“I’ve had the grandest time!” breezed Mary gayly. “You don’t know how beautiful the country is, all wonderful bronze and brown with a purple haze1, and a frost like silver lace this morning when I started. You’ve simply got to put on your wraps and come with me for a little while. I know a place where the shadows melt slowly, and the frost will not be gone yet. Come quick! I want you to see it before[92] it’s too late. You’re not just eating your breakfast, Auntie Rill! And on a tray, too! Are you sick?”
“No, why—I—he—my neph——” then she stopped in hopeless confusion, remembering her resolve not to tell a lie about the matter, whatever came.
“You don’t mean to tell me that man is here yet? And you waiting on him!”
There were both sorrow and scorn in the fine young voice.
In the upper hall the sick soldier in a bathrobe was hanging over the banisters in a panic, wishing some kind fairy would arrive and waft5 him away on a breath. All his perfidy6 in getting sick on a strange gentlewoman’s hands and[93] lying lazily in bed, letting her wait on him, was shown up in Mary Amber’s voice. It found its echo in his own strong soul. He had known all along that he had no business there, that he ought to have gone out on the road to die rather than betray the sweet hospitality of Miss Marilla by allowing himself to be a selfish, lazy slob—that was what he called himself as he hung over the banisters.
“Mary! Why, he has been very sick!”
“Sick?” There was a covert7 sneer8 in Mary Amber’s incredulous young voice; and then the conversation was suddenly blanketed by the closing of the hall door, and the sick soldier padded disconsolately9 back to bed, weak and dizzy, but determined10. This was as good a time as any. He ought to have gone before!
He trailed across the room in the big[94] flannel11 nightgown that hung out from him with the outlines of a fat old auntie and dragged down from one bronzed shoulder rakishly. His hair was sticking up wildly, and he felt of his chin fiercely, and realized that he was wearing a growth of several days.
In a neat pile on a chair he found his few clean garments, and struggled into them. His carefully ironed uniform hung in the closet; and he braced12 himself, and struggled into the trousers. It seemed a tremendous effort. He longed to drop back on the pillows, but wouldn’t. He sat with his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, trying to get courage to totter13 to the bathroom and subdue14 his hair and beard, when he heard Miss Marilla coming hastily up the stairs, the little coffee-pot sending on a delicious odor, and the glass of milk tinkling15 against the silver spoons as she came.
[95]He had managed his leggings by this time, and looked up with an attempt at a smile, trying to pass it off in a jocular way.
“I thought it was high time I was getting about,” he said, and broke down coughing.
Miss Marilla paused in distress16, and looked at his hollow eyes. Everything seemed to be going wrong this morning. Oh, why hadn’t Mary Amber stayed away just one day longer? But of course he had not heard her.
“Oh, you’re not fit to be up yet!” she exclaimed. “Do lie down and rest till you’ve had your breakfast.”
“I can’t be a baby having you wait on me any longer,” he said. “I’m ashamed of myself. I ought not to have stayed here at all!” His tone was savage17, and he reached for his coat, and jammed it on with a determined air in spite of his weakness and the sore[96] shivers that crept shakily up his back. “I’m perfectly18 all right, and you’ve been wonderful; but it’s time I was moving on.”
He pushed past her hurriedly to the bathroom, feeling that he must get out of her sight before his head began to swim. The water on his face would steady him. He dashed it on, and shivered sickly, longing19 to plunge20 back to bed, yet keeping on with his ablutions.
Miss Marilla put down her tray, and stood with tears in her eyes, waiting for him to return, trying to think what she could say to persuade him back to bed again.
Her anxious expression softened21 him when he came back, and he agreed to eat his breakfast before he went anywhere, and sank gratefully into the big chair in front of the Franklin heater, where she had laid out his breakfast on a little table. She had lined the chair[97] with a big comfortable, which she drew unobtrusively about his shoulders now, slipping a cushion under his feet, and quietly coddling him into comfort again. He looked at her gratefully, and, setting down his coffee-cup, reached out and patted her hair as she rose from tucking up his feet.
“You’re just like a mother to me!” he choked, trying to keep back the emotion from his voice. “It’s been great! I can’t tell you!”
“You’ve been just like a dear son,” she beamed, touching22 the dark hair over his forehead shyly. “It’s like getting my own back again to have you come for this little while, and to be able to do for you. You see it wasn’t as if I really had anybody. Dick never cared for me. I used to hope he would when he grew up. I used to think of him over there in danger, and pray for him, and love him, and send him sweaters;[98] but now I know it was really you I thought of and prayed for. Dick never cared.”
He looked at her tenderly, and pressed her hand gratefully.
“You’re wonderful!” he said. “I shall never forget it.”
