—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.
November 27. To-day we reached Gisborne, and anchored in a big bay; there was a heavy sea on, so we remained on board.
We were a mile from shore; a little steam-tug put out from the land; she was an object of thrilling interest; she would climb to the summit of a billow, reel drunkenly there a moment, dim and gray in the driving storm of spindrift, then make a plunge2 like a diver and remain out of sight until one had given her up, then up she would dart3 again, on a steep slant4 toward the sky, shedding Niagaras of water from her forecastle—and this she kept up, all the way out to us. She brought twenty-five passengers in her stomach—men and women—mainly a traveling dramatic company. In sight on deck were the crew, in sou’westers, yellow waterproof5 canvas suits, and boots to the thigh6. The deck was never quiet for a moment, and seldom nearer level than a ladder, and noble were the seas which leapt aboard and went flooding aft. We rove a long line to the yard-arm, hung a most primitive7 basketchair to it and swung it out into the spacious8 air of heaven, and there it swayed, pendulum-fashion, waiting for its chance—then down it shot, skillfully aimed, and was grabbed by the two men on the forecastle.
A young fellow belonging to our crew was in the chair, to be a protection to the lady-comers. At once a couple of ladies appeared from below, took seats in his lap, we hoisted9 them into the sky, waited a moment till the roll of the ship brought them in overhead, then we lowered suddenly away, and seized the chair as it struck the deck. We took the twenty-five aboard, and delivered twenty-five into the tug—among them several aged10 ladies, and one blind one—and all without accident. It was a fine piece of work.
Ours is a nice ship, roomy, comfortable, well-ordered, and satisfactory. Now and then we step on a rat in a hotel, but we have had no rats on shipboard lately; unless, perhaps in the Flora11; we had more serious things to think of there, and did not notice. I have noticed that it is only in ships and hotels which still employ the odious12 Chinese gong, that you find rats. The reason would seem to be, that as a rat cannot tell the time of day by a clock, he won’t stay where he cannot find out when dinner is ready.
November 29. The doctor tells me of several old drunkards, one spiritless loafer, and several far-gone moral wrecks13 who have been reclaimed14 by the Salvation15 Army and have remained staunch people and hard workers these two years. Wherever one goes, these testimonials to the Army’s efficiency are forthcoming . . . . This morning we had one of those whizzing green Ballarat flies in the room, with his stunning16 buzz-saw noise—the swiftest creature in the world except the lightning-flash. It is a stupendous force that is stored up in that little body. If we had it in a ship in the same proportion, we could spin from Liverpool to New York in the space of an hour—the time it takes to eat luncheon17. The New Zealand express train is called the Ballarat Fly . . . . Bad teeth in the colonies. A citizen told me they don’t have teeth filled, but pull them out and put in false ones, and that now and then one sees a young lady with a full set. She is fortunate. I wish I had been born with false teeth and a false liver and false carbuncles. I should get along better.
December 2. Monday. Left Napier in the Ballarat Fly the one that goes twice a week. From Napier to Hastings, twelve miles; time, fifty-five minutes—not so far short of thirteen miles an hour . . . . A perfect summer day; cool breeze, brilliant sky, rich vegetation. Two or three times during the afternoon we saw wonderfully dense18 and beautiful forests, tumultuously piled skyward on the broken highlands—not the customary roof-like slant of a hillside, where the trees are all the same height. The noblest of these trees were of the Kauri breed, we were told—the timber that is now furnishing the wood-paving for Europe, and is the best of all wood for that purpose. Sometimes these towering upheavals19 of forestry20 were festooned and garlanded with vine-cables, and sometimes the masses of undergrowth were cocooned21 in another sort of vine of a delicate cobwebby texture—they call it the “supplejack,” I think. Tree ferns everywhere—a stem fifteen feet high, with a graceful22 chalice23 of fern-fronds sprouting24 from its top—a lovely forest ornament25. And there was a ten-foot reed with a flowing suit of what looked like yellow hair hanging from its upper end. I do not know its name, but if there is such a thing as a scalp-plant, this is it. A romantic gorge26, with a brook27 flowing in its bottom, approaching Palmerston North.
Waitukurau. Twenty minutes for luncheon. With me sat my wife and daughter, and my manager, Mr. Carlyle Smythe. I sat at the head of the table, and could see the right-hand wall; the others had their backs to it. On that wall, at a good distance away, were a couple of framed pictures. I could not see them clearly, but from the groupings of the figures I fancied that they represented the killing28 of Napoleon III’s son by the Zulus in South Africa. I broke into the conversation, which was about poetry and cabbage and art, and said to my wife—
“Do you remember when the news came to Paris——”
“Of the killing of the Prince?”
(Those were the very words I had in my mind.) “Yes, but what Prince?”
“Napoleon. Lulu.”
“What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know.”
There was no collusion. She had not seen the pictures, and they had not been mentioned. She ought to have thought of some recent news that came to Paris, for we were but seven months from there and had been living there a couple of years when we started on this trip; but instead of that she thought of an incident of our brief sojourn29 in Paris of sixteen years before.
Here was a clear case of mental telegraphy; of mind-transference; of my mind telegraphing a thought into hers. How do I know? Because I telegraphed an error. For it turned out that the pictures did not represent the killing of Lulu at all, nor anything connected with Lulu. She had to get the error from my head—it existed nowhere else.
点击收听单词发音
1 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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2 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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3 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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4 slant | |
v.倾斜,倾向性地编写或报道;n.斜面,倾向 | |
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5 waterproof | |
n.防水材料;adj.防水的;v.使...能防水 | |
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6 thigh | |
n.大腿;股骨 | |
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7 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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8 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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9 hoisted | |
把…吊起,升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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11 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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12 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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13 wrecks | |
n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 );(事故中)遭严重毁坏的汽车(或飞机等);(身体或精神上)受到严重损伤的人;状况非常糟糕的车辆(或建筑物等)v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 );使(船舶)失事,使遇难,使下沉 | |
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14 reclaimed | |
adj.再生的;翻造的;收复的;回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 );要求收回;从废料中回收(有用的材料);挽救 | |
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15 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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16 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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17 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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18 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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19 upheavals | |
突然的巨变( upheaval的名词复数 ); 大动荡; 大变动; 胀起 | |
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20 forestry | |
n.森林学;林业 | |
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21 cocooned | |
v.茧,蚕茧( cocoon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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23 chalice | |
n.圣餐杯;金杯毒酒 | |
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24 sprouting | |
v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 );抽芽;出现;(使)涌现出 | |
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25 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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26 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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27 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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28 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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29 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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