the truth in his mind gradually, as though it had always been there. A lot of facts had converged2 and led him to conviction. There was that line of cretonnes—four
half pieces—untouched, save for half-a-yard sold to cover a stool. There were those shirtings at 4?d.—Bandersnatch, in the Broadway, was selling them at 2?d.—under
cost, in fact. (Surely Bandersnatch might let a man live!) Those servants’ caps, a selling line, needed replenishing, and that brought back the memory of Winslow’s
Winslow stood with a big green box open on the counter before him when he thought of it. His pale grey eyes grew a little rounder, his pale straggling moustache
twitched5. He had been drifting along, day after day. He went round to the ramshackle cash desk in the corner—it was Winslow’s weakness to sell his goods over the
counter, give his customers a duplicate bill, and then dodge6 into 346the desk to receive the money, as though he doubted his own honesty. His lank7 forefinger8 with the
prominent joints9 ran down the bright little calendar (“Clack’s Cottons last for All Time?”). “One—two—three; three weeks an’ a day!” said Winslow, staring.
“March! Only three weeks and a day. It can’t be.”
“Tea, dear,” said Mrs. Winslow, opening the door with the glass window and the white blind that communicated with the parlour.
“One minute,” said Winslow, and began unlocking the desk.
An irritable10 old gentleman, very hot and red about the face, and in a heavy fur-lined cloak, came in noisily. Mrs. Winslow vanished.
“Ugh!” said the old gentleman. “Pocket-handkerchief.”
“Yes, sir,” said Winslow. “About what price—”
“Ugh!” said the old gentleman. “Poggit handkerchief, quig!”
“These, sir,” began Winslow.
“Sheed tin!” said the old gentleman, clutching the stiffness of the linen12. “Wad to blow my nose—not haggit about.”
“A cotton one, p’raps, sir?” said Winslow.
“How much?” said the old gentleman, over the handkerchief.
347“Sevenpence, sir. There’s nothing more I can show you? No ties, braces—”
“Damn!” said the old gentleman, fumbling13 in his ticket-pocket, and finally producing half-a-crown. Winslow looked round for his little metallic14 duplicate book which
he kept in various fixtures15, according to circumstances, and then he caught the old gentleman’s eye. He went straight to the desk at once and got the change, with an
entire disregard of the routine of the shop.
Winslow was always more or less excited by a customer. But the open desk reminded him of his trouble. It did not come back to him all at once. He heard a finger-nail
softly tapping on the glass, and, looking up, saw Minnie’s eyes over the blind. It seemed like retreat opening. He shut and locked the desk, and went into the little
room to tea.
But he was preoccupied16. Three weeks and a day. He took unusually large bites of his bread and butter, and stared hard at the little pot of jam. He answered Minnie’s
conversational17 advances distractedly. The shadow of Helter, Skelter, & Grab lay upon the tea-table. He was struggling with this new idea of failure, the tangible
realisation, that was taking shape and substance, condensing, as it were, out of the misty18 uneasiness of many days. At present it was simply one concrete fact; there
were thirty-nine pounds left in the bank, and that day three weeks Messrs. Helter, 348Skelter, & Grab, those enterprising outfitters of young men, would demand their
eighty pounds.
After tea there was a customer or so—little purchases: some muslin and buckram, dress-protectors, tape, and a pair of Lisle hose. Then, knowing that Black Care was
lurking19 in the dusky corners of the shop, he lit the three lamps early and set to refolding his cotton prints, the most vigorous and least meditative20 proceeding21 of
which he could think. He could see Minnie’s shadow in the other room as she moved about the table. She was busy turning an old dress. He had a walk after supper,
looked in at the Y. M. C. A., but found no one to talk to, and finally went to bed. Minnie was already there. And there, too, waiting for him, nudging him gently,
until about midnight he was hopelessly awake, sat Black Care.