That little precious time while he was eating his breakfast made it all the harder for what he meant to do. He saw that he could never hope to do it openly, either; for she would fling herself in his path to prevent him from going out until he was well; so he let her tuck him up carefully on the spread-up bed, and pull down the shades for him to take a nap after the exertion23 of getting dressed; and he caught her hand, and kissed it fervently24 as she was leaving him; and cherished her murmured “Dear child!” and the pressure of her old-rose-leaf fingers in parting. Then he closed his eyes, and let her slip away[99] to the kitchen where he knew she would be some time preparing something delicious for his dinner.
When she was safely out of hearing, rattling25 away at the kitchen stove, he threw back the covers vigorously, set his grim determination against the swimming head, stalked over to the little desk, and wrote a note on the fine note-paper he found there.
“Dear, wonderful little mother,” he wrote, “I can’t stay here any longer. It isn’t right. But I’ll be back some day to thank you if everything goes all right. Sincerely, Your Boy.”
He tiptoed over, and laid it on the pillow; then he took his old trench-cap, which had been nicely pressed and was hanging on the corner of the looking-glass, and stealthily slid out of the pleasant, warm room, down the carpeted stairs, and out the front door into the crisp, cold morning. The chill air[100] met him with a challenge as he closed the front door, and dared him not to cough; but with an effort he held his breath, and crept down the front walk to the road, holding in control as well the long, violent shivers that seized him in their grasp. The sun met him, and blinded his sensitive eyes; and the wind with a tang of winter jeered26 at his thin uniform, and trickled27 up his sleeves and down his collar, penetrating28 every seam. But he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strode grimly ahead on the way he had been going when Miss Marilla met him, passing the tall hedge where Mary Amber lived, and trying to hold his head high. He hoped Mary Amber saw him going away!
For perhaps half a mile past Mary Amber’s house his courage and his pride held him, for he was a soldier, who had slept in a muck-pile under the rain, and held his nerve under fire, and[101] gone on foot ten miles to the hospital after he was wounded. What was a little grippe and a walk in the cold to the neighboring village? He wished he knew how far it was, but he had to go, for it would never do to send the telegram he must send from the town where Miss Marilla lived.
The second half-mile he lagged and shivered, with not energy enough to keep up a circulation; the third half mile and the fourth were painful, and the fifth was completed in a sick daze29 of weakness; for the cold, though stimulating30 at first, had been getting in its work through his uniform, and he felt chilled to the very soul of him. His teeth were chattering31, and he was blue around the lips when he staggered into the telegraph-office of Little Silverton. His fingers were almost too stiff to write, and his thoughts seemed to have congealed32 also, though he had been repeating[102] the message all the way, word for word, with a vague feeling that he might forget it forever if he did not keep it going.
“Will you send that collect?” he asked the operator when he had finished writing.
The girl took the blank, and read it carefully.
“Arthur J. Watkins, Esq.,
“LaSalle Street, Chicago, Ill.
“Please negotiate a loan of five hundred dollars for me, using old house as collateral33. Wire money immediately Little Silverton. Entirely34 out of funds. Have been sick.
The girl read it through again, and then eyed him cautiously.
“What’s your address?” she asked, giving a slow speculative36 chew to her gum.
“I’ll wait here,” said the big blue soldier, sinking into a rush-bottomed chair by the desk.
[103]“It might be some wait,” said the girl dryly, giving him another curious “once-over.”
“I’ll wait!” he repeated fiercely, and dropped his aching head into his hands.
The little instrument clicked away vigorously. In his fevered brain he fancied it writing on a typewriter at the other end of the line, and felt a curious impatience37 for his lawyer to read it and reply. How he wished it would hurry!
The morning droned on, the telegraph instrument chattered38 breezily, with the monotony of a sunny child that knows no larger world and is happy. Sometimes it seemed to Gage as if every click pierced his head and he was going crazy. The shivers were keeping in time running up and down his back, and chilling his very heart. The room was cold, cold, cold! How did that fool of a girl stand it in a pink transparent[104] blouse, showing her fat arms huskily? He shivered. Oh, for one of Miss Marilla’s nice thick blankets, and a hot-water bag! Oh, for the soft, warm bed, the quiet room, and Miss Marilla keeping guard! But he was a man—and a soldier! And every now and then would come Mary Amber’s keen accusing voice: “Is that man here yet? And you waiting on him!” It was that that kept him up when he might have given way. He must show her he was a man, after all. “That man!” What had she meant? Did she, then, suspect him of being a fraud and not the real nephew? Well—shiver, shiver—what did he care? Let Mary Amber go to thunder! Or, if she didn’t want to go, he would go to thunder himself. He felt himself there already.
