The second of my Argonauts was of quite another sort. Whatever graces of body and mind Nature has to give, she had given him—and he had wasted them. With his invincible2 and dauntless youth he might have been a companion for Cortez and stout3 Bernal Diaz, a Crusader, almost anything he chose, and he was—I borrow the phrase of a better man than I—a Camp-Follower of Fortune, a wasted man. The outskirts4 of the world are full of them. That such things can be, that men can be born so strong, so lovable, and then be wasted, seems to me the most inexplicable5 of the caprices of that Fortune which puzzled Dante Alighieri long ago.
Mid-heaven high, the morning sun blazed above the forlorn little lumber-port, calling the inhabitants thereof to arise and make hay diligently6 during the few weeks it still had to shine before the change of monsoons9 and the rainy season blotted10 the world in mist. The call seemed to arouse little enthusiasm. Over the channel, where the Rio Bagalayag winds out by the bar, a pair of gulls11 wheeled aimlessly, plunging12 into the yellow water now and then, and rising with harsh cries. Out beyond them in the distance, where Point Bagalayag wavered in the heat, a lorcha drifted with limp sails, becalmed in the lee of Mount Bagalayag. In the one street of Bagalayag itself, the grassy13 lane which follows the curve of the shore, two Chinamen with a long whip-saw were gnawing14 a plank15 from a four-foot log of molave, sawing steadily16 with the patient endurance of their race, brown arms swinging in and out, brown bodies swaying. At the end of each stroke, they grunted17 rhythmically19, and the music of their industry—Ugh! Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh!—was the only sound in Bagalayag that morning, save the raucous20 complaint of the distant gulls.
As a matter of fact, Bagalayag was waiting in hushed expectancy21 for something inevitable22 to happen. On the shady side of the nipa church, which still manages to rear its rickety walls at the corner of the brown and weedy plaza23, the populace was gathered—forty-one men, fifty-two women, fifty-two babes in arms, and seventy-three children of varying sex and age, speechless for once, with the smoke of their cigarettes dissolving above them like unfragrant incense24. And the gaze of all that multitude was fixed25 unwinkingly on a tin-roofed house—the only one in town—which stands on the other side of the street, close to the water's edge.
In that pretentious26 dwelling27 an unprecedented28 event seemed likely to happen, for in its upper chamber29 one of the lords of the earth lay deathly sick of a fever. Bagalayag as yet recorded no death of a white man in its simple annals, therefore it sat and smoked and waited, all except its stolid30, alien Chinamen, who cared nothing for life or death or anything but planks31.
Occasionally a voice floated out from the Tin-Roofed House, weak and thin but full of helpless rage, and at the sound the inhabitants of Bagalayag wagged their heads and spoke32 softly. "The Se?or Ess-soffti is not dead—yet," they murmured.
In Hamburg, far enough from Bagalayag in miles, there is a house which sells anything, from elephants to orchids34. Every product of the animal or vegetable kingdom from one pole to the other, 'round with the equator and back again, is included in the complete line which the Hamburgische Gesellschaft carries, for this body is a true body whose busy nerve-ends net the round world. Men on grimy ships whose battered35 fore7 feet are set across uncharted leagues of sea, men who rot in unheard-of towns—yet continue to live and trade in defiance36 of every hygienic law—men who plod37 untracked continents and unknown, sleeping islands with savage38 followers39, are the organs by which it acts.
Set above all these is the good Right Eye of the Company, the man who, by virtue40 of wild-wood lore41 and craftsmanship42, and first-hand knowledge of the far nooks and byways of the earth, by right of energy and perseverance43, outranks the army of traders and collectors and stands next the Brain. Herr Felix Schrofft is his name, always spoken with respect and envy by his associates and rivals in his strong man's calling. And now, become the Se?or Ess-soffti on liquid Malay tongues, he lay alone at bay in the Tin-Roofed House, and held the breathless attention of the populace of Bagalayag in Mindoro.
The arena44 where he fought, that small, bare, upper chamber, was very simply furnished with a round table, a couple of chairs, a camphor-wood chest, a bamboo cage imprisoning45 a parrot, and a folding cot upholstered in the severest taste with dingy46 gray canvas. The table held the fly- and lizard-bitten remnants of a meal, the chairs were draped with the muddy garments their owner had flung there hastily three days before, a litter of other clothing sprawled47 from beneath the lid of the chest, and on the cot, which stood before a seaward-facing window, was stretched the redoubtable49 Se?or Ess-soffti himself, not at all in the mental attitude which our Christian50 convention prescribes for those in articulo mortis. Despite the pallor of the cheeks beneath the smut of the newly sprouted51 beard and the yellow gleam of the eyeballs and the leaden inertness52 of the shrunken limbs which barely hollowed the taut53 canvas where they lay, the shaggy, wizened54 monkey of a man was plainly beset55 by the very worst of tempers, which only his extreme weakness kept from violent expression.
