for instantly Blackmore swore he would get her to sit for him.
“Of course, from that time on, the Physical Culture Chophouse became the nightly haunt of our little party. The other men had seen it many times, but the vegetarian threats in the window had frightened them away. But now, none of us dared to be absent very many dinners, for fear the rest would gain some advantage with the girl. I cannot give you any conception of the humorous glamour56 of that time unless I insist that she was the most superbly luscious57 thing I have ever glimpsed; and one sees a good many covetable58 creatures on the streets of New York. Some of them said she was cold; that in spite of all the nutritious59 algebra60 printed on old Larsen's menus (he used to put down all sorts of preposterous61 formulas about starch62, and albumen, and phosphorus, and proteids, and so on)—she was lacking in calories. But I know that when we sat at table, and she came round to ask if everything was all right, and leaned over us with her clear eyes, as blue as a special-delivery stamp, and that cream-white neck, and the faint glimmer63 of a blue ribbon shining through the hilly slopes of her blouse——-Oh, well, Ben, we were young, and we ate red meat for lunch, anyway.
“I guess old man Larsen, who spent most of his time in the kitchen, encouraged her to kid us along, for he never seemed to mind our open admiration64 of his daughter. He probably saw that she was a bigger business asset than any number of calory charts. Every now and then he would come out and chin with us, for our party became a nightly event in the café. Before long we had sampled every kind of vegetarian combination on the list, and had him busy inventing new ones. We used to ask him if he had raised a girl like that on nothing but vegetables, and he would laugh and swear that Gloria had never tasted blood until she was sixteen. It seemed queer to us that the restaurant wasn't full of her suitors. I should have thought, with a girl like her, they'd have been standing65 in line waiting for a look at her. I suppose that people who feed on nothing but vegetables are rather puny66 in such matters. It's an odd thing, but I've always noticed that most of the people who frequent these crank physical-culture and dietetic eating-places are a queer, sick-looking lot—youths with rolling Adam's apples, and sallow, soup-stained girls. Certainly our little gang, so very jovial67 and fancy-free, made a quaint68 contrast to most of the patrons of the house. In a few days we felt as if we owned the place, and had the old man slide two tables together just underneath69 Gloria's cash register, where we met every evening for dinner.
“As for Larsen, he was a crank on many subjects but he was no fool. He was an athletic, erect70 fellow with a bristling71 gray moustache and cropped hair and a forcible gray eye. On the wall was a huge photo of him in a kind of Sandow pose, with a leopard-skin apron72 round his middle, showing terrific knotty73 biceps and back muscles. Gloria told us that at one time he had been a physical instructor74 in the Swedish army, and the head of a Turnverein, or something of that sort. There was a certain physical and gymnastic candour about him that amused us. He was awfully75 proud of Gloria, whom he had raised himself (being a widower) according to his own hygienic and athletic principles. After we had all bought his booklets, and promised to take up his system of calisthenics, he became quite chummy and showed us a lot of photographs of Gloria at different ages, doing her gymnastic exercises, beginning as a little plump Venus and ending as a stunning76 profile in tights. We tried to maintain an attitude of merely scientific detachment toward those pictures, admiring them only as connoisseurs77 of physical culture; but we ended by begging him for copies, insisting that they would be a useful guide to us in our own private exercising. But Larsen said he was keeping them to illustrate78 a new enlarged edition of his physical-culture book. We told him that it would sell a million copies, and I think we all volunteered to act as selling-agents for the book. Annette Kellermann and Susanna Cocroft, we cried, were scarecrows compared to Gloria.
“To all this banter79 Gloria would listen calmly and unembarrassed, for she had a magnificent unconsciousness of her own superb allure80. We would each try to get a moment alone with her to describe the exercises we were taking, and to ask her advice about our muscular development. I remember that Blackmore, after secret practice that we had not suspected, took the wind out of our sails one evening when some of us were bragging81 of our accomplishment82 in bending and touching83 the floor while standing on tiptoe. He jumped up and caught hold of the lintel of the doorway84, and chinned himself on it a dozen times or so. We were all crestfallen85 by this feat86 until Gloria came forward—all the other customers had gone home—and did the same thing about twenty times. She went back to her counter with a heavenly flush of pride, while Blackmore dashed to a table and did a little sketch87 of her from memory, with the lovely lines of her figure silhouetted88 against the doorway.
