We had spent the evening with the usual group that clustered around the smoky stove when the weather rendered the platform outside uncomfortable. It was late in the fall and Thanksgiving was only a few days away, but Indian Summer still lingered, with its purple days and frosty nights, and I was loth to leave the river country while it lasted.
The council around the stove often varied2 in composition, but not in character. It was always picturesque3, not only in its light and shade and color, but in the primitive4 philosophy, spontaneous wit, original profanity and ornate narrative5 that issued from it.
On this occasion “Pop” Wilkins had told, with much circumstantial detail, a long story about his old plug hat. He said it “was minted about thirty 166years ago some’rs down east,” and was bought for him by subscription6 by the congregation over which he at that time presided. The hat was in the Allegheny river a couple of days during its journey to his address, but when it finally got to him the congregation had it all fixed7 up so that everybody said it was just as good as new. Since then he had only had to have it repaired twice. He had a great affection for it, on account of its old associations, and hoped that it would be buried with him when he died—a hope that was shared by all present. The old plug was an echo of years long departed and a never-failing butt8 of merry jest. The tickets of all the raffles9 that had ever been held in that part of the country, that anybody could remember, had been shaken up in Pop’s hat.
The old man’s story had reminded his listeners of others, and it was quite late when Posey remarked that he was going upstairs to bed, and “to keep things from bein’ carried off” he was “goin’ to lock up.”
At ten the next morning five of us started up stream in three of the small boats that were usually attached to stakes under the bridge. Hyatt and I were in his duck canoe, which he skilfully12 propelled with his long paddle. Posey and Pop Wilkins followed, in a leaky green craft with squeaky oars14. Far in the rear Bill Stiles stemmed the gentle current in his “push boat,” which he declared was never intended for anybody but him. This idea had been generally accepted along the river, for Bill’s boat was the only one for many miles up and down stream that had never been borrowed or stolen. The fact that it was so “tippy” that nobody but Bill seemed to be able to sit in it without being spilled into the river accounted for its immunity15.
“Bill” Stiles
167“Some day,” remarked Bill, “a cold wet stranger’ll come to the store to git warm, an’ tell some kind of a story about fallin’ offen the bridge into the river, but ev’rybody’ll know what’s happened. Nobody that’s acquainted ’round ’ere’ll ever try to navigate16 with my push boat.”
He called the craft “The Flapjack.” The roughly lettered name appeared in yellow paint on each side of the bow, and to his subtle mind, it was a sufficient warning to the unwary. He said that the name was also lettered along the bottom of the boat underneath17, “an’ anybody that wants to c’n take e’r out’n the river an’ read it. She won’t keep ’im wait’n more’n a few minutes.”
The river was low and we scraped gently over a few sand bars on the way up. After proceeding18 about two miles we came to a wobbly and much patched bridge, on which were several figures. A fringe of cane19 fish poles drooped20 idly from its sides. The figures were motionless and would remain so until the Turkey Club activities began.
“Here’s where we git off,” said Hyatt, as we turned in near the bridge. We waited for the rest of the flotilla to come up. When our party had all arrived we climbed a zig-zag path and walked along the road to the little gray church a few hundred feet 168away. It was here that the Reverend Daniel Butters—“The Javelin21 of the Lord”—was wont22 to expound23 the gospels, formulate24 dreary25 doctrines26, and to depict27 the frightfulness28 of damnation to his superannuated29 and docile30 flock.
So far as human faith and opinion could influence the destinies of any of these aged31 and serene32 believers, their spiritual safety had been assured for many years. They went regularly to church, principally because they wanted to be seen there, and because they had nothing else particularly to do or think about Sundays. Alas33, how the ranks of worldly worshipers would dwindle34 were it not for these things!
Like that of many preachers, the voice of Butters was of one crying in a desert to passing airs and unheeding sands. There were none to succor35 or uplift, and none to be beckoned36 to the fold. They were all in, and further effort was painting the lily and adding perfume to the rose. The strife37 was won, but yet he battled on. The great tide of human error flowed far beyond his ken11, and he could drag no spiritual spoil from its turbid38 waters.
In fancy his religious establishment might be likened to a cocoon39, into which none might enter, and from which none might emerge, except in a new and glorified40 state.
