omitted because they were not essential. Vickery held command of the company with the plucky2 misery3 of a Napoleon retreating from his Moscow.
When this rehearsal was over the director told Sheila that she need not stay to rehearse the next week’s bill, since Reben had asked him to release her from further
work. He had telegraphed to New York for a woman who had played the same part with great success, and received answer that she would be able to step in without
inconvenience. Sheila was dolefully relieved. She felt that she could never have learned another r?le. She felt almost grateful to Reben. “My brain has stopped,” she
told Pennock; “just stopped.”
The Tuesday afternoon matinée was always the worst of the week. The heat was like a persecution4. The actors played havoc5 with cues and lines, and the suffocated
audience was too indifferent to know or care.
After the performance Vickery was so lost to hope that he grew sardonic6. He said with a tormented7 smile:
“It’s a pity Reben didn’t stay over. If he had seen how badly this performance went he would have sworn that the play would run a year on his dear damned Broadway.
I’m going to telegraph him so.”
Tuesday night the house was again poor, though better than at the matinée. The company settled down into harness like draught-horses beginning a long pull. The
laughter was feeble and not focused. It was indeed so scattered8 that the voice of one man was audible above the rest.
Out of the silences or the low murmurs10 of laughter resounded11 the gigantic roars of this single voice. People in the audience twisted about to see who it was. The
people on the stage were confused at first, and later amused. They also made more or less concealed12 efforts to place the fellow.
By and by the audience began to catch the contagion13 of his mirth. It laughed first at his laughter, and then at the play. During the third act the piece was going so
well that it was impossible to pick out any individual noise.
After the last curtain a number of townspeople went back on the stage to tell Sheila how much they liked the play, and especially her work. They had read the glowing
criticisms in the morning and evening papers. They had not heard what Reben had said of what Broadway would say. They would not have cared. Broadway was suspect in
Clinton.
These bouquets15 had the savor16 of artificial flowers to Sheila, but she enacted17 the r?le of gratitude18 to the best of her ability. Back of the knot surrounding her she
saw Vickery standing19 with a towering big fellow evidently waiting to be presented. Then she saw Eldon shaking hands with the stranger.
Bret Winfield was suffering from stage-fright. He had met Vickery in New York and had promised to run down to see his play, and incidentally to square himself with the
girl he had frightened. In the generally disheveled state of brains that characterizes a playwright20 during rehearsal, Vickery had neglected to tell Winfield that the
When, years before at Leroy, Eldon, as the taxicab-driver, had floated Winfield over the footlights, he had worn a red wig22 and disguising make-up. When Winfield saw
him on the stage as a handsome youth perfectly23 groomed24, there was no resemblance. Eldon’s name was on the program, but Winfield was one of those who pay little heed
to programs, prefaces, and title-pages. He was one of those who never know the names of the authors, actors, composers, printers, and architects whose work pleases
them. They “know what they like,” but they never know who made it.
As he waited to reach Sheila, Winfield noted25 Eldon standing in a little knot of admirers of his own. He said to Vickery, with that elegance26 of diction which has always
distinguished27 collegians:
“That lad who played your hero is a great little actor, ’Gene. He’s right there all the time. I’d like to slip it to him.”
Vickery absently led him to Eldon and introduced the two, swallowing both names. The two powerful hands met in a warm clutch that threatened to become a test of grip.
“You’re certainly one actor, Mr.—er—er— You’ve got a sad, solemn way of pulling your laughs that made me make a fool of myself.”
“You’re very kind to think so,” said Eldon, overjoyed to get such praise from a man of such weight. And he crushed Winfield’s fingers with a power that enhanced
the layman’s respect still further. Winfield crushed back with all his might as he repeated:
“Eldon,” said Eldon.
Winfield’s grip relaxed so unexpectedly that Eldon almost cracked a bone or two before he could check his muscles. Winfield turned white and red in streaks30 and said:
“Eldon? Your name’s Eldon?”
Eldon nodded.
“Are you the Eldon that knocked a fellow about my size about ten yards for a touch-down across the footlights once?”
Eldon blushed to find his prowess fame, and said: “Yes. Once.”
“Well, I’m the fellow,” said Winfield, trying to call his ancient grudge31 to the banquet. “I’ve been looking for you ever since. I promised myself the pleasure of
beating you up.”
Eldon laughed: “Well, here I am. I’ve been ashamed of it for a long time. I took an unfair advantage of you.”
“Advantage nothing,” said Winfield. “I ought to have been on my guard.”
“Well,” Eldon suggested. “Suppose I stand down here on the apron32 of the stage and let you have a whack33 at me. See if you can put me into the orchestra chairs
farther than I put you.”
Winfield sighed. “Hell! I can’t hit you now. I’ve shaken hands with you, unbeknownst. I guess it’s all off. I couldn’t slug a man that made me laugh so hard.
Shake!”
He put out his hand and the enemies gripped a truce34. Winfield was laughing, but there was a bitterness in his laugh. He had been struck in the face and he could not
Then Vickery called him to where Sheila, having rid herself of her admirers, was making ready to leave the stage.
“Miss Kemble, I want to present my old friend, Mr. Bret Winfield. He’s been dying to meet you again for a long while.”
“Again?” thought Sheila, but she said, as if to her oldest friend: “Oh, I’m delighted! I haven’t seen you since—since— Chicago, wasn’t it?”
Vickery laughed and explained: “Guess again! You’ve met before, but you were never introduced.”
Slowly Sheila understood. She stared up at Winfield and cried, “This isn’t the man who—”
“I’m the little fellow,” said Winfield, enfolding her hand in a clasp like a boxing-glove. “I scared you pretty badly, I’m afraid. But Vickery tells me he told
you my intentions were honorable. I’ve come to apologize.”
“Oh, please don’t! I’m the one that ought to. I made an awful idiot of myself; but, you see, I was afraid you were going to—to—well, kidnap me.”
“I wish I could now!”
He lowered his high head and his low voice to murmur9, with an impudence37 that did not offend her, “You’re too darned nice to waste your gifts on the public.”
“Waste them!—on the public?” Sheila mocked. “And what ought I to do with them, then?”
He spoke38 very earnestly. “Invest them in a nice quiet home. You oughtn’t to be slaving away like this to amuse a good-for-nothing mob. You let some big husky fellow
do the work and build you a pretty home. Then you just stay home and—and—bloom for him—like a rose on a porch. I tell you if I had you I’d lock you up where the
crowds couldn’t see you.”
Sheila put back her head and laughed at the utter ridiculousness of such insolence39. Then her laugh stopped short. The word “home” got her by the throat. And the
words “bloom just for him” brought sudden dew to her eyes.
She had hurt Winfield by her laughter. Under the raillery of it he had muttered a curt14 “Good night” without heeding40 her sudden softness.
He had rejoined Eldon and Vickery. Of the three tall men he was the least gifted, the least spiritual. But he was the only one of the three, the only one of all her
admirers, who had not urged her forward on this weary climb up the sun-beaten hill. He was the only one who had suggested twilight41 and peace and home.
At any other time his counsel would have wakened her fiery42 dissent43. Now in her fatigue44 and her loneliness it soothed45 her like the occasional uncanny wisdom of a fool.
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1
rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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11
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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12
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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13
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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14
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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15
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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17
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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19
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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20
playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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21
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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22
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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24
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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25
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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26
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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28
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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29
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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30
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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31
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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33
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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34
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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35
requite
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| v.报酬，报答 | |
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36
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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37
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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38
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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39
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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40
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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41
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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42
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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43
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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45
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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