Every evening now the party held its “soap-box” meetings on a corner just off Main Street. Jimmie, having volunteered as one of the assistants, would bolt his supper in the evening and hurry off to the spot. He was not one of the speakers, of course—he would have been terrified at the idea of making a speech; but he was one of those whose labours made the speaking possible, and who reaped the harvest for the movement.
The apparatus1 of the meeting was kept in the shop of a friendly carpenter near-by. The carpenter had made a “soap-box” that was a wonder—a platform mounted upon four slender legs, detachable, so that one man could carry the whole business and set it up. Thus the speaker was lifted a couple of feet above the heads of the crowd, and provided with a hand-rail upon which he might lean, and even pound, if he did not pound too hard. A kerosene2 torch burned some distance from his head, illuminating3 his features, and it was Jimmie's business to see that this torch was properly cleaned and filled, and to hold it erect4 on a pole part of the time. The rest of the time he peddled5 literature among the crowd—copies of the Leesville Worker, and five and ten cent pamphlets supplied by the National Office.
He would come home at night, worn out from these labours after his daily toil6; he would fall asleep at Lizzie's side, and have to be routed out by her when the alarm-clock went off next morning. She would get him a cup of hot coffee, and after he had drunk this, he would be himself again, and would chatter7 about the adventures of the night before. There was always something happening, a fellow starting a controversy8, a drunken man, or perhaps a couple of thugs in the pay of old man Granitch, trying to break up the meeting.
Lizzie would do her best to show that sympathy with her husband's activities which is expected from a dutiful wife. But all the time there was a grief in her soul—the eternal grief of the feminine temperament9, which is cautious and conservative, in conflict with the masculine, which is adventurous10 and destructive. Here was Jimmie, earning twice what he had ever earned before, having a chance to feed his children properly and to put by a little margin11 for the first time in his harassed12 life; but instead of making the most of the opportunity, he was going out on the streets every night, doing everything in his power to destroy the golden occasion which Fate had brought to him! Like the fellow who climbs a tree to saw off a limb, and sits on the limb and saws between himself and the tree!
In spite of her best efforts, Lizzie's broad, kindly13 face would sometimes become hard with disappointment, and a big tear would roll down each of her sturdy cheeks. Jimmie would be sorry for her, and would patiently try to explain his actions. Should a man think only of his own wife and children, and forget entirely14 all the other wives and children of the working-class? That was why the workers had been slaves all through the ages, because each thought of himself, and never of his fellows. No, you must think of your class! You must act as a class—on the alert to seize every advantage, to teach solidarity15 and stimulate16 class-consciousness! Jimmie would use these long words, which he had heard at meetings; but then, seeing that Lizzie did not understand them, he would go back and say it over again in words of one syllable17. They had old man Granitch in a hole just now, and they must teach him a lesson, and at the same time teach the workers their power. Lizzie would sigh, and shake her head; for to her, old man Granitch was not a human being, but a natural phenomenon, like winter, or hunger. He, or some other like him, had been the master of her fathers for generations untold18, and to try to break or even to limit his power was like commanding the tide or the sun.
II.
Events moved quickly to their culmination19, justifying20 the worst of Lizzie's fears. The shops were seething21 with discontent, and agitators22 seemed fairly to spring out of the ground; some of them paid by Jerry Coleman, no doubt, others taking their pay in the form of gratification of those grudges23 with which the profit-system had filled their hearts. Noon-meetings would start up, quite spontaneously, without any prearrangement; and presently Jimmie learned that men were going about taking the names of all who would agree to strike.
The matter was brought to a head by the Empire managers, who, of course, were kept informed by their spies. They discharged more than a score of the trouble-makers; and when this news spread at noon-time, the whole place burst into a flame of wrath24. “Strike! strike!” was the cry. Jimmie was one of many who started a procession through the yards, shouting, singing, hurling25 menaces at the bosses, challenging all who proposed to return to work. Less than one-tenth of the working force made any attempt to do so, and for that afternoon the plant of the Empire Machine Shops, which was supposed to be turning out shell-casings for the Russian government, was turning out labour-union, Socialist26, and I. W. W. oratory27.