“But it was I who was first to think of the subtlest compliment that any one could pay her, which was to ask the privilege of feeling her biceps. And what an arm she had! Not a great, fleshy, flabby washerwoman's limb, but the rippling89 marble of a Greek statue brought to warm life! Blackmore used to sit at meal-times neglecting his protose steak and making sketches90 of her while she wasn't looking. The best I could do was write verses about her. And while she played no favourites, I think she really gave me a little the inside track, because I talked physical culture with her more seriously than the others, who tried to make love to her a little too baldly.
“By this time she had us all doing calisthenics. The creaky floors of Mrs. Vesey's house used to resound91 night and morning with the agonies of our gymnastics. There was one exercise that Gloria told us she found particularly helpful. It was to lie down with the feet under a bureau or any other heavy piece of furniture, extend the arms behind the head, and then raise and lower the body a hundred times, pivoting92 from the waist. This was only one of fifty or more laborious93 accomplishments94 that we undertook for the sake of our goddess. No woman was ever wooed with more honest pangs95, or with more repeated genuflections. As we lay on the floor before going to bed, raising our legs in the air two hundred times, or groaned96 in some sinew-cracking, twisting contortion97 devised by the pitiless Swede, it was the vision of Gloria's beauty of snow and rose that gave us courage. If any passer-by ever looked up at the front of Mrs. Vesey's house in the early mornings, he must have been startled to see a white figure near every window, furiously going through the Swedish manual. One of us, we fondly thought, would some day spend a healthy Swedish honeymoon98 performing these motions in ecstatic company with Gloria; and we did not want to be shamed by her incomparable perfection. If she worshipped bodily symmetry, our goal was nothing less. We wanted to be lithe99, supple100, very panthers of elasticity101 and grace. The evening I was able to stand on one leg in the restaurant and proudly raise my other foot to touch a gas-jet some six feet from the floor, I felt that Gloria might some day be mine.”
Dove paused again, and seemed to fall into a reminiscent reverie. Unconsciously he stiffly extended one leg in front of him, and I divined that he was inwardly rehearsing that act of calisthenic triumph.
“By gracious!” he said, “I've never forgotten the night I got her father's permission to take her to some gymnastic tournament, or something of that sort, down at Madison Square Garden. How annoyed the other men were when they went to the chop-house that night for their evening penance102 of lentils, and found Gloria absent! Yes, it was an odd wooing. I had found the measurements of the Venus de Milo in some Sunday paper, and that night, when we became quite sentimental14, I made her promise to take her own dimensions, so that we could compare the proportions of the two. And we had some very happy little jokes, quite simple ones that she would understand, about her arms being much more lovely than those of the statue, and that sort of thing. How deliciously she blushed the next day when she gave me her list of measurements, written out on a sheet of paper. Of course, I pretended not to understand which was which. I wrote a little poem about them.”
“It seems to me,” I said, “that you were getting on very well. What was the trouble? You didn't marry her, did you?”
“Old man Larsen,” he continued, gravely, “had a number of other hobbies besides vegetarianism103 and physical culture. He was a mechanical genius in his way. I remember once, after we had expressed exaggerated admiration of some atrocious compound of lentils and nuts and fruit, Gloria took us through the kitchen to show us an ingenious sandwich-making machine her father had contrived104. You fed in loaves of pumpernickel bread and pats of nut butter on one side, hard-boiled eggs and lettuce105 and dressing106 on the other, and out came egg-salad sandwiches through a slot, as neat as you could want to see. But the best of his stunts107 was a sort of miniature vacuum cleaner which the waitresses used for taking the crumbs108 off the tables. You've seen those little hot-air pistols they use at swell109 shoe-shining stands to dry the liquid cleanser off your shoes before they put on the polishing paste? Well, Larsen's decrumbing machine, as we used to call it, looked rather like those. You screwed a plug into an electric light socket110, ran the little gun over the table, and in a jiffy it sucked up crumbs and cigarette ashes and spilled lentils and matches, and left the cloth neat. Larsen was so proud of it he said he was going to patent it.
“I never cared so very much for the old man, he was a little too eccentric; and I began to think, after a while, that he used his daughter a little too crudely as a business bait; but he was full of ideas. He had a big motor-truck that he used to cruise around town, visiting the markets himself, to get the pick of the vegetables; and he was always tinkering with that truck, planning new mechanical tricks of some kind. He had an insatiable curiosity, too. He used to sit down at the table with us sometimes, late in the evening, and ask about our work, and where we lived, and what Mrs. Vesey was like, and what time of day we were home, and all sorts of fool questions like that.