Some mournful Lombardy poplars stood in front of the unpainted structure, and on one side was the little cemetery41, with its serried42 mounds43 and conventional epitaphs. A weeping willow45 wept near the 169center of the plot, some rabbits hopped46 about near the broken fence at the farther side of the enclosure, and a stray cow fed peacefully among the leaning slabs47.
“There’s a lot o’ people represented in that flock o’ tombstones,” observed Hyatt, as we turned in from the road, “an’ they’s a lot o’ cussedness out there that it’s a good thing to have covered up.”
Both physically48 and spiritually the old church was a dismal49 remnant, but it was the regional social center. The building was utilized50 in many profane51 ways that saddened the pious52 heart of the Reverend Butters, but to him, its crowning desecration53 was the Turkey Club.
The membership of this unique organization comprised practically all of the male population within eight or ten miles up and down the river—and Sophy Perkins, of whom more hereafter. Most of the small politicians of the county were affiliated55 with the club, and used it for such propaganda as from time to time befitted their objects and petty ambitions. Originally its purpose was to foster and finance the annual “turkey shoot.” This popular event usually just preceded Thanksgiving, and was the occasion of a general holiday.
During the forty odd years of the club’s existence it had gradually broadened the scope of its early activities until it became more or less identified with pretty much everything of a local public character. Its only rival as a social focus was Posey’s store.
Under its auspices56 the Fourth of July, golden 170weddings, and other anniversaries, were celebrated57. Dances, amateur theatricals58, old settlers’ picnics, tax protest meetings, lectures, political “rallies,” “grand raffles,” dog and chicken fights, greased pig contests, quilting bees, ministerial showers and other affairs were “pulled off” during the year. The ministerial showers were about the only functions that the Reverend Butters did not consider unholy.
There were special meetings for discussion of diverse subjects, including the mistakes of congress, advice to the President, the tariff59, the oppressions of capital, the tyranny of labor60, prohibition61, the negro question, restriction62 of immigration, Shakespeare criticism, the Wrongs of Ireland, and a host of other things that generated heat and lasting63 acrimony. The meetings sometimes approached turbulency when some over-zealous orator64 gave vent44 to unpopular ideas, or made statements that seemed to justify65 somebody in the audience in calling him a liar66. Few participants ever left convinced of anything in particular, except the correctness of the opinions they had brought with them.
We found a gathering67 of about a hundred club members and numerous small boys in the grove68 back of the church. We strolled about through the crowd and I was introduced by my companions to a number of their old friends.
Bill was the official head of the club and deservedly popular. To the small boys he was a deified personage. His constitutional title was “Chief Gobbler,” and he bore it with easy grace and a quiet air of 171noblesse oblige. His opinion prevailed on club matters, except when Sophy Perkins was in contact with the situation, and this was most of the time.
Sophy was the secretary, treasurer69, general manager, board of directors, and, to her mind, constituted the greater part of the membership, although her duties were supposed to be merely clerical. All her life she had yearned70 for something besides her husband to regulate and superintend, and the Turkey Club had been a godsend.
She was a somewhat attenuated71 female, on the regretful side of fifty. Her physiognomy was repelling72 and expressed characteristics of an alley73 cat. There was a predatory gleam in her narrowly placed greenish eyes. They bespoke74 malignant76 jealousy77 and relentless78 cupidity79. She seemed enveloped80 by an atmosphere—vague and indefinable—that prompted cautious and immediate81 retirement82 from her vicinity. In private conversation she was commonly referred to as “The Stinger,” and the soubriquet seemed to have been justly earned by a badly speckled record of secret intrigue83 and underhanded methods. Anonymous84 letters, petty trickery and duplicity in manifold forms were included in the misdeeds that had been tacitly laid at Sophy’s door.
She was of that female type that demands all male privileges, in addition to those of her own sex, and she often took advantage of the fact that she was a woman to do and say things that she would probably have been knocked down for if she had been 172a man—one of the most contemptible85 forms of cowardice86.
Her shortcomings were legion, but nobody else was available who was willing to carry the burden of the clerical duties of the club, and she was allowed to run things to her heart’s content. Her main reward was the occasional mention of her name in the county paper, in connection with the activities of the club. She treasured the carefully garnered87 clippings and gloated over them through the dreary years. To her they were precious incense88, and, while they gratified, but never satisfied her vanity and hunger for notoriety, they were the compensation of her narrow and disappointed life, and the food of her impoverished89 and selfish spirit.