Jimmie Higgins was beside himself with excitement. He danced about and waved his cap, he shouted himself hoarse28, he almost yielded to the impulse to jump upon a pile of lumber29 and make a speech himself. Presently came Comrades Gerrity and Mary Allen, who had got wind of the trouble, and had loaded a whole edition of the Worker into a Ford30; so Jimmie turned newsboy, selling these papers, hundreds of them, until his pockets were bursting with the weight of pennies and nickels. And then he was pressed into service running errands for those who were arranging to organize the workers; he carried bundles of membership-cards and application-blanks, following a man with a bull voice and a megaphone, who shouted in several languages the location of union headquarters, and the halls where various foreign language meetings would be held that evening. Evidently someone had foreseen the breaking of this trouble, and had been at pains to plan ahead.
Late in the afternoon Jimmie was witness of an exciting incident. In one of the shops a number of the men had persisted in returning to work, and an immense throng31 of strikers had gathered to wait for them. They were afraid to come out, but stayed in the building after the quitting-whistle, while those outside jeered32 and hooted33 and the bosses telephoned frantically34 for aid. The greater part of the Leesville police-force was on hand, and in addition, the company had its own guards and private detectives. But they were needed all over the place. You saw them at the various entrances, menacing, but not quite so sure of themselves as usual; their hands had a tendency to slip back to the bulge35 on their right hips36.
Jimmie and another fellow had got themselves an empty box and were standing37 on it, leaning against the wall of the building and shouting “Ya! Ya!” at every “scab” head that showed itself. They saw an automobile38 come in at the gate, its horn honking39 savagely40, causing the crowd to leap to one side or the other. The automobile was packed with men, sitting on one another's knees, or hanging to the running-boards outside. There came a second car, loaded in the same fashion. They were guards, sent all the way from Hubbardtown; for of course the Hubbard Engine Company would help out its rivals in an emergency such as this. That was the solidarity of capitalism41, concerning which the Socialists42 never wearied of preaching.
The men leaped from the cars, and spread themselves fanwise in front of the door. They had nightsticks in their hands, and grim resolution in their faces; they cried, “Stand back! Stand back!” The crowd hooted, but gave slightly, and a few minutes later the doors of the building opened, and the first of the timid workers emerged. There was a howl, and then from somewhere in the throng a stone was thrown. “Arrest that man!” shouted a voice, and Jimmie's attention was attracted to the owner of this voice—a young man who had arrived in the first automobile, and was now standing up in the seat, from which position he could dominate the throng. “Arrest that man!” he shouted again, pointing his finger; and three of the guards leaped into the crowd at the spot indicated. The man who had thrown the missile started to run, but he could not go fast in the crowd, and in a moment, as it seemed, the guards had him by the collar. He tried to jerk away, and they struck him over the head, and laid about them to keep the rest of the throng at bay. “Take him inside!” the young man in the car kept shouting. And one of the guards twisted his hand in the collar of the wretched stone-thrower, until he grew purple in the face, and so half-dragged and half-ran him into the building.
III.
The young man in the car turned toward the crowd which was blocking the way to the exit. “Get those men out of the way!” he yelled to the guards. “Drive them along—God damn them, they've got no business in here.” And so on, with a string of dynamic profanity, which stung both guards and policemen into action, and made them ply44 their clubs upon the crowd.
“Do you know who that is?” asked Jimmie's companion on the box. “That's Lacey Granitch.”
Jimmie started, experiencing a thrill to the soles of his ragged43 shoes. Lacey Granitch! In the four years that the little machinist had worked for the Empire, he had never caught a glimpse of the young lord of Leesville—something which may easily be believed, for the young lord considered Leesville “a hole of a town”, and honoured it with his presence only once or twice a year. But his spirit brooded over it; he was to Leesville a mythological45 figure, either of wonder and awe46, or of horror, according to the temperament of the contemplator47. One day “Wild Bill” had arisen in the local, and held aloft a page from the “magazine supplement” of one of the metropolitan48 “yellows”. There was an account of how Lacey Granitch had broken the hearts of seven chorus-girls by running away with an eighth. He fairly “ate 'em alive”, according to the account; in order to give an idea of the atmosphere in which the young hero abode49, the whirl of delight which was his life, the artist of the Sunday supplement had woven round the border of the page a maze50 of feminine ankles and calves51 in a delirium52 of lingerie; while at the top was a supper-table with champagne53-corks popping, and a lady clad in inadequate54 veils dancing amid the dishes.
