They passed the corner. With a great gulp4 of sheer emotion Peter followed, almost running. They turned into the Parisian—-but not into the familiar basement. Instead they mounted the wide front steps, as matter-of-fact as any two Upper West Siders out of a limousine5. Peter pressed his hands to his eyes. He looked again. They had vanished within the building.
Peter walked back and forth6. He told himself that he must think. But the fact clear even to his overwhelmed consciousness was that he was not thinking and that there was no immediate7 prospect8 of his being able to think. He went a whole block up the side street, stemming the thick tide of Jewish working girls from University Place and the lower Broadway district and men in overalls—muttering aloud, catching9 himself, compressing his lips, then muttering again. “She played with me!” So ran the muttering. “She is utterly10 lacking in responsibility, in any sense of obligation. She lacks spirituality. That is it, she lacks spirituality. She has no fineness. She is hard—hard! She is drifting like a leaf on these crazy Village currents of irrepressible self-indulgence. I tried to save her—God knows I tried! I did my best! I can't be blamed if she goes to pieces now! I can do no more—I must let her go!” But even while he spoke11 he gulped12 again; his face, nearly gray now, twisting painfully. He suddenly turned and rushed back to the Parisian.
He paused at the side doorway13 and peered in. Hy was not in evidence. A later glance, from within the barroom, disclosed that slightly illuminated14 young man in the corner room of the restaurant hanging over the table at which the taciturn Sumner Smith was still trying to read Le Sourire.
Peter went on into the crooked15 passage, passed the open doors of two eating rooms where only the first early diners had as yet drifted in, found himself at the door of the barber shop, stopped short, then seeing the familiar figure of Maria Tonifetti approaching her table in the corner, dodged16 back and into the washroom. Here the boy named Anatole said, “Good evening, Meester Mann,” and filled a basin for him. Peter dipped his hands into the warm water and washed them. He was surprised to find his forehead dripping with sweat. He dried his hands, removed his glasses and scrubbed his face. He turned on the cold water, wet a towel and pressed it to his temples and the back of his head, taking care not to wet his collar. His hands were trembling. And that impulse to talk aloud was rising uncontrollably. He went back to the corridor; stood motionless, breathing deeply; recalled with the force of an inspiration that Napoleon had feared nothing, not even the ladies with whose lives his own had become so painfully entangled17 and walked deliberately18, staring straight before him, past that barber shop door.
At the foot of the crooked stairway he paused again. And again his face was twisting. “I've got to make the one more effort,” he said. “It isn't for myself, God knows! I gave her my love—I pledged her my life—I have suffered for her—I would have saved her if she had played fair! I've got to make this last effort!”
He mounted the stairs, crowded past the telephone booths, staging at them as he went. They conveyed a suggestion to his mind. He stepped cautiously to the restaurant door, nodded to the ma?tre d'h?tel and glanced in. The nearer room was empty; but beyond the second doorway, Zanin's shoulder and profile were visible. Sue he could not see, but she must be sitting there. Yes, Zanin was leaning forward, was speaking, even smiling, in that offhand19 way of his!
Peter, flushing now, turned away; confronted the boy called Raoul; pressed a silver quarter into his palm. “Page, Miss Wilde,” he breathed huskily. “Tell her she is wanted on the phone.”
The boy named Raoul obeyed. At the Parisian it is not regarded as surprising that a gentleman should wish to speak to a lady.
Peter rushed around the turn and Waited at the farther end of the row of booths.
Finally he heard her step.
When she saw him she stopped. “Oh,” she said, “Peter!” And she frowned a very little.
“It was a deception,” he broke out, “but I had to see you, Sue! I know you are with Zanin. I saw you come in. I don't see how you can do it, but we'll let that pass. I—”
“What is it, Peter? What do you want with me?”
“Oh, Sue! Are you as hard as that? What do I want of you! Good God! When I see you, after all I have suffered for your sake, plunging20 back into this life—taking up with that crock Zanin as if nothing had happened, as if—Why, he—”
Sue grew a little white about the mouth and temples. She glanced back at the empty passage.
“Peter,” she said, curiously21 quiet, “if you think it fair to follow me into a public place, if you really mean to make another hideous22 scene, you will have to come into the dining-room to do it.”
He reached out, caught her arm. She wrenched23 away and left him there. For a long moment he stared out the window at the rush of early evening traffic on the Avenue, his hands clenched24 at his sides. Then he hurried past the office and down to the street.
He stood on the curb25 and addressed a rattling26 autobus. “It is unbearable—unbelievable. The girl has lost all sense of the fitness of things. She is beside herself. I must act—act! I must act at once—to-night!”
People were passing. He turned, suddenly aware of the bustlingly unsympathetic, world about him. Had any one heard his voice? Apparently27 none had. All were hurrying on, up-town, down-town. Standing28 there on the curb he could see in at the basement window. Sumner Smith was alone at last and deep in Le Sourire. Hy had drifted away—back to the bar, doubtless.
