Mr. Veal lived in the exclusive and clean-shaven suburb of Mandrake Park, where he had built a stucco mansion3 with Venetian blinds, a croquet lawn with a revolving4 spray on it on hot days, and a mansard butler. Here Mrs. Veal and the two Veal girls, Dora and Petunia5, led the blameless life of the embonpoint classes. The electric lights in the bedrooms were turned on promptly6 at ten o'clock every night, except on the sixteen winter evenings when the Veals occupied their box at the opera. During “Rigoletto” or “Pagliacci” the uncomplaining Mr. Veal would sit in silence with his head against the thick red velvet7 curtain at the back of the box, thinking up new ways to get an order for ten thousand nickel-plated seamless number 13's from the Pullman Company.
Mr. Veal, hampered8 as he was by the restrictions9 of success, was still full of the enjoyment10 of life. He had written a little brochure on “The Cuspidor: Its Use and Abuse Since the Times of the Pharaohs,” which was very well spoken of in the trade. A morocco-bound copy lay on the console table in Mrs. Veal's salon11. It was he who invented the papier-maché spittoon, and the collapsible paper “companion” for travelling salesmen. It was he who had presented a solid silver spittoon de luxe to the King of Siam when that worthy12 visited the United States. And it was his idea, too, to name the beautiful shining brass13 model, especially recommended for hotel lobbies, El Cuspidorado. This was a stroke of imaginative genius, and several rival manufacturers wept because they had not thought of it first.
The spittoon magnate's habits were regular and sane14. He rose by alarm clock at seven. He bathed, shaved, brushed his teeth with the vertical15 motion recommended by the toothbrush advertisers, breakfasted on cereal and cream and poached eggs, with one cup of strong coffee; walked leisurely16 to the station, bought a paper, and caught the 8.13 train. He avoided the other men who wanted him to sit with them, took the fifth chair on the left-hand side of the smoking car, and just as the train started he lit his first cigar. His commutation ticket was always ready for the conductor to punch. He never kept others waiting, just as he hated to be kept waiting himself. After his ticket had been punched and put back into an alligator-hide pocketbook, he opened the paper and studied it faithfully until the train got to the terminal.
At the factory Mr. Veal's routine was equally well-ordered and uniform. At nine o'clock he reached his private office, greeted his secretary, and ran over the morning mail, which had been opened and lay on his desk. Then he went through his dictation, which was carefully (even if not grammatically) accomplished18. The sales reports for the preceding day were brought to him. Then he discussed any matters requiring attention with his department heads, calling them in one by one. At a quarter after twelve he walked up to the Manufacturers' Club for lunch, after which he played one game of pool.
He was back at the office by half-past two, and gave his passionate19 and devoted20 attention to the salivary21 needs of the nation until five o'clock. He caught the 5.23 train back to Mandrake Park, sitting on the right-hand side of the smoker22 where the setting sun would not dazzle on his newspaper.
But one day, about the time of the March equinox, when young ladies put furry23 pussywillows on their typewriter desks, and bank tellers24 crack the shells of spring jokes through the brass railings, Mr. Veal's behaviour was so peculiar25 as to cause anxiety among his associates.
He had ridden on the train as usual, without showing any abnormal symptoms. But when he was next observed, walking down Vincent Street, there was a red spot on his cheekbones and his expression was savage26. He entered a haberdasher's shop and asked to see some neckties. When the clerk put out a tray of silk scarves in rich, sober colours, such as are commonly worn by successful and aged28" target="_blank">middle-aged27 merchants, Mr. Veal swore and dashed them aside.
“Good Lord!” he cried, “I'm not going to a funeral! Things like that are worn by Civil War veterans. What do you think I am, seventy years old? Give me something with some snap to it!”
And he chose a lemon-tinted cravat29 with vorticist patterns of brown and purple. He tore off the dark gray tie he had on and substituted the gaudy30 new one.
At the next corner he passed a shoe-shop. He hesitated a moment at the plate-glass window, then he entered and glared at the brisk young puppet who came forward with a smirk31. He displayed his elastic-sided boots of the floorwalker type (which he had worn for years on account of his corns) and asked to have them removed. When they were off his feet he threw them to the other end of the long, narrow room. “I want some russet shoes with cloth tops,” he said. “And some silk socks to match, the kind the men wear in the magazine ads.”
When he left the shop, his feet might have been taken for those of Charley Chaplin, or of an assistant advertising32 manager of a department store.
Mr. Veal reached his office nearly two hours late, and one of his office boys was instantly discharged for asking him whom he wanted to see. Indeed, in a new suit of violent black-and-white checks, and with a crush hat of velvety33 substance, he was almost unrecognizable. As he passed through the filing department a hush34 fell over the young ladies there. His secretary, looking nervously35 from her corner outside the private office, felt a tingling36 scherzo run up and down the keyboard of her spine37. Never before had she seen Mr. Veal wear flowers in his buttonhole, and as he swung the door of his office behind him, she sniffed38 the vibrating air. In the rich wake of cigar-fragrance always exhaled39 by her employer her sharp nostrils40 detected a new tang—the sweet scent41 of mignonette. Heavens! Was Mr. Veal using perfume?
Miss Stafford was an acute young woman. She had long been waiting the adroit42 moment to push her employer for a raise, which was indeed due her. She determined43 that this was the psychological day. When the sign of the Ram17 is ascendant in the zodiac, let employers tremble. This is when even the most faithful and long-enduring wage-earner dreams seditiously of a fatter manila envelope. Miss Stafford's typewriter had sung like a zither for a number of years, she had orchestrated many curious harmonies on it, and now she had reached the point where she was almost as indispensable to the business as Mr. Veal himself. She was carrying what the efficiency dopesters call the peak load.
