If Philip had adopted some regular profession, even some trade, he might now be a prosperous editor or a conscientious2 plumber3, or an honest lawyer, and have borrowed money at the saving’s bank and built a cottage, and be now furnishing it for the occupancy of Ruth and himself. Instead of this, with only a smattering of civil engineering, he is at his mother’s house, fretting4 and fuming5 over his ill-luck, and the hardness and, dishonesty of men, and thinking of nothing but how to get the coal out of the Ilium hills.
If Senator Dilworthy had not made that visit to Hawkeye, the Hawkins family and Col. Sellers would not now be dancing attendance upon Congress, and endeavoring to tempt6 that immaculate body into one of those appropriations7, for the benefit of its members, which the members find it so difficult to explain to their constituents8; and Laura would not be lying in the Tombs, awaiting her trial for murder, and doing her best, by the help of able counsel, to corrupt9 the pure fountain of criminal procedure in New York.
If Henry Brierly had been blown up on the first Mississippi steamboat he set foot on, as the chances were that he would be, he and Col. Sellers never would have gone into the Columbus Navigation scheme, and probably never into the East Tennessee Land scheme, and he would not now be detained in New York from very important business operations on the Pacific coast, for the sole purpose of giving evidence to convict of murder the only woman he ever loved half as much as he loves himself. If Mr. Bolton had said the little word “no” to Mr. Bigler, Alice Montague might now be spending the winter in Philadelphia, and Philip also (waiting to resume his mining operations in the spring); and Ruth would not be an assistant in a Philadelphia hospital, taxing her strength with arduous10 routine duties, day by day, in order to lighten a little the burdens that weigh upon her unfortunate family.
It is altogether a bad business. An honest historian, who had progressed thus far, and traced everything to such a condition of disaster and suspension, might well be justified11 in ending his narrative and writing—“after this the deluge12.” His only consolation13 would be in the reflection that he was not responsible for either characters or events.
And the most annoying thought is that a little money, judiciously14 applied15, would relieve the burdens and anxieties of most of these people; but affairs seem to be so arranged that money is most difficult to get when people need it most.
A little of what Mr. Bolton has weakly given to unworthy people would now establish his family in a sort of comfort, and relieve Ruth of the excessive toil16 for which she inherited no adequate physical vigor17. A little money would make a prince of Col. Sellers; and a little more would calm the anxiety of Washington Hawkins about Laura, for however the trial ended, he could feel sure of extricating18 her in the end. And if Philip had a little money he could unlock the stone door in the mountain whence would issue a stream of shining riches. It needs a golden wand to strike that rock. If the Knobs University bill could only go through, what a change would be wrought19 in the condition of most of the persons in this history. Even Philip himself would feel the good effects of it; for Harry20 would have something and Col. Sellers would have something; and have not both these cautious people expressed a determination to take an interest in the Ilium mine when they catch their larks21?
Philip could not resist the inclination22 to pay a visit to Fallkill. He had not been at the Montague’s since the time he saw Ruth there, and he wanted to consult the Squire23 about an occupation. He was determined24 now to waste no more time in waiting on Providence25, but to go to work at something, if it were nothing better, than teaching in the Fallkill Seminary, or digging clams26 on Hingham beach. Perhaps he could read law in Squire Montague’s office while earning his bread as a teacher in the Seminary.
It was not altogether Philip’s fault, let us own, that he was in this position. There are many young men like him in American society, of his age, opportunities, education and abilities, who have really been educated for nothing and have let themselves drift, in the hope that they will find somehow, and by some sudden turn of good luck, the golden road to fortune. He was not idle or lazy, he had energy and a disposition27 to carve his own way. But he was born into a time when all young men of his age caught the fever of speculation28, and expected to get on in the world by the omission29 of some of the regular processes which have been appointed from of old.
And examples were not wanting to encourage him. He saw people, all around him, poor yesterday, rich to-day, who had come into sudden opulence31 by some means which they could not have classified among any of the regular occupations of life. A war would give such a fellow a career and very likely fame. He might have been a “railroad man,” or a politician, or a land speculator, or one of those mysterious people who travel free on all rail-roads and steamboats, and are continually crossing and recrossing the Atlantic, driven day and night about nobody knows what, and make a great deal of money by so doing. Probably, at last, he sometimes thought with a whimsical smile, he should end by being an insurance agent, and asking people to insure their lives for his benefit.