“Well, the time went on, and it began to be cold weather. I noticed this sooner than the other fellows, I think, because whereas most of them went to offices during the daytime, I stayed home at Mrs. Vesey's, trying to write in my narrow coop of a top bedroom. You know how depressing an instrument a typewriter is when your hands are cold. I haven't forgotten some dreary111 vigils I had up there, struggling to write short stories. Sometimes I used to give it up weakly, and go round to Larsen's, where it was always warm and cozy112, to drink herb coffee and eat those brittle113 Swedish biscuits and chat with Gloria. I used to complain to her about the cold in my room, and she would laugh and say that I just ought to try a winter in Sweden.
“'Swedish exercises,' she would say. 'That's the thing to stir up your blood! They'll keep you warm.'
“And then, in her enchanting114 way, she would tell me a new one, and if there were no customers (as there generally weren't in the middle of the afternoon) she would illustrate how it should be done. Sometimes she would even allow me what she called a Swedish kiss—a very fleeting115 and provocative116 embrace. And then I would show her my new perfection in doing the backward stoop or some such muscular oddity, and return to my cold citadel117.
“But in spite of the fact that we were all busy much of the time going through our manual of exercises, presently the chill of Mrs. Vesey's lodgings118 became severe. Mrs. Vesey was a rather obstinate119 and frugal120 old dear, and she herself dwelt down in the kitchen, where her big gas-range kept her comfortable. When we complained of the cold, she had all sorts of excuses for postponing121 lighting122 the furnace. There was a big coal strike that year, and she was quite right in suspecting that once her present supply was exhausted123 it would be very hard to get more. Also, she said, her furnace man had quit, but she was hunting for another. On one pretext or another, she kept on putting us off, until finally it was mid-November, and we were doing our exercises in rooms where our breath showed like clouds of fog. And then one day Mrs. Vesey came up in great glee to say that a coal man had called that very morning, of his own accord, and had offered to give her five tons. She had promptly124 snapped at the chance, and he had put the coal in the cellar; so we should have heat the very next day, when the new furnace man was expected.
“Naturally we were all cheered by this good news. We sped round to Larsen's restaurant in high spirits, and adored our divinity with even more than usual abandon.
“'Now my fingers will be warm again, Gloria,' I said, 'I'll be able to write some more poems about you.'
“'Yes,' cried Blackmore, 'and now it will be warm enough for you to come and pose for me in my lovely attic125 at Mrs. Vesey's. If you had come before, I should have called my painting “The Chilblain Venus.”'
“'Silly boys!' said Gloria, with that delicious, soft Swedish accent which I can't even try to imitate. 'You are hot-blooded enough as it is. You don't need all that warming up. Look at us vegetarians126; you make fun of us, but our lentils keep our blood circulating. Try Brussels sprouts127; they are full of calories.'
“'Ah!' we shouted. 'But you seem to keep this place warm enough.'
“Old Larsen, who passed through the room just then, broke in crossly:
“'We have to, for the sake of the customers,' he said. 'Gloria, stop fooling with the gentlemen and attend to business.' He seemed in a bad humour that night.
“The next day must have been some sort of holiday, for I know we all went out to see a football game. We got back about supper-time and found the house perishing chill. With shouts and protests we called Mrs. Vesey from her kitchen, but she explained that the expected furnace man had not turned up.
“'Well,' said Blackmore, 'this can't go on any longer, Mrs. Vesey. I'll go down and light the fire myself. We'll take turns and keep it going till your man comes.'
“He ran down to the basement, but a minute later he was up again.
“'Mrs. Vesey,' he shouted, 'what is all this nonsense? Are you kidding us? There's no coal down there at all!'
“'No coal?' she exclaimed. 'Why, there was a good three or four tons, and the man said he put five tons more in yesterday. I heard him do it—never heard such a noise in my life. I paid him ten dollars a ton.
“'Impossible!' Blackmore cried, angrily. 'There's not enough down there to fry Nemo with. About three shovelfuls, that's all. What is this—some kind of a game to freeze us out?'
“Mrs. Vesey wrung129 her hands, and we all ran down to the cellar. It was as Blackmore had said. The bins130 were empty, save for a few lumps.”
“On a mellow132 afternoon like this,” he said, “coal doesn't seem quite so pressing a concern; but I tell you, in a bleak133 boarding-house about Thanksgiving time, with no heat of any sort available but a gas-jet, it is a different matter. We were an angry and puzzled lot that night. Mrs. Vesey protested so pitifully that there had been coal in the bins only the day before, and asserted so repeatedly that she had heard the noise of the new load going in, that we could not help believe her. She promised to call up her coal man the first thing the next morning, and we also agreed to go round and visit him in a body, to add our personal appeals; but how on earth several tons of coal could have been stolen out of the cellar without any one hearing it seemed to us a mystery.