The buzzer44 buzzed, and Miss Stafford hastened to the private office, nerving herself to throw cantilevers45 across the Rubicon.
To her surprise, Mr. Veal, instead of sitting glowering46 over the morning mail, was standing47 by the window, throwing a paper-weight in the air and failing to catch it. The sunlight blazing through the large windows seemed to surround his emphatic48 clothes with a prismatic fringe. To her amazement49, instead of the customary brief and reserved greeting, he said:
“Hullo, Miss Stafford. Great weather, eh? Sorry I'm late, but I just couldn't keep my schedule this morning. Went out to buy myself some golf clubs. I think I'd better take up the game, don't you?”
He made a swing at an imaginary golf ball, and slipped on the polished floor, nearly falling down. He recovered himself.
“Here's some flowers for you,” he said, taking a bunch of daffodils from the desk. “Daffy-down-dillies, as the poets call 'em. Lovely flowers, hey? Now comes in the sweet of the year. What ho!”
He advanced toward her, and for one extraordinary moment she thought he was about to chuck her under the chin.
“Ask Mr. Foster to come in,” he said.
“Mr. Veal,” she said, nervously, “there's just one thing—I wanted to ask you about, my salary, don't you think, er, I think, it seems to me about time I had a raise. I've been here——”
“Bless my soul,” he said. “I never thought of it. Why, of course, you're right. Miss Stafford, how old would you say I am?”
Miss Stafford knew perfectly50 well that he was fifty-five, but she had learned the cunning of all women who have to manage men, whether those men be husbands, employers, or ticket scalpers.
“Why, Mr. Veal, in a good light and in your new suit, I should say about thirty-nine.”
“What are you getting now, Miss Stafford?”
“Thirty dollars.”
“Tell Mr. Mason to double it.”
The feminine mind moves in rapid zigzags51, and Miss Stafford's first conscious and coherent thought was of a certain woollen sports suit she had seen in a window on Vincent Street marked $50.00.
“And by the way,” said Mr. Veal, “when you see Mr. Mason, tell him I've got a new motto for next week's pay envelopes. Here it is; I found it in the paper this morning. I don't know who wrote it—better have him credit it to Orison Swett Marden.”
He handed her a slip of paper, on which he had copied out:
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious52 liquors in my blood:
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility.
—Orison Swett Marden (?)
“Before you call Mr. Foster,” said the secretary, “Mr. Schmaltz of the Pullman Company is here to see you; he arrived just before you came in. He says he wants to place a large order for the cuspidorados.”
“Send him in,” said Mr. Veal, chuckling53. “Hello, Schmaltz,” he cried, as the customer entered. “How's this for weather?”
“Great stuff!” said Schmaltz. “Makes us old fellows feel almost young again, doesn't it?”
“Mr. Veal,” said the other, “we want to place an order for ten thousand of the cuspidorados. Can you give us the old price?”
“I can not,” said Mr. Veal, shortly. “Materials have gone to the sky. I can't give you the—the old price. I'll give you a young price, a very young one indeed, based on the present state of the market. Eighteen and a quarter cents is the best I can do.”
Mr. Schmaltz raised racial hands. “Heavens!” he said, “you used to let us have them for fourteen and a half. Why, in the old days——”
Mr. Veal pounded the desk with his fist.
“If you use that world old again, I'll assassinate56 you with a dish of ham!” he roared. “Great pigs' knuckles57, what do you think this is, a home for the aged?”
After Mr. Schmaltz had gone Mr. Veal sent for Foster, the foreman of the manufacturing department.
“Well,” he said, “how about those machines?”
“Mr. Veal,” said Foster, “we'll have to replace at least six of those Victor stampers. They're so old they simply can't do the work. You know when one of those machines is over five years old——”
Mr. Veal was pointing to the door.
“Get out!” he said.
At lunch-time Mr. Veal went up to the club as usual. Swinging up the street, in the bright sun and pellucid58 air, he felt quite cheerful, and stopped to buy himself a rhinoceros59 cane60. In the dining room of the club he met Edwards, and they sat down together.
“Hello, old man,” said Edwards. “You're looking chipper for a veteran. Played any golf yet this year?”
“I don't play,” said Mr. Veal.
“Don't you? That's a mistake. It's the only game for us older fellows. Of course we can't score like the youngsters; but still we can get round and have a deal of fun——”
Mr. Veal clenched61 his fists. Spilling his soup, he leaped up and rushed from the room. He seized his coat and hat, forgetting the new cane, and fled to the nearest Turkish bath.
And all because, when going downstairs in the railway terminal that morning, he had heard a man behind him say to another:
“There goes Veal! He's beginning to look old, isn't he?”
It was the first time in his life Mr. Veal had heard the damnable adjective applied62 to himself in earnest.
Wait until your turn comes!
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1
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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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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petunia
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| n.矮牵牛花 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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10
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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15
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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16
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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18
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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19
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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salivary
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| adj. 唾液的 | |
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smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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23
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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24
tellers
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| n.（银行）出纳员( teller的名词复数 )；（投票时的）计票员；讲故事等的人；讲述者 | |
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25
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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32
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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33
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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34
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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35
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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36
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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38
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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39
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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44
buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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45
cantilevers
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| n.悬臂( cantilever的名词复数 ) | |
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46
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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47
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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48
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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49
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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50
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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51
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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53
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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56
assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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57
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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