Peter was there—a gloomy intense figure, bent1 over the desk at the farther end of the nearly dark studio, his long face, the three little pasteboard bank books before him, the pad on which he was figuring and his thin hands illuminated2 in the yellow circle from the drop light on the desk. Just behind him on the small table was his typewriter, and there were sheets of paper scattered3 on the floor. He lifted his face, peered at the Worm through his large glasses, then with nervous quickness threw the bank books into a drawer which he locked. He tore up the top sheet of the pad; noted4 pencil indentations on the sheet next under it, and tore that up too.
“Hello!” he remarked listlessly.
“Hello!” replied the Worm. Adding with a touch of self-consciousness: “Just had a cup of tea with Sue.”
“Over at her place?”
The Worm nodded.
“Any—any one else there?”
“Zanin came in.”
Peter winced5 and whitened a little about the mouth; then suddenly got up and with an exaggerated air of casualness set about picking up the papers on the floor. This done he strode to the window and stared out over the Square where hundreds of electric lights twinkled. Suddenly he swung around.
“It's a strain,” he said in a suppressed, clouded voice.
“Doubtless,” murmured the Worm, reaching for the evening paper.
“Zanin used to try to—to make love to her.”
Some effort must be made to stem this mounting current. “Oh, well,” said the Worm, rather hurriedly, “you're free from worry, Pete.”
“But you are! Good lord, man, here I've just asked her to have dinner with me, and she ducked. Wouldn't even eat with me.”
“But—”
“But nothing! It was flatly because she is engaged to you.”
Peter thought this over and brightened. “But see here!” he cried—“I'm not a Turk. I'm not trying to lock her up.”
The Worm was silent.
Peter confronted him; spoke7 with vehemence8. “Sue is free—absolutely. I want her to be free. I wouldn't have it otherwise. Not for a moment. It's absurd that she should hesitate about dining with you, or—or”—this with less assurance—“with any man.”
Peter walked around the room, stopping again before the Worm who was now sitting on the desk, looking over the evening paper.
“Oh, come now!” said Peter. “Put up that paper. Listen to me. Here you are, one of my oldest friends, and you make me out a Victorian monster with the woman I love. Damn it, man, you ought to know me better! And you ought to know Sue better. If her ideas are modern and free, mine are, if anything, freer. Yes, they are! In a sense—in a sense—I go farther than she does. She is marrying me because it is the thing she wants to do. That's the only possible basis on which I would accept her love. If that love ever dies”.... Peter was suddenly all eloquence9 and heroism10. Self-convinced, all afire, he stood there with upraised arm. And the Worm, rather fascinated, let his paper drop and watched the man... “If that love ever dies,” the impressive voice rang on, “no matter what the circumstances, engaged, married, it absolutely does not matter, Sue is free. Good God! You should know better—you, of all people! You know me—do you suppose I would fasten on Sue, on that adorable, inspired girl, the shackles11 of an old-fashioned property marriage! Do you suppose I would have the hardihood to impose trammels on that free spirit!”
Carried away by his own climax12 Peter whirled, snatched up the desk telephone, called Sue's number, waited tense as a statue for the first sound of her voice, then said, instantly assuming the caressingly13 gentle voice of the perfect lover: “Sue, dear, hello! How are you? Tired? Oh, I'm sorry. Better get out somewhere. Wish I could come, but a job's a job. I'll stick it out. Wait though! Here's Henry Bates with nothing to do. I'm going to send him over to take you out—make you eat something and then walk a bit. It's what you need, little girl. No, not a word! I'm going to ring off now. He'll come right over. Good-by, dear.”
He put down the instrument, turned with an air of calm triumph. “All right,” he said commandingly. “Run along. Take her to the Muscovy. I may possibly join you later but don't wait for me. I'll tell you right now, we're not going to have any more of this fool notion that Sue isn't free.” With which he sat down at his typewriter and plunged14 into his work.
