"By the bones of Polycarp!" exclaimed the Professor, "those hoboes have stolen the van. I guess they think it'll make a fine Pullman sleeper2 for them. If I'd realized there was more than one of them I'd have hung around closer. They need a lesson."
"Hadn't we better go back and get Mr. Pratt?" I asked.
This was obviously the wrong thing to say. It put the fiery4 little man all the more on his mettle5. His beard bristled6. "Nothing of the sort!" he said. "Those fellows are cowards and vagabonds anyway. They can't be far off; you haven't been away more than an hour, have you? If they've done anything to Bock, by the bones of Chaucer, I'll harry7 them. I thought I heard him bark."
He hurried up the lane, and I followed in a panicky frame of mind. The track wound along a hillside, between a high bank and a forest of birch trees. I think the distance can't have been more than a quarter of a mile. Anyway, in a very few minutes the road made a sharp twist to the right and we found ourselves looking down into the quarry, over a sheer rocky drop of a hundred feet at least. Below, drawn8 over to one side of the wall of rock, stood Parnassus. Peg9 was between the shafts11. Bock was nowhere to be seen. Sitting by the van were three disreputable looking men. The smoke of a cooking fire rose into the air; evidently they were making free with my little larder12.
"Keep back," said the Professor softly. "Don't let them see us." He flattened13 himself in the grass and crawled to the edge of the cliff. I did the same, and we lay there, invisible from below, but quite able to see everything in the quarry. The three tramps were evidently enjoying an excellent breakfast.
"This place is a regular hang-out for these fellows," Mifflin whispered. "I've seen hoboes about here every year. They go into winter quarters about the end of October, usually. There's an old blasted-out section of this quarry that makes a sheltered dormitory for them, and as the place isn't worked any more they're not disturbed here so long as they don't make mischief14 in the neighbourhood. We'll give them...."
"Hands up!" said a rough voice behind us. I looked round. There was a fat, red-faced villainous-looking creature covering us with a shiny revolver. It was an awkward situation. Both the Professor and I were lying full length on the ground. We were quite helpless.
"Get up!" said the tramp in a husky, nasty voice. "I guess youse thought we wasn't covering our trail? Well, we'll have to tie you up, I reckon, while we get away with this Crystal Pallis of yourn."
I guess he thought himself safe from attack by a woman. At any rate, he bent17 over as if to grab Mifflin by the neck. I saw my chance and jumped on him from behind. I am heavy, as I have said, and he sprawled18 on the ground. My doubts as to the pistol being loaded were promptly19 dissolved, for it went off like a cannon20. Nobody was in front of it, however, and Mifflin was on his feet like a flash. He had the ruffian by the throat and kicked the weapon out of his hand. I ran to seize it.
"You son of Satan!" said the valiant21 Redbeard. "Thought you could bully22 us, did you? Miss McGill, you were as quick as Joan of Arc. Hand me the pistol, please."
I gave it to him, and he shoved it under the hobo's nose.
"Now," he said, "take off that rag around your neck."
The rag was an old red handkerchief, inconceivably soiled. The tramp removed it, grumbling23 and whining24. Mifflin gave me the pistol to hold while he tied our prisoner's wrists together. In the meantime we heard a shout from the quarry. The three vagabonds were gazing up in great excitement.
"You tell those fashion plates down there," said Mifflin, as he knotted the tramp's hands together, "that if they make any fight I'll shoot them like crows." His voice was cold and savage25 and he seemed quite master of the situation, but I must confess I wondered how we could handle four of them.
The greasy26 ruffian shouted down to his pals27 in the quarry, but I did not hear what he said, as just then the Professor asked me to keep our captive covered while he got a stick. I stood with the pistol pointed28 at his head while Mifflin ran back into the birchwood to cut a cudgel.
The tramp's face became the colour of the under side of a fried egg as he looked into the muzzle29 of his own gun.