So he lay chafing56 there that morning, just as he had lain for days. Occasionally his restless eyes met the beady ones of the parrot, and the imprisoned57 bird shrieked59 with silly laughter. On such occasions the Se?or Ess-soffti shook his fist, a menace which showed mostly in the convulsions of his face, and muttered weakly, "Sing, you deffel, sing!" falling thereafter into a murmured torrent60 of words, as he consigned61 the Philippine Islands and all things in them to everlasting62 torment63.
Even a hidebound moralist, knowing all the circumstances, might have found some palliation for Herr Schrofft's unspiritual estate. Fever had stricken him at an inopportune season, and, for the first time in his life, he faced a possibility of failure with which he could not cope. Even now the freighter Sarstoon had turned her stubby nose Mindoro-ward48 at Schrofft's suggestion. In ten days she would be lying off Bagalayag, waiting for the cargo64 he had promised her, and even when one has no fever, ten days are little time in which to fell and trim a hundred cubic meters of a wood so dense65 that it eats an axe66 like granulated metal, and float it down the miles of oozing67 mud they call the Rio Bagalayag, and load it before the northeast monsoon8—already threatening in the clouds—comes to lash68 the open roadstead into a fury of spume and breaking rollers.
He could foresee it all, the excessive sympathy of the Sarstoon's skipper, the meek69 explanation of the House to the impatient customer, the commiseration70 and sly elation71 of his acquaintances and rivals that he had failed at last, the universal grunt18 of "Hard luck, Schrofft"—hard luck in a trade whose frankly72 brutal73 creed74 discredits75 a man for one adverse76 stroke of fortune as for any other sign of personal weakness and unfitness. All that must come, unless he could find some means of thwarting77 Dame78 Fate. And so, not finding the means, he cursed the officious beldame heartily79.
Suddenly he noticed that the drone of the saw had ceased. Doubtless the coolies had stopped to wipe their streaming faces, but Schrofft was in no mood to seek excuses for them. "Loaf, you deffels, loaf!" he shouted venomously.
As if in response to his taunt80, the music of the saw began again, but mingled81 with it came the chatter82 of many voices and the soft flop83, flop of many padding feet. Raising his head a wearisome half-inch to peer from his window, Herr Schrofft saw, with supreme84 disgust, the sprung masts and frowsy rigging of the monthly packet from Batangas in the river. Somehow or other the hours had dragged by uncounted; it was afternoon, and the crazy lorcha had drifted to her haven85 in spite of calm and childish seamanship; while he, Herr Schrofft the indomitable, had one day less in which to do his work. For the first time in his illness, the hard-pressed little man groaned86 for sympathy, and pitying, sentimental87, Teutonic tears burned his eyes. "If I only had just one white man with me," he muttered.
The confusion without came nearer, drawing down the street, and presently the stairs of the Tin-Roofed House clattered89 under booted feet and its fabric90 trembled slightly. The invalid91's face brightened with curiosity. No native of the Philippines has the combined weight and energy necessary to make a house shake when he walks. Deus ex Machina! That was a favorite phrase of Schrofft's, almost the only Latin of Gymnasium days that had stuck. Perhaps the Man had come with the Hour. Schrofft watched the door with feverish92 intentness.
It opened and a white man entered, white at least in fundamental coloring, although his skin was a raw, beefy red from newly acquired sunburn, tall, broad-shouldered, clad serviceably in sombrero, the relic93 of an army shirt, the ruins of khaki riding-breeches and, most incongruously, a pair of handsome riding-boots, whose russet leather was cleaned and polished till it glittered. So far all was well, but the face—the hollowed cheeks, the dark puffy rims94 beneath the eyes, the wavering glance of the bright blue eyes themselves, the nervous twitching95 of the full red lips, set in a smile of deprecating impudence96, the keen, high-bred features blunted and battered by dissipation, all spoke of one thing. Schrofft sized up his visitor with narrowed lids, and spoke his opinion briefly97. "I haf no use for bums98," he said.
Like a mask, the wheedling100 smirk101 dropped from the newcomer's face. "Hock the Kaiser, a wandering Dutchman!" he cried airily, advancing to the cot.
Schrofft's little eyes burned red. "I am Herr Felix Schrofft, Explorer for the Hamburgische Gesellschaft," he said with dignity, "and I haf no use for bums. Get out."
"'Tis a certain matter of delayed remittances103," the stranger explained, as he unceremoniously dumped the encumbering104 garments from a chair, and sat down by the table. "I must identify myself, Herr Softy. I am Richard Roe105, Esquire, ward of the famous John Doe, of whom you may have heard. While the remittances delay, I wander, seeking whom and what I may devour106." Mr. Richard Roe gazed ruefully at the dusty viands107 before him. "As usual, I seem to have come to the wrong shop," he murmured. "But here at least are cigarettes. I will not stand on ceremony."