“The next morning we visited the coal-dealer134 en masse—in a coalition135, as Blackmore said—and by spirited imprecation and paying cash we extracted a promise to have a couple of tons sent at once. His office was some distance up on Columbus Avenue, and on our way back we passed through one of the cross-streets—Eighty-Third, I think it was, because one of us wanted to get some stamps at the post-office. As we came along, we heard the rumble136 of coal passing down a chute, and saw a coal-wagon in the distance.
“'There's somebody in luck,' said one.
“'But what an odd-looking coal-wagon,' said another, as we approached.
“It was a large motor-truck with a hinged metal top, something like a huge street-cleaning cart. The engine was throbbing137, and the coal was roaring noisily in the chute, which led down into the cellar window of a brownstone dwelling25. The chute, instead of being the customary shallow trough, was a large circular pipe, so that we could not actually see the coal pouring downward, but only hear it crashing through the metal tube. That struck me as a good idea for preventing the coal-dust from spreading over everything near.
“But we were all interested not only in the odd appearance of the truck, but in the extraordinary din26 it caused. Delivering coal is never a silent job, naturally; but this racket was really terrific. The driver seemed to have left his engine running full tilt138, and the whole truck quivered and shook with the power. We stood amazed at the furious rattle139 and uproar140. The noise was too great for spoken words to be caught, but I pointed141 out the circular chute to Blackmore. It was made in telescoping sections, to slide into itself, and was an interesting novelty.
“It occurred to me that this dealer, whoever he might be—there was no name on the truck—could perhaps let Mrs. Vesey have some coal. We could see the feet of the driver, who was standing on the other side of the truck, and I went round to speak to him. It was a stocky man with a flowing bush of black beard and wearing a suit of very grimy overalls142. At the top of my voice I yelled:
“'Got any coal to sell?'
“He shook his head in a surly way and turned his back on me.
“I could not tell from his gesture whether he had answered my question, or was indicating that he could not hear; so I shouted at him again.
“At the same time I noticed Blackmore and the others gathered at the cellar window, looking in curiously143 over the slope of the delivery pipe. The coal man seized a lever and shut off his power, for the engine stopped, and after a little sliding and rumbling144 in the tube the racket ceased. He picked up a shovel128 and ran to the group by the chute.
“'Here, let that alone!' he cried, angrily. “'Keep your shirt on,' said Blackmore. 'We're just looking at this outfit145 of yours. It makes a devil of a noise. Regular public nuisance, I call it!' '“It's none of your affair,' said the man. 'Keep out of what don't concern you.'
“He returned to his truck, pulled a handle, and the roar of the coal began again. I was standing near him, while the others were on the opposite side of the wagon, so I was the only one to see a curious thing. There were several revolving146 cogwheels at the side of the truck, and in his irritation147, I suppose the driver stooped over them too closely. At any rate, his beard caught in the cogs, and I gave a cry of dismay, thinking he would be cruelly hurt. To my amazement148 the beard was whisked quickly from his face, and I saw that he was Larsen. He looked at me with an expression of alarm and anger that was laughable.
“'When did you turn coal-dealer?' I shouted. But at this moment Blackmore, who was still bending over the chute, sprang up and ran round to us. He, too, was staggered to see the identity of the driver. He dragged me a few paces away and shouted in my ear.
“'Damn queer business,' he said. 'That coal isn't going in. It's coming out!'
“'What the deuce do you mean?' I said.
“'Just what I say. He's got some sort of a suction engine in that truck, a kind of big vacuum cleaner, and he's simply siphoning the coal out of somebody's cellar.'
“Larsen ran at us with a big spanner in his hand, but we grappled with him, and while three of us held him the others examined the truck. It was perfectly149 true. By an ingenious gasoline pump installed in the wagon he was drawing out the coal. Looking into the top of the wagon through a little glass peephole, we could see the black nuggets coming swiftly up out of the chute. By this time a little crowd had gathered, and the lady of the house ran out to see what was happening. I think she thought we were trying to seduce150 her coal supply. She explained angrily to us that Larsen had driven up to her door half an hour before and offered to sell her several tons of coal. Her cellar, like everyone else's, was none too well stocked, and she had been delighted to agree.