"Say, lady," he pleaded, "that gun goes off awful easy, point her somewhere else or you'll croak30 me by mistake."
The rascals32 down below seemed debating what to do. I don't know whether they were armed or not; but probably they imagined that there were more than two of us. At all events, by the time Mifflin came back with a stout33 birch staff they were hustling34 out of the quarry on the lower side. The Professor swore, and looked as if he would gladly give chase, but he refrained.
"Here, you," he said in crisp tones to the tramp, "march on ahead of us, down to the quarry."
The fat ruffian shambled awkwardly down the trail. We had to make quite a detour35 to get into the quarry, and by the time we reached there the other three tramps had got clean away. I was not sorry, to tell the truth. I thought the Professor had had enough scrapping36 for one twenty-four hours.
Peg whinneyed loudly as she saw us coming, but Bock was not in sight.
"What have you done with the dog, you swine?" said Mifflin. "If you've hurt him I'll make you pay with your own hide."
Our prisoner was completely cowed. "No, boss, we ain't hurt the dog," he fawned37. "We tied him up so he couldn't bark, that's all. He's in the 'bus." And sure enough, by this time we could hear smothered38 yelping39 and whining from Parnassus.
I hurried to open the door, and there was Bock, his jaws40 tied together with a rope-end. He bounded out and made super-canine efforts to express his joy at seeing the Professor again. He paid very little attention to me.
"Well," said Mifflin, after freeing the dog's muzzle, and with difficulty restraining him from burying his teeth in the tramp's shin, "what shall we do with this heroic specimen41 of manhood? Shall we cart him over to the jail in Port Vigor42, or shall we let him go?"
The tramp burst into a whining appeal that was almost funny, it was so abject43. The Professor cut it short.
"I ought to pack you into quod," he said. "Are you the Phoebus Apollo I scuffled with down the lane last night? Was it you skulking44 around this wagon45 then?"
"No, boss, that was Splitlip Sam, honest to Gawd it was. He come back, boss; said he'd been fightin' with a cat-o'-mountain! Say, boss, you sure hit him hard. One of his lamps is a pudding! Boss, I'll swear I ain't had nothin' to do with it."
"I don't like your society," said the Professor, "and I'm going to turn you loose. I'm going to count ten, and if you're not out of this quarry by then, I'll shoot. And if I see you again I'll skin you alive. Now get out!"
He cut the knotted handkerchief in two. The hobo needed no urging. He spun46 on his heel and fled like a rabbit. The Professor watched him go, and as the fat, ungainly figure burst through a hedge and disappeared he fired the revolver into the air to frighten him still more. Then he tossed the weapon into the pool near by.
"Well, Miss McGill," he said with a chuckle47, "if you like to undertake breakfast, I'll fix up Peg." And he drew the horse-shoe from his pocket once more.
A brief inspection48 of Parnassus satisfied me that the thieves had not had time to do any real damage. They had got out most of the eatables and spread them on a flat rock in preparation for a feast; and they had tracked a good deal of mud into the van; but otherwise I could see nothing amiss. So while Mifflin busied himself with Peg's foot it was easy for me to get a meal under way. I found a gush49 of clean water trickling50 down the face of the rock. There were still some eggs and bread and cheese in the little cupboard, and an unopened tin of condensed milk. I gave Peg her nose bag of oats, and fed Bock, who was frisking about in high spirits. By that time the shoeing was done, and the Professor and I sat down to an improvised51 meal. I was beginning to feel as if this gipsy existence were the normal course of my life.
"Well, Professor," I said, as I handed him a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and cheese, "for a man who slept in a wet haystack, you acquit52 yourself with excellent valour."
"Old Parnassus is quite a stormy petrel," he said. "I used to think the chief difficulty in writing a book would be to invent things to happen, but if I were to sit down and write the adventures I'd had with her it would be a regular Odyssey53."
"How about Peg's foot?" I asked. "Can she travel on it?"