Possibly Philip did not think how much the attractions of Fallkill were increased by the presence of Alice there. He had known her so long, she had somehow grown into his life by habit, that he would expect the pleasure of her society without thinking much about it. Latterly he never thought of her without thinking of Ruth, and if he gave the subject any attention, it was probably in an undefined consciousness that, he had her sympathy in his love, and that she was always willing to hear him talk about it. If he ever wondered that Alice herself was not in love and never spoke32 of the possibility of her own marriage, it was a transient thought for love did not seem necessary, exactly, to one so calm and evenly balanced and with so many resources in her herself.
Whatever her thoughts may have been they were unknown to Philip, as they are to these historians; if she was seeming to be what she was not, and carrying a burden heavier than any one else carried, because she had to bear it alone, she was only doing what thousands of women do, with a self-renunciation and heroism33, of which men, impatient and complaining, have no conception. Have not these big babies with beards filled all literature with their outcries, their griefs and their lamentations? It is always the gentle sex which is hard and cruel and fickle34 and implacable.
“Do you think you would be contented35 to live in Fallkill, and attend the county Court?” asked Alice, when Philip had opened the budget of his new programme.
“Perhaps not always,” said Philip, “I might go and practice in Boston maybe, or go to Chicago.”
“Or you might get elected to Congress.”
Philip looked at Alice to see if she was in earnest and not chaffing him. Her face was quite sober. Alice was one of those patriotic36 women in the rural districts, who think men are still selected for Congress on account of qualifications for the office.
“No,” said Philip, “the chances are that a man cannot get into congress now without resorting to arts and means that should render him unfit to go there; of course there are exceptions; but do you know that I could not go into politics if I were a lawyer, without losing standing37 somewhat in my profession, and without raising at least a suspicion of my intentions and unselfishness? Why, it is telegraphed all over the country and commented on as something wonderful if a congressman38 votes honestly and unselfishly and refuses to take advantage of his position to steal from the government.”
“But,” insisted Alice, “I should think it a noble ambition to go to congress, if it is so bad, and help reform it. I don’t believe it is as corrupt as the English parliament used to be, if there is any truth in the novels, and I suppose that is reformed.”
“I’m sure I don’t know where the reform is to begin. I’ve seen a perfectly39 capable, honest man, time and again, run against an illiterate40 trickster, and get beaten. I suppose if the people wanted decent members of congress they would elect them. Perhaps,” continued Philip with a smile, “the women will have to vote.”
“Well, I should be willing to, if it were a necessity, just as I would go to war and do what I could, if the country couldn’t be saved otherwise,” said Alice, with a spirit that surprised Philip, well as he thought he knew her. “If I were a young gentleman in these times—”
Philip laughed outright41. “It’s just what Ruth used to say, ‘if she were a man.’ I wonder if all the young ladies are contemplating42 a change of sex.”
“No, only a changed sex,” retorted Alice; “we contemplate43 for the most part young men who don’t care for anything they ought to care for.”
“Well,” said Philip, looking humble44, “I care for some things, you and Ruth for instance; perhaps I ought not to. Perhaps I ought to care for Congress and that sort of thing.”
“Don’t be a goose, Philip. I heard from Ruth yesterday.”
“Can I see her letter?”
“No, indeed. But I am afraid her hard work is telling on her, together with her anxiety about her father.”
“Do you think, Alice,” asked Philip with one of those selfish thoughts that are not seldom mixed with real love, “that Ruth prefers her profession to—to marriage?”
“Philip,” exclaimed Alice, rising to quit the room, and speaking hurriedly as if the words were forced from her, “you are as blind as a bat; Ruth would cut off her right hand for you this minute.”
Philip never noticed that Alice’s face was flushed and that her voice was unsteady; he only thought of the delicious words he had heard. And the poor girl, loyal to Ruth, loyal to Philip, went straight to her room, locked the door, threw herself on the bed and sobbed45 as if her heart would break. And then she prayed that her Father in Heaven would give her strength. And after a time she was calm again, and went to her bureau drawer and took from a hiding place a little piece of paper, yellow with age. Upon it was pinned a four-leaved clover, dry and yellow also. She looked long at this foolish memento46. Under the clover leaf was written in a school-girl’s hand—“Philip, June, 186-.”
Squire Montague thought very well of Philip’s proposal. It would have been better if he had begun the study of the law as soon as he left college, but it was not too late now, and besides he had gathered some knowledge of the world.
“But,” asked the Squire, “do you mean to abandon your land in Pennsylvania?” This track of land seemed an immense possible fortune to this New England lawyer-farmer. “Hasn’t it good timber, and doesn’t the railroad almost touch it?”
“I can’t do anything with it now. Perhaps I can sometime.”
“What is your reason for supposing that there is coal there?”