This had happened while the local was in the midst of an acrimonious55 controversy over “Section Six”. Should the Socialist party bar from its membership those who advocated sabotage56, violence and crime? Young Norwood was pleading for orderly methods of social reconstruction57; and here stood “Wild Bill”, ripping to shreds58 the reputation of the young plutocrat of the Empire Shops. “That's what you geezers are sweating for! That's why you've got to be good, and not throw monkey-wrenches in the machinery—so the seven broken-hearted chorus-girls can drown their sorrows in champagne!”
And now here was the hero of all these romantic escapades, forsaking59 the white lights of Broadway, and coming home to help the old man keep his contracts. He stood in the seat of the automobile, glancing this way and that, swiftly, like a hunter on the alert for dangerous game. His dark eyes roamed here and there, his proud face was pale with anger, his tall, perfectly60 groomed61 figure was eloquent62 of mastership, of command. He was imperious as a young Caesar, terrible in his vengeance63; and poor Jimmie, watching him, was torn between two contradictory64 emotions. He hated him—hated him with a deadly and abiding65 hatred66. But also he admired him, marvelled67 at him, cringed before him. Lacey was a wanton, a cursing tyrant68, a brutal69 snob70; but also he was the master, the conqueror71, the proud, free, rich young aristocrat72, for whom all the rest of humanity existed. And Jimmie Higgins was a poor little worm of a proletarian, with nothing but his labour-power to sell, trying by sheer force of his will to lift himself out of his slave-psychology73!
There is an old adage74 that “a cat may look at a king”. But this can only have been meant to apply to house-cats, cats of the palace, accustomed to the etiquette75 of courts; it cannot have been meant for proletarian cats of the gutter76, the Jimmie Higgins variety of red revolutionary yowlers. Jimmie and his companion stood on their perch77, shouting “Ya! Ya!” and suddenly the crowd melted away in front of them, exposing them to the angry finger of the young master. “Get along now! Beat it! Quick!” And Jimmie, poor little ragged, stunted78 Jimmie, with bad teeth and toil-deformed hands, wilted79 before this blast of aristocratic wrath, and made haste to hide himself in the throng. But it was with blazing soul that he went; every instant he imagined himself turning back, defying the angry finger, shouting down the imperious voice, even smashing it back into the throat from which it came!
IV.
Jimmie did not even stop for supper. The greater part of the night he worked at helping80 to organize the strikers, and all next day he spent arranging Socialist meetings. He worked like a man possessed81, lifted above the limitations of the flesh. For everywhere that day he carried with him the image of the proud, free, rich young aristocrat, with his dark eyes roaming swiftly, his tall, perfectly groomed figure eloquent of mastership, his voice ringing with challenge. Jimmie was for the time utterly82 possessed by hatred; and he saw about him thousands of others sharing the mood and shouting it aloud. Every speaker who could be found was turned loose to talk till he was hoarse, and in the evening there was to be half a dozen street meetings. That was always the way when there were strikes; then the working man had time to listen—and also the desire!
So came the final crisis, when the little machinist had to show the stuff he was made of. He was holding aloft the torch at the regular meeting-place on the corner of Main and Third Streets, and Comrade Gerrity was explaining the strike and the ballot83 as two edges of the sword of labour, when four policemen came suddenly round the corner and pushed their way through the crowd. “You'll have to stop this!” declared one.
“Stop?” cried Gerrity. “What do you mean?”
“There's to be no more street-speaking during the strike.”
“Who says so?”
“Orders from the chief.”
“But we've got a permit.”
“We don't want any argument, young man—”
“But we're within our rights here.”
“Forget it, young feller!”
Gerrity turned swiftly to the throng.
“Fellow-citizens,” he cried, “we are here in the exercise of our rights as American citizens! We are conducting a peaceable and orderly political meeting, and we know our rights and propose to maintain them. We—”
“Come down off that box, young feller!” commanded the officer; and the crowd hooted and booed.
“Fellow-citizens!” began Gerrity again; but that was as far as he got, for the policeman seized him by the arm and pulled; and Gerrity knew the ways of American policemen too well to resist. He came down—but still talking. “Fellow-citizens—”
“Are you goin' to shut up?” demanded the other, and as Gerrity still went on orating, he announced: “You are under arrest.”
There were half a dozen Socialists with the party, and this was a challenge to the self-respect of everyone of them. In an instant Comrade Mabel Smith had leaped on to the stand. “Fellow workers!” she cried. “Is this America, or is it Russia?”