"It'll be all right if you go easy. I've scraped out the injured part and put the shoe back. I keep a little kit54 of tools under the van for emergencies of all sorts."
It was chilly55, and we didn't dawdle56 over our meal. I only made a feint of eating, as I had had a little breakfast before, and also as the events of the last few hours had left me rather restless. I wanted to get Parnassus out on the highway again, to jog along in the sun and think things over. The quarry was a desolate57, forbidding place anyway. But before we left we explored the cave where the tramps had been preparing to make themselves comfortable for the winter. It was not really a cave, but only a shaft10 into the granite58 cliff. A screen of evergreen59 boughs60 protected the opening against the weather, and inside were piles of sacking that had evidently been used as beds, and many old grocery boxes for tables and chairs. It amused me to notice a cracked fragment of mirror balanced on a corner of rock. Even these ragamuffins apparently61 were not totally unconscious of personal appearance. I seized the opportunity, while the Professor was giving Peg's foot a final look, to rearrange my hair, which was emphatically a sight. I hardly think Andrew would have recognized me that morning.
We led Peg up the steep incline, back into the lane where I had strayed, and at length we reached the main road again. Here I began to lay down the law to Redbeard.
"Now look here, Professor," I said, "I'm not going to have you tramp all the way back to Port Vigor. After the night you've had you need a rest. You just climb into that Parnassus and lie down for a good snooze. I'll drive you into Woodbridge and you can take your train there. Now you get right into that bunk62. I'll sit out here and drive."
He demurred63, but without much emphasis. I think the little fool was just about fagged out, and no wonder. I was a trifle groggy64 myself. In the end he was quite docile65. He climbed into the van, took off his boots, and lay down under a blanket. Bock followed him, and I think they both fell asleep on the instant. I got on the front seat and took the reins66. I didn't let Peg go more quickly than a walk as I wanted to spare her sore foot.
My, what a morning that was after the rain! The road ran pretty close to the shore, and every now and then I could catch a glimpse of the water. The air was keen—not just the ordinary, unnoticed air that we breathe in and out and don't think about, but a sharp and tingling67 essence, as strong in the nostrils68 as camphor or ammonia. The sun seemed focussed upon Parnassus, and we moved along the white road in a flush of golden light. The flat fronds69 of the cedars70 swayed gently in the salty air, and for the first time in ten years, I should think, I began amusing myself by selecting words to describe the goodness of the morning. I even imagined myself writing a description of it, as if I were Andrew or Thoreau. The crazy little Professor had inoculated71 me with his literary bug72, I guess.
And then I did a dishonourable thing. Just by chance I put my hand into the little pocket beside the seat where Mifflin kept a few odds74 and ends. I meant to have another look at that card of his with the poem on it. And there I found a funny, battered75 little notebook, evidently forgotten. On the cover was written, in ink, "Thoughts on the Present Discontents." That title seemed vaguely76 familiar. I seemed to recall something of the kind from my school days—more than twenty years ago, goodness me! Of course if I had been honourable73 I wouldn't have looked into it. But in a kind of quibbling self-justification I recalled that I had bought Parnassus and all it contained, "lock, stock, barrel and bung" as Andrew used to say. And so....
The notebook was full of little jottings, written in pencil in the Professor's small, precise hand. The words were rubbed and soiled, but plainly legible. I read this:
I don't suppose Bock or Peg get lonely, but by the bones of Ben Gunn, I do. Seems silly when Herrick and Hans Andersen and Tennyson and Thoreau and a whole wagonload of other good fellows are riding at my back. I can hear them all talking as we trundle along. But books aren't a substantial world after all, and every now and then we get hungry for some closer, more human relationships. I've been totally alone now for eight years—except for Runt, and he might be dead and never say so. This wandering about is fine in its way, but it must come to an end some day. A man needs to put down a root somewhere to be really happy.