He had had one or two nights lately in that company, but this was much worse. First came Messrs. Helter, Skelter, & Grab, and their demand for eighty pounds—an
enormous sum when your original capital was only a hundred and seventy. They camped, as it were, before him, sat down and beleaguered22 him. He clutched feebly at the
circumambient darkness for expedients23. Suppose he had a sale, sold things for almost anything? He tried to imagine a sale miraculously24 successful in some unexpected
manner, and mildly profitable in spite of reductions below cost. Then Bandersnatch, Limited, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 349Broadway, joined the siege, a long
caterpillar25 of frontage, a battery of shop fronts, wherein things were sold at a farthing above cost. How could he fight such an establishment? Besides, what had he to
sell? He began to review his resources. What taking line was there to bait the sale? Then straightway came those pieces of cretonne, yellow and black with a bluish-
green flower; those discredited26 shirtings, prints without buoyancy, skirmishing haberdashery, some despairful four-button gloves by an inferior maker—a hopeless crew.
And that was his force against Bandersnatch, Helter, Skelter, & Grab, and the pitiless world behind them. What ever had made him think a mortal would buy such things?
Why had he bought this and neglected that? He suddenly realised the intensity27 of his hatred28 for Helter, Skelter, & Grab’s salesman. Then he drove towards an agony of
self-reproach. He had spent too much on that cash desk. What real need was there of a desk? He saw his vanity of that desk in a lurid29 glow of self-discovery. And the
lamps? Five pounds! Then suddenly, with what was almost physical pain, he remembered the rent.
He groaned30 and turned over. And there, dim in the darkness, was the hummock31 of Mrs. Winslow’s shoulders. That set him off in another direction. He became acutely
sensible of Minnie’s want of feeling. Here he was, worried to death about business, and she sleeping like a little child. 350He regretted having married, with that
infinite bitterness that only comes to the human heart in the small hours of the morning. That hummock of white seemed absolutely without helpfulness, a burden, a
responsibility. What fools men were to marry! Minnie’s inert32 repose33 irritated him so much that he was almost provoked to wake her up and tell her that they were
“Ruined.” She would have to go back to her uncle; her uncle had always been against him; and as for his own future, Winslow was exceedingly uncertain. A shop
assistant who has once set up for himself finds the utmost difficulty in getting into a situation again. He began to figure himself “crib-hunting” again, going from
this wholesale house to that, writing innumerable letters. How he hated writing letters! “Sir, referring to your advertisement in the ‘Christian World.’” He beheld
He dressed, yawning, and went down to open the shop. He felt tired before the day began. As he carried the shutters37 in he kept asking himself what good he was doing.
The end was inevitable38, whether he bothered or not. The clear daylight smote39 into the place and showed how old, and rough, and splintered was the floor, how shabby the
second-hand40 counter, how hopeless the whole enterprise. He had been dreaming these past six months of a bright little shop, of a 351happy couple, of a modest but
comely41 profit flowing in. He had suddenly awakened42 from his dream. The braid that bound his decent black coat—it was a little loose—caught against the catch of the
shop-door, and was torn loose. This suddenly turned his wretchedness to wrath43. He stood quivering for a moment, then, with a spiteful clutch, tore the braid looser,
and went in to Minnie.
“Here,” he said, with infinite reproach, “look here! You might look after a chap a bit.”
“I didn’t see it was torn,” said Minnie.
Minnie looked suddenly at his face. “I’ll sew it now, Sid, if you like.”
“Let’s have breakfast first,” said Winslow, “and do things at their proper time.”
He was preoccupied at breakfast, and Minnie watched him anxiously. His only remark was to declare his egg a bad one. It wasn’t; it was a little flavoury—being one of
those at fifteen a shilling—but quite nice. He pushed it away from him, and then, having eaten a slice of bread and butter, admitted himself in the wrong by resuming
the egg.
“Sid!” said Minnie, as he stood up to go into the shop again, “you’re not well.”
“I’m well enough.” He looked at her as though he hated her.
352“Then there’s something else the matter. You aren’t angry with me, Sid, are you?—about that braid. Do tell me what’s the matter. You were just like this at tea
yesterday, and at supper-time. It wasn’t the braid then.”
“And I’m likely to be.”
She looked interrogation. “Oh! what is the matter?” she said.
