“Rickety zim, rickety zam,
Brickety, stickety, slickety slam!
Wallybaloo! Billybazoo!
We are the boys for a hullabaloo—Western City!”
“Hello!” said I. “We must have won the ball-game!”
“You bet we did!” said Bertie, in his voice of bursting self-importance.
“Ball-game?” asked Carpenter.
“Foot-ball,” said I. “Western City played union Tech today. Wonder what the score was.”
The cheer leader seemed to take the words out of my mouth. Again the hundred voices roared:
“What was the score?
Seventeen to four!
Who got it in the neck?
union Tech!
Who took the kitty?
Western City!”
Then more waving of flags, and yells for our prize captain and our agile4 quarter-back: “Rah, rah, rah, Jerry Wilson! Rah, rah, rah, Harriman! Western City, Western City, Western City! W-E-S-T-E-R-N-C-I-T-Y! Western City!”
You have heard college yells, no doubt, and can imagine the tempo5 of these cries, the cumulative6 rush of the spelled out letters, the booming roar at the end. The voice of Bertie beat back from the wind-shield with devastating7 effect upon our ears; and then our car rolled on, and the clamor died away, and I answered the questions of Carpenter. “They are college boys. They have won a game with another college, and are celebrating the victory.”
“But,” said the other, “how do they manage to shout all together that way?”
“Oh, they've practiced that, of course.”
“You mean—they gather and practice making those noises?”
“Surely.”
“They make them in cold blood?”
I laughed. “Well, the blood of youth is seldom entirely8 cold. They imagine the victory while they rehearse, no doubt.”
When Carpenter spoke9 again, it was half to himself. “You make your children into mobs! You train them for it!”
“It really isn't that bad,” I replied. “It's all in good temper—it's their play.”
“Yes, yes! But what is play but practice for reality? And how shall love be learned in savage10 war-dances?”
They tell us that we have a new generation of young people since the war; a generation which thinks for itself, and has its own way. I was an advocate of this idea in the abstract, but I must admit that I was startled by the concrete case which I now encountered. Bertie suddenly looked round from his place in the driver's seat. “Say,” he demanded, in a grating voice, “where was that guy raised?”
“Bertie dear!” cried his mother. “Don't be rude!”
“I'm not being rude,” replied the other. “I just want to know where he got his nut ideas.”
“Bertie dear!” cried the mother, again; and you knew that for eighteen or nineteen years she had been crying “Bertie dear!”—in a tone in which rebuke11 was tempered by fatuous12 maternal13 admiration14. And all the time, Bertie had gone on doing what he pleased, knowing that in her secret heart his mother was smiling with admiration of his masterfulness, taking it as one more symptom of the greatness of the Stebbins line. I could see him in early childhood, stamping on the floor and commanding his governess to bring him a handkerchief—and throwing his shoe at her when she delayed!
Presently it was Lucinda's turn. Lucinda, you understand, was in revolt against the social indignity15 which her mother had inflicted16 upon her. When Carpenter had entered the car, she had looked at him once, with a deliberate stare, then lifted her chin, ignoring my effort to introduce him to her. Since then she had sat silent, cold, and proud. But now she spoke. “Mother, tell me, do we have to meet those horrid17 fat old Jews again?”
Mrs. Stebbins wisely decided18 that this was not a good time to explore the soul of a possible Eastern potentate19. Instead, she elected to talk for a minute or two about a lawn fete she was planning to give next week for the benefit of the Polish relief. “Poland is the World's Bulwark20 against Bolshevism,” she explained; and then added: “Bertie dear, aren't you driving recklessly?”
Bertie turned his head. “Didn't you hear me tell that old sheeny I was going to beat him to it?”
“But, Bertie dear, this street is crowded!”
“Well, let them look out for themselves!”
But a few seconds later it appeared as if the son and heir of the Stebbins family had decided to take his mother's advice. The car suddenly slowed up—so suddenly as to slide us out of our seats. There was a grinding of brakes, and a bump of something under the wheels; then a wild stream from the sidewalk, and a half-stifled cry from the chauffeur21. Mrs. Stebbins gasped22, “Oh, my God!” and put her hands over her face; and Lucinda exclaimed, in outraged23 irritation24, “Mamma!” Carpenter looked at me, puzzled, and asked, “What is the matter?”
点击收听单词发音
1 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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2 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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3 deafening | |
adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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4 agile | |
adj.敏捷的,灵活的 | |
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5 tempo | |
n.(音乐的)速度;节奏,行进速度 | |
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6 cumulative | |
adj.累积的,渐增的 | |
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7 devastating | |
adj.毁灭性的,令人震惊的,强有力的 | |
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8 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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9 spoke | |
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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10 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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11 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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12 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
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13 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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14 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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15 indignity | |
n.侮辱,伤害尊严,轻蔑 | |
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16 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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18 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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19 potentate | |
n.统治者;君主 | |
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20 bulwark | |
n.堡垒,保障,防御 | |
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21 chauffeur | |
n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机;v.为…开车 | |
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22 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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23 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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24 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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