While the match flared108, Schrofft stared at his tormentor109 with at least as much of bewilderment as of wrath110. "If I could hold my revolver," he said at last, "I think I would shoot you. I haf no use for bums."
Through a cloud of smoke, Mr. Richard Roe gazed whimsically at the invalid. "The question seems to be," he suggested mildly, "whether the bum99 has a use for you. And I rather think he has." He crossed one leg over the other and became pleasantly didactic. "I am not always what you see me now, Herr Softy. One short week ago I sat in Don Miguel Rafferty's establishment in Batangas, wooing fickle111 Fortune at the wheel. The jade112 stripped me, I was sold out, up against it; so I became a thorough bum, in manners, morals, and in dress. The boots," he digressed, glancing complacently113 at his well-shod feet, "are somewhat out of character, I admit. Otherwise I am a bum pure and simple, as you have three times observed, but a bum of a quality of which you never dreamed, a masterless man reduced to his primal114 elements, three appetites and a sense of humor. Herr Softy, beware of me. I am a dangerous character, I warn you frankly at the start."
Mr. Richard Roe approached the cot once more. "Speaking of revolvers," he remarked, "reminds me that I left my own in Batangas, in care of Uncle Monte de Piedad." He drew Schrofft's weapon from beneath the pillow, and inspected it rapidly. "A poor thing, but a Colt's," he muttered. "Calibre 41, of course. How European!"
Herr Schrofft, his eyes still closed, groaned weakly. It was hard that his respectable and well-ordered brain should conjure115 up a nightmare of vagabondage like this, and supply fitting words for the figure.
"I came southward to Mindoro," the drawling voice went on, "and at the first stroke I am half a man again. I have a gun. Here is a Tin-Roofed House in which to sleep; here is tobacco to smoke; through the chinks in the floor I perceive sleeping chickens which promise food. Best of all, I find here a companion for my solitude116. Herr Softy, you may need an heir before long. Behold117 him here in me."
"Herr Gott!" Schrofft groaned again, "I am going crazier every minute." Suddenly he opened his eyes, for the door swung on its hinges and a head surmounted118 by a shock of coarse black hair was thrust within. At the sight of it, all his aggressiveness returned. "Son of fifty fathers!" he screamed. "Because you think I am dying you run away, and now you have the shamelessness to come back! Go and be a muchacho for the deffel! I shall not die; in two days I shall be strong enough to kill you."
"It was only his canny119 Filipino way," Mr. Richard Roe broke in, coming to the rescue of the unfaithful servant. "He wanted an alibi120 for the inquest. Slave," he announced sternly, "I have saved your life. Fetch more cigarettes and a bottle of whatever burning water the market offers. Then kill three chickens and cook them with plenty rice—and no grease. The Se?or Softy and I will have a mucho grande chow-chow to celebrate my home-coming. I am his heir. Sigue! Pronto! Madili!"
Schrofft glared hopelessly at Mr. Richard Roe. "Then you are real!" he cried. "That boy, he sees you also, he hears you, he obeys! Mein Gott! You are a bum. You haf no home, you haf no money, you haf no grub, you haf no chob. And I would gif a hundert dollars for just one man!"
"Alas," said Mr. Richard Roe hollowly, "I am not a man, and the hundred is unclaimed. I am the stuff that dreams are made of, bad dreams. But I have my better impulses, and I feel them stirring at the prospect121 of food. I will be a ministering angel to you, an airy, fairy, army nurse, pressing my cool hand softly on your fevered brow." He suited the action to the word, save that the hand was hot and gritty. "Herr Softy, your pulse is rapid, your temperature is rising, you tremble on the verge122 of a paroxysm of fever. Where is the quinine?"
The recurrent hot stage of his disease had indeed seized the patient, and as it grew upon him he lost more and more his grip of reality under the mad contradictions of Mr. Richard Roe's speech and conduct, and the potent123 spell of the drug which he administered with a lavish124 hand. Dimly, as in a dream, the room stretched wider and higher about him, and as the pulse boomed and roared in his ears, he saw in the distance a phantasm which he knew was called Mr. Richard Roe, sitting at a table and going through the motions of a real man. It drank thirstily from a bottle which a frightened muchacho brought; it smoked endless cigarettes; it dismembered a steaming chicken with its fingers, and ate it daintily, ate another, stretched back in its chair and grunted with content. Phantom125 or reality, Mr. Richard Roe began to be a comfort, he made himself so much at home. Schrofft closed his eyes and dozed126.
Suddenly through his slumber127 cut a well-remembered sound: Ugh! Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh! He woke to a moment of clear-headedness and the sense of his predicament. It was almost sunset; only eight days were left. "My trees, my trees!" he quavered, trying weakly to sit up. "I must go and get them."