“That'll do, lady,” said the policeman, as considerately as he dared; for Comrade Mabel wore a big picture-hat and many other signs of youth and beauty.
“I have a right to speak here, and I mean to speak,” she declared.
“We don't want to have to arrest you, lady—”
“You either have to arrest me, or else allow me to speak.”
“I'm sorry, lady, but it's orders. You are arrested.”
Then came the turn of Comrade Stankewitz. “Vorking men, it is for the rights of the vorkers ve are here.” And so they jerked him off.
And then “Wild Bill”. This hundred per cent, middle-of-the-road proletarian had been hanging on the outskirts86 of the meeting, having been forbidden by the local to take part in the speaking, because of the intemperate87 nature of his utterances88; but now, of course, all rules went down, and Bill leaped on to the shaking platform. “Are we slaves?” he yelled. “Are we dogs?” And it would seem that the police thought so, for they yanked him off the platform, and one of them seized him by the wrist and twisted so that his oration89 ended in a shriek90 of pain.
Then came Johnny Edge, a shy youth with an armful of literature, which he hung on to in spite of police violence; and then—then there was one more!
Poor Jimmie! He did not in the least want to get arrested, and he was terrified at the idea of making even so short a speech as was here the order of the night. But, of course, his honour was at stake, there was no way out. He handed his torch to a bystander, and mounted the scaffold. “Is this a free country?” he cried. “Do we have free speech?” And Jimmie's first effort at oratory ended in a jerk at his coat-tail, which all but upset the frail91 platform upon which he stood.
There were four policemen, with six prisoners, and a throng about them howling with indignation, perhaps ready to become violent—who could say? The guardians92 of order had been prepared however. One of them stepped to the corner and blew his whistle, and a minute later came the shriek of a siren, and round the corner came swinging the city's big patrol-wagon93, the “Black Maria”. The crowd gave way, and one by one the prisoners were thrust in. One of them, “Wild Bill”, feeling himself for a moment released from the grip of his captors, raised his voice, shouting through the wire grating of the wagon: “I denounce this outrage! I am a free American—” And suddenly Jimmie, who was next in the wagon, felt himself flung to one side, and a policeman leaped by him, and planted his fist with terrific violence full in the orator's mouth. “Wild Bill” went down like a bullock under the slaughter-man's axe94, and the patrol-wagon started up, the cry of its siren drowning the protests of the crowd.
Poor Bill! He lay across the seat, and Jimmie, who had to sit next to him, caught him in his arms and held him. He was quivering, with awful motions like a spasm95. He made no sound, and Jimmie was terrified, thinking that he was dying. Before long Jimmie felt a hot wetness stealing over his hands, first slimy, then turning sticky. He had to sit there, almost fainting with horror; he dared not say anything, for maybe the policeman would strike him also. He sat, clutching in his arms the shaking body, and whispering under his breath, “Poor Bill! Poor Bill!”
V.
They came to the station-house, and Bill was carried out and laid on a bench, and the others were stood up before the desk and had their pedigrees taken. Gerrity demanded indignantly to be allowed to telephone, and this demand was granted. He routed Lawyer Norwood from a party, and set him to finding bail96; and meantime the prisoners were led to cells.
They had been there only a couple of minutes when there came floating through the row of steel cages the voice of a woman singing. It was Comrade Mabel Smith in that clear sweet voice they had so often listened to on “social evenings” in the local. She was singing the Internationale:
Arise, ye prisoners of starvation.
Arise, ye wretched of the earth!
The sound thrilled them to the very bones, and they joined in the chorus with a shout. Then, of course, came the jailer: “Shut up.” And then again: “Shut up!” And then a third time: “Will ye shut up?” And then came a bucket of water, hurled97 through the cell bars. It hit Jimmie squarely in the mouth, and in the words of the poet, “the subsequent proceedings98 interested him no more!”
About midnight came Lawyer Norwood and Dr. Service. Both of these men had protested against the street-speaking at this time; but of course, when it came to comrades in trouble, they could not resist the appeal to their sympathies. Such is the difficulty of entirely respectable and decorous “parlour” Socialists, in their dealings with the wayward children of the movement, the “impossibilists” and “direct actionists” and other sowers of proletarian wild oats. Dr. Service produced a wad of bills and bailed99 out all the prisoners, and delivered himself of impressive indignation to the police-sergeant, while waiting for an ambulance to carry “Wild Bill” to the hospital. Jimmie Higgins, who had always hitherto shouted with the “wild” ones, realized suddenly how pleasant it is to have a friend who wears black broadcloth, and carries himself like the drum-major of a band, and is reputed to be worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars.