Peter, you recall, was a genius. As a genius he fed on his emotional reactions; they were his life. Therefore do not judge him too harshly for the wild thought that at this point rushed over his consciousness with a force that left him breathless. He was frightened and by himself. But there was a barbarous exaltation in his fear. “It'll bring her to her senses,” he thought. “I've got to do it. Then she'll listen to me. She'll have to listen to me then.”
Peter appeared in the corner room down-stairs, almost as curiously quiet as Sue had been in their brief talk. He, too, was rather pale. He came over to Sumner Smith's table, dropped down opposite the fat journalist, beckoned29 a waiter, ordered a light dinner, and, that done, proffered30 a cigarette.
“I've got a tip for you, Smith,” he said, “a real one. If The Evening Earth hasn't lost its vigor31 you can put it over big.”
“I can't give you the details. You'll have to take my word for them. Did you ever hear a question raised regarding the Reverend Doctor Wilde?” Sumner Smith glanced out toward the bar and Hy. The corners of his mouth twitched33. “His boss?”
“Right. Editor of My Brother's Keeper. Author of the famous missionary34 sermons.”
“There was a little talk last year. You mean the big mission funds he has raised?”
Peter nodded. His eyes were overbright now. “Nobody has the evidence, Mann. It isn't news as it stands.”
“Suppose you could make it news—big news.”
“Oh, of course—” the journalist gestured with his cigarette.
“Well, you can. To-night. Go straight to his house—over in Stuyvesant Square, not five minutes in a taxi, not ten on the cars—and ask him point-blank to consent to an accounting35. Just ask him.” Sumner Smith mused36. “It might be worth trying,” he said.
“Take my word for it.”
The journalist paid his check, rose, nodded to an acquaintance across the room, said: “I'll think it over, Mann. Much obliged—” and sauntered out.
This was unsatisfactory. Peter, crestfallen37, forgot that Sumner Smith was hardened to sensations. And peering gloomily after the great reporter, he only half saw the man pause at the small desk near the bar, then speak casually38 to the now somewhat wobbly Hy Lowe: he only half heard a taxi pull up outside, a door slamming, the sudden grinding of gears as the taxi darted39 away. There were so many noises outside: you hardly noticed one more.
The waiter brought his dinner. He bolted it with unsteady hands. “I must think this all out,” he told himself. “If Sumner Smith won't do it, one of the other Earth men will. Or some one on The Morning Continental40.”
He lit a cigar, sat bark and gazed out at the dim street where dimmer figures and vehicles moved forever by. It occurred to him that thus would a man sit and smoke and meditate41 who was moved by an overmastering love to enact42 a tremendous deed. But it was difficult to sustain the pose with his temples throbbing43 madly and a lump in his throat. His heart, too, was skipping beats, he thought. Surreptitiously he felt his left wrist.
He beckoned the waiter; ordered paper and ink. The lump in his throat was suddenly almost a pain. He wrote—
“It was wrong of me, of course, Sue, dear. But I really must see you. Even though your hostile attitude makes it difficult to be myself. There is trouble impending44. It concerns you vitally. If you will only hear me; meet me for half an hour after dinner, I know I can help you more than you dream.
“I am not speaking for myself but for you. In all this dreadful trouble between us, there is little I can ask of you. Only this—give me half an hour. I will wait down-stairs for an answer. P. E. M.”
He sent this up-stairs. Then followed it as far as the telephones, called up his old acquaintance, Markham, of The Morning Continental, and whispered darkly to him over the wire.
As he ran down-stairs and dodged past the barber shop door, he became conscious that the dinner he had eaten felt now like a compact, insoluble ball in the region of his solar plexus. So he stopped at the bar and gulped a bicarbonate of soda45 while buying a highball for Hy Lowe whom he found confidentially46 informing the barkeeper of his raise from forty-five a week to sixty.
Then he resumed his seat by the window in the corner room; tried to find amusement in the pages of Le Sourire; failed; watched the door with wild eyes, starting up whenever a waiter entered the room, only to sink back limply at each fresh disappointment.
He wondered suddenly about Sumner Smith. What if he had followed the trail! This thought brought something like a chill. If he, Peter, an old newspaper man, were to be caught in the act of passing on an “exclusive” tip to friends on competing papers—violating the sacred basis of newspaper ethics47! You couldn't tell about Smith. He rarely showed interest, never emotion, seldom even smiled. He would receive the news that Emperor William had declared himself King of All the Americas with that same impassive front.
Peter looked at his watch. It was twenty-five minutes of seven. He had thought it at least eight.
One thing was certain—he must get his bags out of that awful barber shop before it closed. Accordingly he had a messenger called to take them, over to the rooms.
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1
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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12
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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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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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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26
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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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32
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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33
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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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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36
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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37
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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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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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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40
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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41
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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42
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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43
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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44
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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45
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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46
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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47
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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