She was without the consolations90 of religion, the resources of culture, or the sweet recompense of children’s voices, to soften91 the asperities92 of her fruitless existence. The gray hairs had come and there was no love around Sophy, for she had sent forth93 none during the period of life in which temples of the soul must be builded, if kindly94 light beams from their windows, and there be fit sanctuary95 for the weary spirit in the after years.
Successive official heads of the club, who seemed to be attracting more public attention than Sophy, were submarined, made officially sick, and retired96 gracefully97. The supply of these official heads finally became restricted, and for the past few years Bill’s incumbency98 had been undisturbed, although he frequently threatened to “throw up the job.”
173J. Montgomery Perkins was a subdued99 helpmate. He was an inoffensive little man, who was always alluded100 to as “Sophy’s husband,” and when this happened somebody would usually exclaim sympathetically, “Poor Perk54!”
Of late years the club had suffered from “too much Sophy Perkins.” Interest had begun to lag and apathy101 was creeping over the membership.
“You want to look out fer Sophy,” confided102 Hyatt, before I had met her. “She’s got a lot o’ wires loose in the upper story, but she knows where the ends of all of ’em are when they’s anything in it fer her.”
Promptly103 at 2 P.M. Bill pounded with a big stick on a board that was sustained at the ends by the heads of two resonant104 barrels. The confused hum of voices ceased and the eyes of the scattered105 groups were upon him. Sophy whispered to him that he was now to announce the opening of the shoot. It was Bill’s intention to do this anyway, but Sophy thought it better that she should take part in what was going on. Substantially his remarks were as follows:
“Gentlemen and One Lady: This ain’t no time fer a long speech. The annual turkey shoot o’ this club’s now on, an’ anybody that’s paid ’is dues an’ ’is entrance fee c’n git in on the game. Ten fat an’ husky birds are in them boxes, an’ the boxes are fifty yards from the rope that’s stretched between them two trees, an’ that’s the shoot’n stand. The chair has made the meas’erments. The birds’ll 174keep their heads poked106 up out o’ the holes in the tops o’ the boxes to rubber at the scenery, an’ they gotta be killed by a bullet in the head er neck. Hit’n ’em through the boxes don’t go this year like it did last. Them stone piles is to protect ’em up to the tops. Any eggs found in the boxes after the shoot’n belongs to the winners. Ev’ry shooter’ll have ten shots for ’is dollar, an’ ’e must stand an’ shoot without rest’n ’is rifle on anything but ’imself. No bullet bigger’n yer thumb’s allowed. If you bust107 the bird’s head, er break ’is neck, it’s yours, an’ if you don’t hit nuth’n in the first ten shots you c’n buy more chances as long as the turkeys an’ yer money last. The money from the shoot’n’ll go to pay fer the fowls108, an’ if they’s any live ones left after the show, they’ll be auctioned110 off to the highest bidders111, if they don’t git insulted by the low bids an’ fly off with the boxes.
“I guess I’ve told all they is to say, but if they’s anything anybody don’t understand, er if anybody’s got any kick comin’, speak up. Oh, yes, I fergot to say there’ll be a booby prize of a little tin horn with a purple ribbon on it, fer them that can’t shoot should be allowed to toot. If they ain’t no objection the shoot’n’ll now commence.”
With another loud bang on the board the address closed and the crowd drifted toward the taut112 rope.
“Hold on there!” yelled Sophy Perkins, frantically113 waving a small book. “Nobody’s paid a cent yet!”
“You fellers’ll have to ante up before any blood 175runs!” shouted Bill as he again pounded the board.
Nineteen contestants114 qualified115 at the barrel behind which Sophy presided. Her fishy116 orbs117 lighted up at the sight of the money, which she deftly118 deposited in her stocking after modestly turning her back to the crowd.
“She’ll chaperone that cash to the day o’ the resurrection if somebody don’t kep tab on it,” said Hyatt in an undertone as the proceeds disappeared among the mysteries of Sophy’s apparel. “We’re goin’ to put rollers under that old girl some day, but we can’t do it till we c’n git somebody else willin’ to do the work.”
Posey and Hyatt were provided with firearms, and Pop Wilkins had brought an old-fashioned muzzle119 loading rifle with a long barrel, which he handled with much tenderness.