Jimmie went home; and there was Lizzie, pacing the floor and wringing100 her hands in anxiety—for there had been no way to get word to her what had happened. She flung herself into his arms, and then recoiled101 in fright when, she discovered that he was wet. He told her the story; and would you believe it—Lizzie, being a woman, and only in the A-B-C stage of revolutionary education, actually did not know that it was a glorious and heroic adventure to be arrested! She thought it a disgrace, and tried to persuade him to keep the dreadful secret from the neighbourhood! And when she found that he was not through yet, but had to go to court in the morning and be tried, she wept copiously102, and woke up Jimmie Junior, and started him to bawling103. She was only to be pacified104 when Jimmie Senior agreed to take off his wet clothes at once, and drink a cup or two of boiling hot tea, and let himself be covered up with blankets, so that he might not die of pneumonia105 before he could get to court.
Next morning there was a crowded court-room and a stern and solemn judge frowning over his spectacles, and Lawyer Norwood making an impassioned defence of the fundamental American right of free speech. It was so very thrilling that Jimmie could hardly be kept from applauding his own lawyer! And then Comrade Dr. Service arose, and in his most impressive voice gave the professional information that “Wild Bill's” nose had been broken, and three of his front teeth knocked out, and that he was in the hospital and unable to come to court; and all the other prisoners were called upon to testify what “Wild Bill” had done to bring this fate upon him. The policeman who had struck the blow testified that the prisoner had resisted arrest; a second policeman testified, “I seen the prisoner hit him first, your Honour,”—which caused Comrade Mabel Smith to cry out, “Oh, the ungrammatical prevaricator106!” The upshot of the trial was that each of the defendants107 was fined ten dollars. Comrade Gerrity led off with an indignant refusal to pay the fine; the rest of them followed suit—even Comrade Mabel! This caused evident distress108 of mind to the judge, for Comrade Mabel with her indignant pink cheeks and her big picture-hat looked more than ever the lady, and it is a fact known even to judges that American jails have not been constructed for ladies. The matter was settled by Lawyer Norwood paying her fine, in spite of her protests, and her demand to be sent to jail.
VI.
The five men were led away, over the “Bridge of Sighs”, as it was called, to the city jail, where they had their pedigrees taken again, and their pictures and their finger-prints—which for the first time impressed upon their minds the fact that they were dangerous criminals. Their clothes were taken away, and shirts and trousers given them, whose faded blue colour seemed to have been impregnated with the misery109 of scores of previous wearers. They were led through steel-barred doors, and along dark, steel-barred passages to one of the “tanks”. A “tank”, you discovered, was one floor of this four-storied packing box; on each side of it were a row of a dozen barred cells, each with four bunks111, so that the total maximum population which might be crowded into the central space of the “tank” was ninety-six; however, this only happened on Monday mornings, when the “drunks” had all been brought in, and before the courts had had time to sort them out.
After you had lain down on your bunk110 for a few minutes, or had leaned against the wall of the “tank”, you felt an annoying stinging sensation somewhere on you. You began to rub and scratch; before long you would be rubbing and scratching in a dozen different places, and then you would observe your neighbour watching you with a grin. “Seam-squirrels?” he would say; and he would bid you take off your coat, and engage in the popular hunting game of the institution. Jimmie remembered having heard a speaker refer to the city jail as the “Leesville Louseranch”; he had thought that a good joke at the time, but now it seemed otherwise to him.
It was splendid to stand up in court and to take your stand as a martyr112; but now Jimmie discovered, as many an unfortunate has discovered before him, that being a martyr is not the sport it is cracked up to be. There were no heroics now, no singing. If you even so much as hummed, they took you out and shut you up in a dark hole called the “cooler”! Nor could you read, for there was no light in your cell, and perpetual twilight113 in the central gathering114 place of the “tank”. Apparently115 the only things the authorities of Leesville wished you to do were to hunt “seam-squirrels”, to smoke cigarettes, to “shoot craps”, and to make the acquaintance of a variety of interesting young criminals, so that when you were ready to resume your outside life you might decide whether you wanted to be a hold-up man, a safe-cracker, a forger116, or a second-story operator.