Two hours went by. Now and then some one came in with a message, and[105] went out again. The girl behind the desk got out a pink sweater she was knitting, and chewed gum in time to her needles. Sometimes she eyed her companion curiously39, but he did not stir nor look up. If there hadn’t been prohibition40, she might have thought him drunk. She began to think about his message and weave a crude little romance around him. She wondered whether he had been wounded. If he had given her half a chance, she would have asked him questions; but he sat there with his head in his hands like a stone image, and never seemed to know she was in the room. After a while it got on her nerves; and she took up her telephone, and carried on a gallery conversation with a fellow laborer41 somewhere up the line, giggling42 a good deal and telling about a movie she went to the night before. She used rare slang, with a furtive43 glance at the soldier for[106] developments; but he did not stir. Finally she remarked loudly that it was getting noontime, and “so-longed” her friend, clicking the receiver into place.
“I gotta go to lunch now,” she remarked in an impersonal44 tone. “I have a hour off. This office is closed all noontime.”
He did not seem to hear her; so she repeated it, and Gage looked up with bloodshot, heavy eyes.
“What becomes of the message if it comes while you’re away?” he asked feverishly45.
“Oh, it’ll be repeated,” she replied easily. “You c’n cumbback bime-by, ’bout two o’clock er later,’n’ mebbe it’ll be here. I gotta lock up now.”
Lyman Gage dragged himself to his feet, and looked dazedly46 about him; then he staggered out on the street.
The sun hit him a clip in the eyes again that made him sick, and the wind[107] caught at his sleeves, and ran down his collar gleefully. The girl shut the door with a click, and turned the key, eyeing him doubtfully. He seemed to her very stupid for a soldier. If he had given her half a chance, she would have been friendly to him. She watched him drag down the street with an amused contempt, then turned to her belated lunch.
Lyman Gage walked on down the road a little way, and then began to feel as if he couldn’t stand the cold a second longer, though he knew he must. His heart was behaving queerly, seeming to be absent from his body for whole seconds at a time, and then returning with leaps and bounds that almost suffocated47 him. He paused and looked around for a place to sit down, and, finding none, dropped down on the frozen ground at the roadside. It occurred to him that he ought to go back now while he was able,[108] for he was fast getting where from sheer weakness he couldn’t walk.
He rested a moment, and then stumbled up and back toward Little Silverton. Automobiles48 passed him, and he remembered thinking that, if he weren’t so sick and queer in his head, he would try to stand in the road and stop one, and get them to carry him somewhere. He had often done that in France, or even in this country during the war. But just now it seemed that he couldn’t do that, either. He had set out to prove to Mary Amber that he was a man and a soldier, and holding up automobiles wouldn’t be compatible with that idea. Then he realized that all this was crazy thinking, that Mary Amber had gone to thunder, and so had he, and it didn’t matter, anyway. All that mattered was for him to get that money and go back and pay Miss Marilla for taking care of him; and then[109] for him to take the next train back to the city, and get to a hospital. If he could only hold out long enough for that. But things were fast getting away from him. His head was hot and in a whirl, and his feet were so cold he thought they must be dead.
Without realizing it he walked by the telegraph-office and on down the road toward Purling Brook49 again.
The telegraph-girl watched him from the window of the tiny bakery where she ate her lunch.
“There goes that poor boob now!” she said with her mouthful of pie a la mode. “He gets my goat! I hope he doesn’t come back. He’ll never get no answer to that telegram he sent. People ain’t goin’ round pickin’ up five hundred dollarses to send to broke soldiers these days. They got’um all in Liberty Bonds. Say, Jess, gimme one more o’[110] them chocolate éclairs, won’t you? I gotta get back.”
About that time Lyman Gage had found a log by the wayside, and sunk down permanently50 upon it. He had no more breath to carry him on, and no more ambition. If Mary Amber had gone to thunder, why should he care whether he got an answer to his telegram or not? She was only another girl, anyway, GIRL, his enemy! And he sank into a blue stupor51, with his elbows on his cold, cold knees and his face hidden in his hands. He had forgotten the shivers now. They had taken possession of him, and made him one with them. It might be, after all, that he was too hot and not too cold; and there was a strange burning pain in his chest when he tried to breathe, so he wouldn’t breathe. What was the use?
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1
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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2
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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3
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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7
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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8
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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13
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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17
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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18
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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21
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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22
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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26
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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28
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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29
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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30
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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31
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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32
congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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33
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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gage
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| n.标准尺寸，规格；量规，量表 [=gauge] | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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38
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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39
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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40
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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41
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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42
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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43
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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44
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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45
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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46
dazedly
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| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
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47
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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48
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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49
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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50
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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51
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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