Instantly the "cool hand" rested on his forehead and, not unkindly, he was shoved back on his pillows. "You've been dozing," the voice of Mr. Richard Roe explained soothingly129. "What's the matter?"
Brokenly, still as in a dream, Schrofft heard his own voice go croaking130 on, speaking ramblingly of trees, always of trees. The clump131 of iron-woods that grow at the corner where the mangroves are thickest on the bank, thirty miles up-stream. The twelve huge trees that stand up so high and have their tops pleached together. Those were the ones; they must be cut without delay. He must start at once, because, you see, the Sarstoon would be in on the 18th, and, if she didn't get the trees, the monsoon would change. And then her voyage would be wasted, and the customer would not have for six more months the wood of unique density132 which he wanted for non-magnetic gears, and the House would have to bear the blame, when it was all the fault of a fool named Schrofft, who lay around with fever when there was work to do.
At a great distance he saw Mr. Richard Roe sitting with crossed legs, smoking in long, meditative134 purr's, and inspecting him narrowly with keen, unwavering blue eyes.
"You're a rather game little man," said Mr. Richard Roe approvingly. After a long time he spoke again. "Thirty miles up, you say. Is there any one around who knows an iron-wood when he sees one?"
There was a new, a compelling quality in the voice, which Schrofft had not heard before. "That coward muchacho, that Juan, he knows. He has been there with me," said Schrofft.
"And the tools, where are they?" asked the compelling tones.
"In the canoes, all ready," Schrofft answered obediently.
"I can't understand his getting so excited about a few trees," Mr. Richard Roe muttered. "I never could. But he's a game little man, and if he wants his trees as bad as all this, by Jove, he's got to have 'em." He rose lazily, and stood towering above the cot. "It's all right, Schrofft. Go to sleep. I'll have your trees here by the eighteenth."
"You can't," Schrofft objected sleepily, with the unmalicious frankness of one who states a well-established fact. "You're nothing but a bum."
"Go to sleep," Mr. Richard Roe repeated soothingly. "Perhaps, since there's so much hurry, I'd better start to-night. There's a lovely moon now, like a Swiss cheese. Last night it made me think of beer."
"Those trees on the right bank," Schrofft muttered, trying to rise once more.
Strong hands pressed him back and held him there. "Schrofft," Mr. Richard Roe said slowly and impressively, "pay attention just one minute, and then you can go to sleep. When I want anything I go and get it, sabe? Same as I came here and got grub. Same as I'd go to the devil for a drink, when I want that. I never happened to want trees, but I'll get some for you. Now go to sleep."
Under the spell of the assuring voice and the comforting grip of the strong hands on his shoulders, Schrofft's eyelids135 drooped136 lower and lower, till even the clatter88 of energetic feet descending137 the stairs did not cause them to flutter.
He must have dreamed still more then, for strange things happened. Outside in the village, even in peaceful Bagalayag, a riot rose, voices of men angry and protesting, voices of women tearful and imploring138, voices of children shrill139 with excitement, and, dominating all, a languid, vibrant140 voice speaking sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in crude but vigorous Bisayan, threatening, cajoling, domineering. Gradually all the others died away into a murmur33 of resignation, and then, suddenly, the song of the saw stopped with a spluttering drawl not unlike the squawk of a frightened hen. "Come along, you chaps," said the masterful voice. "Got a job for you other place, sabe?"
The response slid in falsetto semitones from a Mongolian tongue. "Got plenty worl-luk this side," it said sullenly142. "No can do."
"Sure can do," said the master. "Got to do, sabe? Come along, you beggars, before I tie your pigtails together."
Then gradually all the tumult143 ceased, and restful quiet enveloped144 the Tin-Roofed House and endured so long that Schrofft craftily145 opened his eyes a crack, and gazed about his chamber. It was quite empty. The heavy lids drooped once more, and he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. And as he slept, the cooling sweat bathed his worn body. Together, the quinine and the excitement of the day had conquered his disease; the fever was broken.
The first impression borne in on Schrofft's consciousness when he woke next morning, sufficiently146 clear in mind, but weak beyond belief in body, was that Bagalayag was uncommonly147 quiet, even for Bagalayag. The droning saw was silent; there was no rustle148 of bare feet on the grassy ways, no low murmur of gossip from sleepy tongues, no straw-muffled booming of rice mortars149, no whine150 of carabao or shriek58 of wooden axle-boxes as the tuba was brought in from the palm-grove. For a moment he lay with an empty mind. Then Memory returned. "Himmel!" he muttered. "I did not dream it all!"
At the sound, a doddering old man rose from the corner and approached the cot. "Does the se?or want anything?" he asked.
"Where is everybody?" Schrofft demanded. "Where is Juan?"
"They are all gone," the old man replied. "Only I am left behind. The Se?or Duque took them all."
"The Se?or Duque took them all!" Schrofft echoed. Dukes are rare in Mindoro.