Jimmie Higgins, of course, brought a different psychology from that of the average jail-inmate. Jimmie could do his kind of work just as well in jail as anywhere else; and barring the torment117 of vermin, the diet of bread and thin coffee and ill-smelling greasy118 soup, and the worry about his helpless family outside, he really had a happy time-making the acquaintance of tramps and pickpockets119, and explaining to them the revolutionary philosophy. A man who went in to remedy social injustice120 all by himself could never get very far. It was only when he realized himself as a member of a class, and stood as a class and acted as a class, that he could accomplish a permanent result. Some of the workers had discovered this, and had set out to educate their fellows. They brought the wondrous121 message, even to those in jail; holding out to them the vision of a world made over in justice and kindness, the co-operative commonwealth122 of labour, in which every man should get what he produced, and no man could exploit his fellows.
VII.
Three days passed, and then one afternoon Jimmie was summoned to see a visitor. He could guess who the visitor was, and he went with his heart in his throat, and looked through the dark mesh123 of wire, and saw Lizzie standing—stout, motherly Lizzie, now very pale, and breathing hard, and with tears running in little streamlets down her cheeks. Poor Lizzie, with her three babies at home, and her plain, ordinary, non-revolutionary psychology, which made going to jail a humiliation124 instead of a test of manhood, a badge of distinction! Jimmie felt a clutch in his own throat, and an impulse to tear down the beastly wire mesh and clasp the dear motherly soul in his arms. But all he could do was to screw his face into a dubious125 smile. Sure, he was having the time of his life in this jail! He wouldn't have missed it for anything! He had made a Socialist out of “Dead-eye Mike”, and had got Pete Curley, a fancy “con” man, to promise to read “War, What For?”
There was only one thing which had been troubling him, and that was, how his family was getting on. They had had practically nothing in the house, he knew, and poor Meissner could not feed four extra mouths. But Lizzie, also screwing her face into a smile, assured him that everything was all right at home, there was no need to worry. In the first place, Comrade Dr. Service had sent her a piece of paper with his name written on it; it appeared that this was called a cheque, and the groceryman had exchanged it for a five dollar bill. And in the next place there was a domestic secret which Lizzie had to confide—she had put by some money, without letting Jimmie know it.
“But how?” cried Jimmie, in wonder—for he had thought he knew all about his household and its expenses.
So Lizzie explained the trick she had played. Jimmie had committed an extravagance, treating her to a new dress out of his increased earnings126: a gorgeous contrivance of several colours, looking like silk, even if it wasn't. Lizzie had stated that the cost was fifteen dollars, and he, the dupe, had believed it! The truth was she had bought the dress in a second-hand127 shop for three dollars, and had put twelve dollars away for the time of the strike!
And Jimmie went back to his “tank”, shaking his head and philosophizing: “Gee! Can you beat these women?”
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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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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peddled
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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toil
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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controversy
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temperament
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adventurous
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margin
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harassed
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kindly
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entirely
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solidarity
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stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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syllable
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untold
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culmination
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20
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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21
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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22
agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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23
grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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24
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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25
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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26
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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27
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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28
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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29
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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30
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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31
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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32
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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35
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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36
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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37
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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38
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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39
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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40
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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41
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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42
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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43
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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44
ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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45
mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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46
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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47
contemplator
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| 沉思者，静观者 | |
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48
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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49
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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50
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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51
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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52
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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53
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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54
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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55
acrimonious
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| adj.严厉的，辛辣的，刻毒的 | |
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56
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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57
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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58
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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59
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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60
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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61
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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62
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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63
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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64
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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65
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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66
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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67
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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69
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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70
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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71
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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72
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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73
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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74
adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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75
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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76
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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77
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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78
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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79
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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81
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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82
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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83
ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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84
revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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86
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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87
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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88
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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89
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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90
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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91
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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92
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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93
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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94
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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95
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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96
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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97
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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98
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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99
bailed
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| 保释，帮助脱离困境( bail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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101
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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102
copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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103
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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104
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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105
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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106
prevaricator
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| n.推诿的人，撒谎的人 | |
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107
defendants
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| 被告( defendant的名词复数 ) | |
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108
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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109
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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110
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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111
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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112
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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113
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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114
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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115
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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116
forger
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| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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117
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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118
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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119
pickpockets
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| n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
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120
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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121
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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122
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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123
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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124
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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125
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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126
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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127
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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