“While we were wondering just what to do, Larsen, who had been glaring wickedly at us, broke away from our grasp and reversed his machinery151 so that the coal began to thunder back honestly into the cellar. The puzzled woman, not suspecting anything wrong, went back indoors after we made some impromptu152 explanation for the fuss. Larsen's amputated black beard whirled round and round, still adhering to the rolling cogs, as we watched, while he stood by sullenly153. We walked away down the block to hold a council, and also to let the group of mystified onlookers154 disperse155. Of course, our first thought was to go for the police; but then we thought of Gloria.”
Dove sighed, and tapped out his long-expired pipe.
“Well,” he said, “that's pretty near the end of the story. I'm afraid association with Beauty blunts the sense of rectitude. No, we didn't do anything about it, except see to it that Larsen put back that coal in the cellar. I suppose we were really accessory to a misdemeanour, because we gathered from some small paragraphs we saw in the papers that a number of householders in that neighbourhood had been mysteriously robbed of their coal. To tell you the truth, we couldn't bear the thought of taking any action that would ruin Gloria's happiness. What were a few tons of black, filthy156 coal compared to that serene and golden-white beauty of hers, like some princess in a Norse fairy tale? The old man was a lunatic, we supposed, and would come to grief sooner or later. We were not going to be the ones to bring humiliation157 upon him.
“We walked back, stricken, to our lodgings; and as we passed the Physical Culture Chophouse we looked furtively158 through the window. We could see Gloria laying the tables for lunch, the tall, strong curve of her back as she leaned over, her capable white hands smoothing the cloth. None of us had the heart to go in.
“We clubbed together to pay for Mrs. Vesey's new supply of coal, although it broke our pocket-books for the next month or so. We were too hard up, then, to go on eating at Larsen's. We had to patronize a lunch-counter instead, where we gloomed over frankfurters and beans and quarrelled with one another, in sheer misery159, as to which one of us Gloria had really liked best. We never saw her again, because about a week later the Larsen café shut up, and they disappeared.”
“And the calisthenics?” I said. “Did you go on with those?”
“No,” he said; “we were too melancholy. Also, as soon as Mrs. Vesey's coal arrived, we didn't need to. That was the terrible part of it. You see, Gloria had simply egged us on to do those exercises so that we wouldn't feel the chill when her father stole the coal. I'm afraid she was as guilty as he was, but we tried to convince ourselves that she was only a tool.”
We got up from our bench, for the afternoon air was growing bleak.
“Now you know,” he said, “why that coal-dump down there reminded me of Gloria. Well, it was wonderful while it lasted—until, as you might say, the serpent drove us out of our Garden of Sweden.”
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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9
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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10
barb
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| n.（鱼钩等的）倒钩，倒刺 | |
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11
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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12
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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13
sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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14
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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15
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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16
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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17
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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18
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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19
waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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20
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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21
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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22
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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23
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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24
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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25
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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26
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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27
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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28
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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29
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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30
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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31
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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32
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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33
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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34
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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35
fads
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| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
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36
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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37
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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38
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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39
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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40
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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41
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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42
spinach
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| n.菠菜 | |
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43
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
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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46
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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47
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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48
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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49
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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50
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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51
browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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52
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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53
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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54
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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55
recapitulating
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| v.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的现在分词 ) | |
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56
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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57
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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58
covetable
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| adj.值得渴望的可羡慕的，值得渴望的 | |
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59
nutritious
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| adj.有营养的，营养价值高的 | |
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60
algebra
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| n.代数学 | |
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61
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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62
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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63
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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64
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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65
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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66
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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67
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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68
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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69
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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70
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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71
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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72
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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73
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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74
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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75
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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76
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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77
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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78
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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79
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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80
allure
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| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
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81
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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82
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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83
touching
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|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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84
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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85
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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86
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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87
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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88
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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89
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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90
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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91
resound
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| v.回响 | |
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92
pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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93
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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94
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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95
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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96
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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97
contortion
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| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
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98
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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99
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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100
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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101
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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102
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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103
vegetarianism
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| n.素食，素食主义 | |
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104
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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105
lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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106
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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107
stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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108
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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109
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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110
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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111
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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112
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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113
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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114
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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115
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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116
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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117
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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118
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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119
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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120
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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121
postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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122
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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123
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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124
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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125
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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126
vegetarians
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|
| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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127
sprouts
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| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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128
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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129
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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130
bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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131
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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132
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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133
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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134
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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135
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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136
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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137
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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138
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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139
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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140
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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141
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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142
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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143
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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144
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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145
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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146
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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147
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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148
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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149
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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150
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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151
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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152
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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153
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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154
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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155
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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156
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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157
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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158
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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159
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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