"Si, se?-o-or. El Duque de la Calle Milochentaitres in America. He took them all, the men, the boys, the Chinese pigs who saw; all Bagalayag but me—because I am very old. Only I am left, and the women and children who hide in the houses to pray. They go to cut down trees, all the trees in Mindoro, I think. It is an order from Ouashingtone. The Se?or Duque says so."
The Duke of 1083rd Street in America! Decidedly, if Schrofft had been delirious151, all Bagalayag now outdid him in delusion152.
"Does the se?or want anything?" the old man repeated. "If we had guessed that the se?or had el Duque de la Calle Milochentaitres for a friend, we would not have left him alone to be sick. It was very wicked, but the Duque says he will forgive us if we get the trees."
At the mention of trees, Schrofft's lips had contracted. But his mind, as unstrung as his body, was at the mercy of every emotional catspaw that ruffled153 it, and the childlike awe154 and faith in the voice of the old man brought a long-forgotten sensation clutching at his diaphragm. "We have been very wicked; but the Duke says he will forgive us if we get the trees." For all his weakness, Schrofft chuckled155 a little at the audacity156 of it. An unwonted feeling of dependence157 took hold of the self-reliant little man. He combated it feebly. "He cannot do it; he is only a bum," Reason urged. But the protest of Reason was purely158 formal, and triumphant159 Cheerfulness retorted, "He can do anything—when he wishes to."
"What would the se?or like for breakfast?" the old man's voice broke in. "He may have six little oysters160, or two eggs passed through water, or a cup of milk with one egg in it, or a very small fish not fried—the Duque says to fry is not good for sick ones—but cooked on a sharp stick, as He Himself taught me."
Once more Schrofft relaxed in the new and comfortable sense of utter dependence. "Oysters," he murmured unctuously161, and gave himself up to the anticipation162 of the plump, brassy-flavored morsels163 which were soon to cool his throat. Deus ex Machina! A God from the Machine of Things had taken his affairs in hand.
As the days wore on, the words became more than a mere164 phrase. In the long, lazy, roseate hours which a convalescent knows, Schrofft thought much, and the well-timed arrival of the mysterious Mr. Richard Roe at the crisis of his illness and his fortunes, the unbelievable eccentricity165 of the man, the nonchalant confidence with which he had undertaken a task in which he had no part either by interest or training, all combined to rouse in Schrofft's mind that superstition166 which is so fundamental an element in all us Aryans. The manifestation167 took the guise168 of Hero-Worship. An unreasoning faith in Mr. Richard Roe got hold of him.
The atmosphere in which he lived strengthened the conviction. Mr. Roe was absent only in the body; the power of his masterful personality still moulded life and thought in Bagalayag. The blear-eyed, tottering169 attendant he had left for Schrofft, anxious, fussy170, mentally helpless, had one warrant for all his load of troublesome attentions: "The Se?or Duque told me to do it."
As Schrofft grew stronger, and strolled out into the village, he found its people under the same spell. Women and children had gradually stolen out from the shacks171; one by one they took up their daily occupation; the patter of their anxious prayers was no longer one of the street-sounds of Bagalayag; they asked Schrofft trustingly, "When will the Duque bring our husbands back?"
And Schrofft answered just as trustingly, "On the eighteenth."
Dimly he felt the thrill of the contrast, saw primeval Nature and the lean, sardonic172 American face each other, and felt no doubt of the outcome. Many times, as the slow days passed, he looked away to the black mantle173 of forest which clothed all the land to the south, close-fitting and unbroken up to the rough crest174 of Mount Bagalayag itself. "He'll do it," he repeated continually.
And Mr. Richard Roe did do it. On the evening of the seventeenth, a shrill clamor of women's voices ran through the town, and their owners gathered on the river bank to meet an unwieldy raft that was warping175 in on the brown and sluggish176 current. The huge sullen141 logs seemed bound to sink, in spite of the bulk of chambered bamboo which buoyed177 them, but standing178 springily erect179 on their backs, Mr. Richard Roe dominated the raft as he did all things else. When it grounded, he swung himself to the shoulders of two of his men and was borne triumphantly180 ashore181.
"By Jove, Schrofft," was his greeting, "glad to see you looking that way." He flipped182 a hand behind him, and added casually183, "There are your trees," and that was all of the little epic184 of the forest which Schrofft ever heard from his lips, except for fragments which he tossed out to laugh at. But from the tales which the restored husbands and fathers of Bagalayag chattered185 to their families, he gathered a picture of heart-breaking toil186 and endurance, and cheerful, laughing resourcefulness which filled him with a yearning187 admiration188 for its central figure.