“The opinion of the best geologist47 I could consult, my own observation of the country, and the little veins48 of it we found. I feel certain it is there. I shall find it some day. I know it. If I can only keep the land till I make money enough to try again.”
Philip took from his pocket a map of the anthracite coal region, and pointed30 out the position of the Ilium mountain which he had begun to tunnel.
“Doesn’t it look like it?”
“It certainly does,” said the Squire, very much interested. It is not unusual for a quiet country gentleman to be more taken with such a venture than a speculator who, has had more experience in its uncertainty49. It was astonishing how many New England clergymen, in the time of the petroleum50 excitement, took chances in oil. The Wall street brokers51 are said to do a good deal of small business for country clergymen, who are moved no doubt with the laudable desire of purifying the New York stock board.
“I don’t see that there is much risk,” said the Squire, at length. “The timber is worth more than the mortgage; and if that coal seam does run there, it’s a magnificent fortune. Would you like to try it again in the spring, Phil?”
Like to try it! If he could have a little help, he would work himself, with pick and barrow, and live on a crust. Only give him one more chance.
And this is how it came about that the cautious old Squire Montague was drawn52 into this young fellow’s speculation, and began to have his serene53 old age disturbed by anxieties and by the hope of a great stroke of luck.
“To be sure, I only care about it for the boy,” he said. The Squire was like everybody else; sooner or later he must “take a chance.”
It is probably on account of the lack of enterprise in women that they are not so fond of stock speculations54 and mine ventures as men. It is only when woman becomes demoralized that she takes to any sort of gambling55. Neither Alice nor Ruth were much elated with the prospect56 of Philip’s renewal57 of his mining enterprise.
But Philip was exultant58. He wrote to Ruth as if his fortune were already made, and as if the clouds that lowered over the house of Bolton were already in the deep bosom59 of a coal mine buried. Towards spring he went to Philadelphia with his plans all matured for a new campaign. His enthusiasm was irresistible60.
“Philip has come, Philip has come,” cried the children, as if some great good had again come into the household; and the refrain even sang itself over in Ruth’s heart as she went the weary hospital rounds. Mr. Bolton felt more courage than he had had in months, at the sight of his manly61 face and the sound of his cheery voice.
Ruth’s course was vindicated62 now, and it certainly did not become Philip, who had nothing to offer but a future chance against the visible result of her determination and industry, to open an argument with her. Ruth was never more certain that she was right and that she was sufficient unto herself. She, may be, did not much heed63 the still small voice that sang in her maiden64 heart as she went about her work, and which lightened it and made it easy, “Philip has come.”
“I am glad for father’s sake,” she said to Philip, “that thee has come. I can see that he depends greatly upon what thee can do. He thinks women won’t hold out long,” added Ruth with the smile that Philip never exactly understood.
“And aren’t you tired sometimes of the struggle?”
“Tired? Yes, everybody is tired I suppose. But it is a glorious profession. And would you want me to be dependent, Philip?”
“Well, yes, a little,” said Philip, feeling his way towards what he wanted to say.
“On what, for instance, just now?” asked Ruth, a little maliciously65 Philip thought.
“Why, on—” he couldn’t quite say it, for it occurred to him that he was a poor stick for any body to lean on in the present state of his fortune, and that the woman before him was at least as independent as he was.
“I don’t mean depend,” he began again. “But I love you, that’s all. Am I nothing—to you?” And Philip looked a little defiant66, and as if he had said something that ought to brush away all the sophistries67 of obligation on either side, between man and woman.
Perhaps Ruth saw this. Perhaps she saw that her own theories of a certain equality of power, which ought to precede a union of two hearts, might be pushed too far. Perhaps she had felt sometimes her own weakness and the need after all of so dear a sympathy and so tender an interest confessed, as that which Philip could give. Whatever moved her—the riddle68 is as old as creation—she simply looked up to Philip and said in a low voice, “Everything.”
And Philip clasping both her hands in his, and looking down into her eyes, which drank in all his tenderness with the thirst of a true woman’s nature—
“Oh! Philip, come out here,” shouted young Eli, throwing the door wide open.
And Ruth escaped away to her room, her heart singing again, and now as if it would burst for joy, “Philip has come.”
That night Philip received a dispatch from Harry—“The trial begins tomorrow.”
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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appropriations
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| n.挪用（appropriation的复数形式） | |
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constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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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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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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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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Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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geologist
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| n.地质学家 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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petroleum
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| n.原油，石油 | |
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brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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52
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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62
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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67
sophistries
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| n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 )；（一次）诡辩 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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