The Worm, taken aback, stared at him. Then, slowly, he smiled. He didn't care particularly about the Muscovy. It was too self-consciously “interesting”—too much like all the semi-amateur, short-lived little basement restaurants that succeed one another with some rapidity in the Greenwich Village section. The Worm was thinking again of Jim's exceedingly Anglo-Saxon chop house and of those salty deep-sea oysters15, arrived this day. At the Muscovy you had Russian table-cloths and napkins. The tables were too small there, and set too close together. You couldn't talk. You couldn't think. He wondered if Peter hadn't chosen the place, thus arbitrarily, because Sue's friends would be there and would see her enacting16 this freedom of his.
Peter was now pecking with a rather extraordinary show of energy at the typewriter. The Worm, studying him, noted that his body was rigidly17 erect18 and his forehead beaded with sweat, and began to realize that the man was in a distinct state of nerves. It was no good talking to him—not now. So, meekly19 but not unhumorously obeying orders, the Worm set out.
“Where is it?” she asked—“Jim's?”
He shook his head. His face, the tone of his voice, were impenetrable. There was not so much as a glimmer21 of mischief22 in his quietly expressive23 eyes; though Sue, knowing Henry Bates, looked there for it. “No,” he said, “we are to go to the Muscovy.”
Peter, meanwhile, continued his frenzy24 of work for a quarter-hour; then slackened; finally stopped, sighed, ran his long fingers through his hair, and gloomy again, turned wearily around to the desk, unlocked his own particular drawer, brought out the three bank books and resumed his figuring on the pad. If you could have looked over his shoulder you would have seen that his pencil faltered25; that he added one column, slowly and laboriously26, six or seven times, getting a different result each time; and that then, instead of keeping at it or even throwing the book back into the drawer, he fell to marking over the figures, shading the down strokes, elaborating the dollar signs, enclosing the whole column within a two-lined box and then placing carefully-rounded dots in rows between the double lines. This done, he lowered his head and sighted, to see if the rows were straight. They were not satisfactory. He hunted through the top drawers and then on the bookcase for an eraser....
There was a loud knock at the door.
He started, caught his breath, then sank back, limp and white, in his chair. At the third knocking he managed to get up and go to the door. It was a messenger boy with a note.
Peter held the envelope down in the little circle of yellow light on the desk. It was addressed in Zarin's loose scrawl27. The handwriting definitely affected28 him. It seemed to touch a region of his nervous system that had been worn quiveringly raw of late. He tore the envelope open and unfolded the enclosure. There were two papers pinned together. The top paper was a bill from the Interstellar people for eight hundred and twenty dollars and fifty cents. The other was in Zanin's hand—penciled; “It's getting beyond us, Mann. They offer to carry it through for a sixty per cent, interest. It's a good offer. We've got to take it. Come over to the Muscovy about eight, and I'll have copies of the contract they offer. Don't delay, or the work will stop to-morrow.”
Peter carefully unpinned the two papers, laid them side by side on the desk, smoothed them with his hands. Doing this, lie looked at his hands. The right one he raised, held it out, watched it. It trembled. He then experimented with the left. That trembled, too. He stood irresolute29; opened the three savings30 bank books—spread them beside the papers; stared at the collection long and steadily31 until it began to exert a hypnotic effect on his unresponsive mind. He finally stopped this; stood up; stared at the Wall. “Still,” ran his thoughts, “I seem to be fairly calm. Perhaps as a creative artist, I shall gain something from the experience. I shall see how men act in utter catastrophe32. Come to think of it, very few artists ever see a business failure at short range. This, of course, borders on tragedy. I am done for. But from the way I am taking this now I believe I shall continue to be calm. I must tell Sue, of course... it may make a difference.... I think I shall take one stiff drink. But no more. Trust the one. It will steady my nerves. And I won't look at those things any longer. After the drink I think I shall take a walk. And I shall be deliberate. I shall simply think it out, make my decision and abide33 by it.”
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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2
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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3
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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4
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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7
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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8
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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9
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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10
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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11
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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12
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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13
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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14
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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15
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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16
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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17
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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18
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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19
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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20
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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21
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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22
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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23
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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24
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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25
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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27
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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28
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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29
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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30
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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31
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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32
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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33
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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