That night, had Mr. Richard Roe so chosen, he might have become hereditary189 lord of Bagalayag in Mindoro, and laughed at the law, the Constitution and the flag, schoolhouses, benevolent190 assimilation, and human progress. Like a travel-worn, unshaven monarch191, he sat in Schrofft's long cane192 chair, puffing193 contentedly194 at Schrofft's cherished china pipe, while the unfaithful servant Juan knelt at his feet and revived the tarnished195 glories of the shining boots, and his primitive196 worshippers poured in a stream of tribute, herbs of the field and fruits, fish and flesh and fowl197, indigestible sweets and death-dealing drinks of home manufacture. On all alike he smiled kindly128 yet wearily, with the affable condescension198 of one who by divine right might be severe, yet chooses to be kind. But once his smile broadened into feeling.
"You won't find Lame133 Duck and Gouty Hen bringing me any thanks for stringing 'em that way," he remarked to Schrofft, who sat in the background, as proud as the mother of one chicken.
"Lame Duck and Gouty Hen?" Schrofft echoed, puzzled.
"My untamed Chinks," the Duke of 1083rd Street explained. "That was a stroke of genius, taking them. They did the work, while the Filipinos did the kicking. We sawed the trees down, you know—may not be the way to do it, but we did it—and we three took turns—"
"Lame Duck and Gouty Hen!" Schrofft spluttered with delight. "Himmel! Such names!" Then he became serious. "How can I pay you! When you come I say to you, 'I would gif a hundert dollars for a man,' and you are a man, the finest I efer—"
"That's all right," said Mr. Richard Roe benevolently199. "It was good sport. I wouldn't work that hard for money."
"Of course there's the—the other side too—" Schrofft stumbled over his words, bashful as a maiden200 with her lover. "I cannot thank you. You save my life, you save my reputation, you—"
"Cut out the thanks, Schrofft," Mr. Roe interrupted, with a touch of smiling haughtiness201. "I don't like 'em. You'd better be clearing out now," the weary monarch added to his thronging202 admirers. "You're nice little brown men enough, but I'm sleepy. Sigue Dagupan, the whole bunch."
Two mornings later, after breakfast, Herr Schrofft again brought up the subject of Mr. Richard Roe's reward. In the intervening day the Sarstoon had come and gone with her hard-won load, and Schrofft's admiration for his miraculous203 helper had grown exceedingly. With the passion for work still on him, Mr. Richard Roe had been everywhere, and everywhere had been effective, on the beach, in the canoes, on the Sarstoon's deck and in her hold, even on her bridge.
Mingled with the boundless204 admiration, was another feeling which filled Schrofft with confusion, while it opened a vista205 to the sky-line of his lonely life. Since young Erich Schmidt was killed before his eyes, twenty years gone in Africa, he had wanted no friend, no bunkie, kein Kamerad. But now—Mr. Richard Roe sat across his table irresistibly206 reminiscent of some wandering, roué god, who needed but a whiff of Olympian air to refreshen his eternal youth. Sun and wind and work had erased207 the signs of dissipated strength, sleep had rubbed out the aging lines of work, and now he sat in the sala of the Tin-Roofed House lean, brown, and hard, with his rumpled208 yellow hair and trace of yellow beard, and sparkling eyes half smiling at Life and Fate—not defiantly209 or deprecatingly, but with the faint amusement one may find in the vagaries210 of equals one knows well.
Mingled emotions made expression difficult for Schrofft, and he gave speech its most practical form. "Here is the hundert," he said gruffly, and pushed a chunky little bag across. "It don't pay you, nothin' efer can—"
"The hundred?" Mr. Richard Roe stared at the bag as if surprised, but he drew it to him. "Oh, yes. I'll take it if you like, Schrofft, of course. Much obliged." As he weighed it in his hand, his eyes darkened suddenly, and the under lids drew tight, as if he were gazing at something far away over the blue water which lay before him. Almost unconsciously he untied211 the cord that bound it, and a little stream of gold ran chinking out. "Yellow ones," Mr. Roe muttered.
"It's not much," Schrofft said apologetically, "but— What are you going to do now?"
Still unconsciously, Mr. Roe's long supple212 fingers had arranged the heap into four little orderly piles, and he was shoving them back and forth213, like counters in some game. "Four stacks of blue ones," he muttered.
"What will you do now?" Schrofft repeated.
"Eh?" said Mr. Richard Roe. "Oh, yes. What'll I do? Well, Schrofft, I never bother to plan that out far ahead."
"I'll tell you," said Schrofft, gathering214 head for a flood of speech, "you stay with me. I—I called you a bum once. I take it back. You're all right. The quickness to decide, the way to make everything do what you want, the good luck, you have it all!"
"If I did have luck," Mr. Roe muttered thoughtfully, "that'd be enough to clean out Rafferty's bank. By Jove, I'll do it. I'll play the twelve."
"You come with me," Schrofft urged. "You are young, you have had your fling; now it's time to settle down. I'll help you, I'll be—what-you-call?—the balance w'eel. I teach you all I know, and in two three year you'll be the boss of us all. You'll have a chob better'n mine."