It was too good a chance to miss, and he brought the evil news out with dramatic force. “Matter!” he said. “I done my best, and here we are. That’s the matter! If
I can’t pay Helter, Skelter, & Grab eighty pounds, this day three weeks—” Pause. “We shall be sold Up! Sold Up! That’s the matter, Min! Sold Up!”
“Oh, Sid!” began Minnie.
He slammed the door. For the moment he felt relieved of at least half his misery45. He began dusting boxes that did not require dusting, and then re-blocked a cretonne
already faultlessly blocked. He was in a state of grim wretchedness,—a martyr46 under the harrow of fate. At any rate, it should not be said he failed for want of
industry. And how he had planned and contrived47 and worked! All to this end! He felt horrible doubts. Providence48 and Bandersnatch—surely they were incompatible49!
Perhaps he was being “tried”? That sent him off upon a new tack50, a very comforting one. That martyr pose, the gold-in-the-furnace attitude, lasted all the morning.
353At dinner—“potato pie”—he looked up suddenly, and saw Minnie regarding him. Pale she looked, and a little red about the eyes. Something caught him suddenly with
a queer effect upon his throat. All his thoughts seemed to wheel round into quite a new direction.
He pushed back his plate, and stared at her blankly. Then he got up, went round the table to her—she staring at him. He dropped on his knees beside her without a
word. “Oh, Minnie!” he said, and suddenly she knew it was peace, and put her arms about him, as he began to sob51 and weep.
He cried like a little boy, slobbering on her shoulder that he was a knave52 to have married her and brought her to this, that he hadn’t the wits to be trusted with a
penny, that it was all his fault, that he “had hoped so”—ending in a howl. And she, crying gently herself, patting his shoulders, said, “Ssh!” softly to his noisy
weeping, and so soothed53 the outbreak. Then suddenly the crazy little bell upon the shop-door began, and Winslow had to jump to his feet, and be a man again.
After that scene they “talked it over” at tea, at supper, in bed, at every possible interval54 in between, solemnly—quite inconclusively—with set faces and eyes for
the most part staring in front of them—and yet with a certain mutual55 comfort. “What to do I don’t know,” was Winslow’s main 354proposition. Minnie tried to take a
cheerful view of service—with a probable baby. But she found she needed all her courage. And her uncle would help her again, perhaps, just at the critical time. It
didn’t do for folks to be too proud. Besides, “something might happen,” a favourite formula with her.
One hopeful line was to anticipate a sudden afflux of customers. “Perhaps,” said Minnie, “you might get together fifty. They know you well enough to trust you a
bit.” They debated that point. Once the possibility of Helter, Skelter, & Grab giving credit was admitted, it was pleasant to begin sweating the acceptable minimum.
For some half hour over tea the second day after Winslow’s discoveries they were quite cheerful again, laughing even at their terrific fears. Even twenty pounds, to
go on with, might be considered enough. Then in some mysterious way the pleasant prospect56 of Messrs. Helter, Skelter, & Grab tempering the wind to the shorn retailer
vanished—vanished absolutely, and Winslow found himself again in the pit of despair.
He began looking about at the furniture, and wondering idly what it would fetch. The chiffonier was good, anyhow, and there were Minnie’s old plates that her mother
used to have. Then he began to think of desperate expedients for putting off the evil day. He had heard somewhere of Bills of Sale—there was to his ears 355something
comfortingly substantial in the phrase. Then why not “Go to the Money Lenders?”
One cheering thing happened on Thursday afternoon; a little girl came in with a pattern of “print” and he was able to match it. He had not been able to match
anything out of his meagre stock before. He went in and told Minnie. The incident is mentioned lest the reader should imagine it was uniform despair with him.
The next morning, and the next, after the discovery, Winslow opened shop late. When one has been awake most of the night, and has no hope, what is the good of getting
up punctually? But as he went into the dark shop on Friday a strange event happened. He saw something lying on the floor, something lit by the bright light that came
under the ill-fitting door—a black oblong. He stooped and picked up an envelope with a deep mourning edge. It was addressed to his wife. Clearly a death in her family
—perhaps her uncle. He knew the man too well to have expectations. And they would have to get mourning and go to the funeral. The brutal57 cruelty of people dying! He
saw it all in a flash—he always visualised his thoughts. Black trousers to get, black crape, black gloves,—none in stock,—the railway fares, the shop closed for the
day.