What absurd victims of contrary desires we are! If a man is settled in one place he yearns77 to wander; when he wanders he yearns to have a home. And yet how bestial78 is content—all the great things in life are done by discontented people.
There are three ingredients in the good life: learning, earning, and yearning80. A man should be learning as he goes; and he should be earning bread for himself and others; and he should be yearning, too: yearning to know the unknowable.
What a fine old poem is "The Pulley" by George Herbert! Those Elizabethan fellows knew how to write! They were marred81 perhaps by their idea that poems must be "witty82." (Remember how Bacon said that reading poets makes one witty? There he gave a clue to the literature of his time.) Their fantastic puns and conceits83 are rather out of our fashion nowadays. But Lord! the root of the matter was in them! How gallantly84, how reverently85, they tackle the problems of life!
When God at first made man (says George Herbert) He had a "glass of blessings86 standing87 by." So He pours on man all the blessings in His reservoir: strength, beauty, wisdom, honour, pleasure—and then He refrains from giving him the last of them, which is rest, i.e., contentment. God sees that if man is contented79 he will never win his way to Him. Let man be restless, so that
"If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast."
Some day I shall write a novel on that theme, and call it "The Pulley." In this tragic88, restless world there must be some place where at last we can lay our heads and be at rest. Some people call it death. Some call it God.
My ideal of a man is not the Omar who wants to shatter into bits this sorry scheme of things, and then remould it nearer to the heart's desire. Old Omar was a coward, with his silk pajamas89 and his glass of wine. The real man is George Herbert's "seasoned timber"—the fellow who does handily and well whatever comes to him. Even if it's only shovelling91 coal into a furnace he can balance the shovel90 neatly92, swing the coal square on the fire and not spill it on the floor. If it's only splitting kindling93 or running a trolley94 car he can make a good, artistic95 job of it. If it's only writing a book or peeling potatoes he can put into it the best he has. Even if he's only a bald-headed old fool over forty selling books on a country road, he can make an ideal of it. Good old Parnassus! It's a great game.... I think I'll have to give her up soon, though: I must get that book of mine written. But Parnassus has been a true glass of blessings to me.
There was much more in the notebook; indeed it was half full of jotted96 paragraphs, memoranda97, and scraps98 of writing—poems I believe some of them were—but I had seen enough. It seemed as if I had stumbled unawares on the pathetic, brave, and lonely heart of the little man. I'm a commonplace creature, I'm afraid, insensible to many of the deeper things in life, but every now and then, like all of us, I come face to face with something that thrills me. I saw how this little, red-bearded pedlar was like a cake of yeast99 in the big, heavy dough100 of humanity: how he travelled about trying to fulfil in his own way his ideals of beauty. I felt almost motherly toward him: I wanted to tell him that I understood him. And in a way I felt ashamed of having run away from my own homely101 tasks, my kitchen and my hen yard and dear old, hot-tempered, absent-minded Andrew. I fell into a sober mood. As soon as I was alone, I thought, I would sell Parnassus and hurry back to the farm. That was my job, that was my glass of blessings. What was I doing—a fat, middle-aged102 woman—trapesing along the roads with a cartload of books I didn't understand?
I slipped the little notebook back into its hiding-place. I would have died rather than let the Professor know I had seen it.
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1
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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3
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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4
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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8
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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10
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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14
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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15
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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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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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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scrapping
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| 刮，切除坯体余泥 | |
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fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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38
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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39
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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40
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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42
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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43
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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44
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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45
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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46
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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47
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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48
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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49
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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50
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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51
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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52
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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53
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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54
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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55
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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56
dawdle
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| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
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57
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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58
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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59
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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inoculated
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| v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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conceits
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| 高傲( conceit的名词复数 )； 自以为； 巧妙的词语； 别出心裁的比喻 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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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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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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90
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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98
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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yeast
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| n.酵母；酵母片；泡沫；v.发酵；起泡沫 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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101
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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102
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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