He hesitated, for Mr. Roe was gazing at him with a whimsical smile. "Go ahead, Schrofft," he said. "What kind of a job is yours? What do you get out of it?"
"Ten thousand mark a year, und expenses," said Schrofft, uneasy for some mockery to come.
"Ten thousand marks! That's twenty-five hundred dollars," Mr. Roe commented. "And expenses. That's a lot of money, Schrofft. But I live simply; my expenses wouldn't be high enough to make it pay. So I'll just go back to Batangas and play the twelve. Twelve trees, you know."
Desperately215, imploringly216, Schrofft argued with him, dangled217 larger and juicier bait before his eyes. "You might be a partner in the House!" he cried. But Mr. Roe remained unmoved, even at that dazzling prospect, and at last Schrofft lost his temper.
"You are a bum," he shouted angrily. "It's chust what I say before. You haf no home, no food, no chob, no money, and—" he finished helplessly, "Mein Gott! You do not care!"
"Money could not buy the glorious uncertainty218 I enjoy," Mr. Roe replied pleasantly. "Calm down, Schrofft. I'm going out to tell 'em to get a canoe ready for me."
Late that afternoon he left, with his tattered219 clothing and his shining boots and his little bag of gold, and his smile, which he shed benignantly on the worshippers who thronged220 the beach. Only three residents of all Bagalayag were missing. Down the street Lame Duck and Gouty Hen stolidly221 made up lost time—Ugh! Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh! And up in the sala of the Tin-Roofed House a shaggy little man, his back resolutely222 turned to the window and the leave-taking, puffed223 savagely224 at a big china pipe, and exploded every now and then: "Chust a bum! A good-for-nothin' bum!" But when the sun was gone and all the shadows on the mountain had thickened into one, he laid down the pipe and went to the window and gazed out long over the darkening sea. "My poor little bum god from the machine," he said wistfully. "Now I must forget him."
It was not so easy to forget Mr. Richard Roe. The memory of him clung to Schrofft even after his work was done in Mindoro, and he had bidden Bagalayag an everlasting farewell. In Manila, Mr. Richard Roe's image dogged his busy footsteps, and when at last he climbed the side of the Rosetta Maru, bound for Hongkong and home, Mr. Roe was at the surface of his thoughts. "Mein Gott!" Schrofft mused225, as he leaned on the rail that first night out and saw Bolinao looming226 faintly in the gulf227 of blackness, far to leeward228, "he saved my life, and now I leave him in the Philippines."
He leaned there, absorbed in a vision of the companionship which could never be, till the last shadow of the islands had faded in the night. Then brusquely, as if he awakened229 himself, he turned forward to the smoking-room and the nightcap of rum and lime-juice which was his concession230 to the luxury of rest. "My poor little bum god," he muttered, "if he was here, I'd buy him a drink. He's had too many drinks already, though, poor deffel."
At the door of the smoking-room he stopped abruptly231. "Butterflies," he grunted in disgust, and turned aside to a settee which stood near in the shadow, to wait for his drink till they were done. And then, suddenly, he leaned forward and gazed into the brightly lighted room, for a voice there had set all his nerves aquiver. "So?" he muttered incredulously. "Kann nicht sein!"
Inside the room three men were sitting at a little table with a bottle between them, all dressed alike in spotless and unrumpled linen232. Their likeness233 ended with their dress. One was a boy, the down still soft on his chin, but his cheeks were pasty and he had the dead eyes of an evil old man. The second was a flabby man of middle age, whose red face was an expressionless mask, from behind which he looked out watchfully234. And the third, brilliant, flashing, shedding a glow of life and strength around him, was Mr. Richard Roe in a new guise.
"How'd you clean up over here this time, Billy?" asked the boy in a dry, professional tone.
"Well enough," Mr. Richard Roe answered. "Went on my uppers once, down in Mindoro."
"Get a mascot235, Mike," Mr. Richard Roe advised mockingly. "That's what I did. Finest little mannikin of a mascot the Luck Machine ever ground out. Found a little Dutchman down there—down on his luck, sick, almost crying for some trees he'd got to cut or lose his job or his reputation or something. I got 'em for him. The little beggar was so glad he gave me a hundred, and I played it on the twelve at Rafferty's—there were twelve trees—and the twelve came. They wouldn't let me bet again, so I came up to Manila."
"Hell," said the aged236 young man apathetically237, "what's thirty-six hundred? I could cash up that myself."
"And," said the other man, speaking through motionless lips, "the lucky devil struck Manila just when that tin-horn Haines had sold a mine down Mindanao way. Haines got to working his bellows238 out to the Country Club, wanting to back the wheel, no limit, and Billy took him up and played the twelve, and the twelve came up—twice running. That's all."
The aged young man stared at Mr. Richard Roe with dropped jaw239. "Good Lord!"—his voice was an awe-struck whisper—"that's over a million!"