“I’m afraid there’s bad news, Minnie,” he said.
356She was kneeling before the fireplace, blowing the fire. She had her housemaid’s gloves on and the old country sun-bonnet she wore of a morning, to keep the dust
out of her hair. She turned, saw the envelope, gave a gasp58, and pressed two bloodless lips together.
“I’m afraid it’s uncle,” she said, holding the letter and staring with eyes wide open into Winslow’s face. “It’s a strange hand!”
“The postmark’s Hull.”
Minnie opened the letter slowly, drew it out, hesitated, turned it over, saw the signature. “It’s Mr. Speight!”
“What does he say?” said Winslow.
Minnie began to read. “Oh!” she screamed. She dropped the letter, collapsed60 into a crouching61 heap, her hands covering her eyes. Winslow snatched at it. “A most
terrible accident has occurred,” he read; “Melchior’s chimney fell down yesterday evening right on the top of your uncle’s house, and every living soul was killed
—your uncle, your cousin Mary, Will, and Ned, and the girl—every one of them, and smashed—you would hardly know them. I’m writing to you to break the news before
you see it in the papers—.” The letter fluttered from Winslow’s fingers. He put out his hand against the mantel to steady himself.
All of them dead! Then he saw, as in a 357vision, a row of seven cottages, each let at seven shillings a week, a timber yard, two villas62, and the ruins—still
marketable—of the avuncular63 residence. He tried to feel a sense of loss and could not. They were sure to have been left to Minnie’s aunt. All dead! 7 × 7 × 52 ÷
20 began insensibly to work itself out in his mind, but discipline was ever weak in his mental arithmetic; figures kept moving from one line to another, like children
playing at Widdy, Widdy Way. Was it two hundred pounds about—or one hundred pounds? Presently he picked up the letter again, and finished reading it. “You being the
next of kin,” said Mr. Speight.
“How awful!” said Minnie, in a horror-struck whisper, and looking up at last. Winslow stared back at her, shaking his head solemnly. There were a thousand things
running through his mind, but none that, even to his dull sense, seemed appropriate as a remark. “It was the Lord’s will,” he said at last.
“It seems so very, very terrible,” said Minnie; “auntie, dear auntie—Ted—poor, dear uncle—”
“It was the Lord’s will, Minnie,” said Winslow, with infinite feeling. A long silence.
“Yes,” said Minnie, very slowly, staring thoughtfully at the crackling black paper in the grate. The fire had gone out. “Yes, perhaps it was the Lord’s will.”
358They looked gravely at one another. Each would have been terribly shocked at any mention of the property by the other. She turned to the dark fireplace and began
tearing up an old newspaper slowly. Whatever our losses may be, the world’s work still waits for us. Winslow gave a deep sigh and walked in a hushed manner towards
the front door. As he opened it a flood of sunlight came streaming into the dark shadows of the closed shop. Brandersnatch, Helter, Skelter, & Grab, had vanished out
of his mind like the mists before the rising sun.
Presently he was carrying in the shutters, and in the briskest way; the fire in the kitchen was crackling exhilaratingly with a little saucepan walloping above it, for
Minnie was boiling two eggs—one for herself this morning, as well as one for him—and Minnie herself was audible, laying breakfast with the greatest éclat. The blow
was a sudden and terrible one—but it behoves us to face such things bravely in this sad, unaccountable world. It was quite midday before either of them mentioned the
cottages.
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1
subtraction
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| n.减法，减去 | |
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converged
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| v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的过去式 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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3
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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12
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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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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beleaguered
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| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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expedients
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| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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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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hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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repose
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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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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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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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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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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48
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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50
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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51
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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52
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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53
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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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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56
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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58
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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59
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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60
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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61
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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avuncular
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| adj.叔伯般的，慈祥的 | |
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