"Considerably240 over, theoretically," Mr. Richard Roe agreed, smiling coolly at the disconcerted young man. "Unfortunately, Mr. Haines couldn't cash it all, so I took his notes for everything but a goodly number of thou's. You may have the notes if you'd like 'em, Mike. I've got all I want. And get a mascot."
The aged young man went off into a stream of oaths. "Where are you goin' now, Billy?" he asked at last. "Goin'—home?" His voice dropped as he spoke the tabooed word, and for a moment, through the lines with which greed and cunning and indulgence had marked him, the face of a wistful, heart-sick youngster came out dimly.
"And a wife, and a baby?" said Mr. Roe, smiling whimsically. "No, thank you, Mike. I'm going over to Siam and buy a small tin-mine. It's a thing I've always wanted. I may breed a line of white elephants on the side." Abruptly, as if a sudden thought had come to him, he rose and filled the glasses, emptying the bottle. "Gentlemen," he cried, holding his glass aloft, "I ask for bottoms up. To the Se?or Ess-soffti, the prince of mascots241. May he live long and die busy." The glasses clinked and were emptied. Mr. Roe set his on the table. "Good night, gentlemen," he said, and departed.
But his progress was soon interrupted. Blinded by the sudden darkness of the deck, he lost his way, and was nearly sent sprawling242 by the legs of a man who sat huddled243 on a settee, a shabby little man, even in the dark. "What the devil," Mr. Roe began, with lofty displeasure. He checked himself. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," he said with the elaborate courtesy of one who, having the divine right to be insolent244, yet chooses to be kind.
Shrinking as at a blow, the shabby little man drew in his legs. Even in the gloom the movement had an appealing humbleness245 about it that went to the ready sympathy of Mr. Richard Roe. "It's all right, old chap," he said. "No harm done. Good night."
The shabby little man mumbled246 something inarticulate, and Mr. Roe, immaculate, self-sufficient, free from care, strode on and left his mascot staring blindly out at the dim, jumbled247 waters flashing by. "What luck!" the mascot mumbled to the waters, after a long time. And then again, "What luck!"
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1
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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monsoons
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| n.（南亚、尤指印度洋的）季风( monsoon的名词复数 )；（与季风相伴的）雨季；（南亚地区的）雨季 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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21
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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23
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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32
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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33
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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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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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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40
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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41
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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42
craftsmanship
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| n.手艺 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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44
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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45
imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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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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48
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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50
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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51
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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52
inertness
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| n.不活泼，没有生气；惰性；惯量 | |
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53
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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54
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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55
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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56
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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57
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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59
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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61
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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63
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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64
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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65
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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66
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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67
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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68
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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69
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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70
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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71
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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72
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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73
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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74
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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75
discredits
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| 使不相信( discredit的第三人称单数 )； 使怀疑； 败坏…的名声； 拒绝相信 | |
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76
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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78
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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80
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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81
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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82
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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83
flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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84
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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85
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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86
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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87
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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88
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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89
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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90
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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91
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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92
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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93
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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94
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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95
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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96
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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97
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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98
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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99
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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100
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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101
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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102
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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103
remittances
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| n.汇寄( remittance的名词复数 )；汇款，汇款额 | |
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104
encumbering
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的现在分词 ) | |
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105
roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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106
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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107
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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108
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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109
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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110
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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111
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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112
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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113
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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114
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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115
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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116
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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117
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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118
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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119
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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120
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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121
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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122
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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123
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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124
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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125
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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126
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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128
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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129
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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130
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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131
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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132
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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133
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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134
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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135
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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136
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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138
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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139
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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140
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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141
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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142
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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143
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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144
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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146
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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147
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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148
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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149
mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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150
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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151
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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152
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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153
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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154
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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155
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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157
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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158
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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159
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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160
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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161
unctuously
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| adv.油腻地，油腔滑调地；假惺惺 | |
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162
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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163
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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164
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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165
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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166
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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167
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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168
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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169
tottering
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|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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170
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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171
shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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172
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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173
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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174
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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175
warping
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| n.翘面，扭曲，变形v.弄弯，变歪( warp的现在分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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176
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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177
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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178
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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179
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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180
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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181
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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182
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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183
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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184
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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185
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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186
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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187
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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188
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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189
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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190
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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191
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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192
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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193
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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194
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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195
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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196
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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197
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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198
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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199
benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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200
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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201
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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202
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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203
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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204
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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205
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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206
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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207
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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208
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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210
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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211
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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212
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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213
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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214
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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215
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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216
imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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217
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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225
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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227
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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234
watchfully
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| 警惕地，留心地 | |
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235
mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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238
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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241
mascots
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| n.吉祥物( mascot的名词复数 ) | |
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242
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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243
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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244
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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245
humbleness
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| n.谦卑，谦逊；恭顺 | |
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246
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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247
jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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