“I used to shoot lady-bugs offen the edges o’ the leaves on the tops o’ high trees with this old iron when I was young an’ spry, an’ mebbe I’ll hit sump’n with it today,” he declared, as he ambled120 over toward the shooting stand.
“I didn’t bring no gun, an’ I won’t do no shoot’n,” remarked Bill. “It wouldn’t be dignified121 fer me as head of the club, an’ it wouldn’t be fair fer the rest fer me to shoot. It ’ud be like swip’n candy from little boys.”
As Bill had not been known to kill anything with a gun for over twenty years, his explanation was accepted without comment.
Mr. Joshua T. Varney appeared at this stage of 176the proceedings122, and offered to take two dollars’ worth of chances and pay three dollars premium123 if he could have the first trial and twenty successive shots. As it usually took a great many shots to hit a turkey’s head at fifty yards, his proposition was accepted after some discussion.
“Josh” Varney was a traveling salesman, who for several years had periodically visited Posey’s store, on his rounds through the county, and sold supplies adapted to the general country trade.
He was a smooth faced man of about forty, with keen gray eyes, a good story teller124, and from him radiated the assurance and suavity125 of his kind. He had always been a “good mixer,” and was considered an all around good fellow. He had joined the club two years before, but had never attended a “shoot.”
He went to his buggy, that stood near the roadside among numerous other vehicles, and returned with a small repeating rifle. He then stepped over to the rope and began shooting at the bobbing heads above the boxes. In this way hundreds of venerable gobblers and dignified hen turkeys had lost their lives in past years through innocent curiosity as to the doings of the outside world.
The birds were all dead when Mr. Varney had fired fourteen times. Quiet but well chosen profanity troubled the air when the tenth bird succumbed126 and the performance was ended.
177“Gentlemen, you prob’ly notice that the shoot’n’s all over! Sump’n has been done unto us, an’ somebody has had an elegant pastime. This ain’t been no turkey shoot, it’s been a horr’ble massacre129, an’ after this all Deadwood Dicks’ll be barred, unless they git a mile away when they shoot at anything ’round ’ere. We better kill our turkeys with axes after this, an’ only sell the chance o’ one whopp. We ain’t got but one booby prize, an’ I guess you all better take turns blowin’ on it. This ain’t been no kind of a day, an’ it’s come to a sad end. The club’ll now perceed to its annual business, an’ as the day is nice an’ warm we might as well do it out doors ’stid o’ goin’ in an’ muss’n up the church. Sophy, what you got on the fire that ’as to be ’tended to?”
“They ain’t no business that I can’t ’tend to myself,” replied Sophy grimly. “The treasurer’s report’s been left home by accident, an’ they ain’t nuth’n else to come up, ’less somebody wants to pay dues, or you want to ’lect some new members.”
With this she favored me with a stealthy sidelong glance and I was thereupon proposed for membership by Rat Hyatt, who added that I seemed to be the “only outsider present from a distance that hadn’t hornswoggled the club durin’ the past hour.”
Sophy’s talon-like fingers closed quickly on the two-dollar bill that I handed her as the first year’s dues, after my election and the formal adjournment131 of the meeting.
While I was entirely132 out of sympathy with the 178turkey shoots, I was glad for several reasons to become a member.
After most of the crowd had dispersed133 I was solemnly conducted into the church and informed that, in order to become a full-fledged member, certain things must be imparted to me to complete my initiation134. I was then told that all “Turkeys” knew each other by certain grips and cabalistic words. The “grip” consisted of shaking hands with three fingers only, representing the three front toes of a turkey. The “countersign135” was “Pop-Pop!” signifying rifle firing at the annual shoot. The countersign, loudly uttered, with three fingers held aloft, constituted “the grand high sign,” and I was told that I must always relieve any brother Turkey who hungered or thirsted, and made such a sign. With my promise to remember all this, the ceremony, which my instructors136, Bill and Rat, considered very humorous, was ended.
The Reverend Butters had been a sorrowful spectator of the proceedings of the afternoon, but his furrowed137 face brightened when Josh Varney gracefully presented him with one of the big dripping birds that he was carrying to his buggy. In prayer before his congregation on the following Sunday he expressed humble138 gratitude139 with the words, “Out of the iniquities140 of the world, O Lord, has sustenance141 come to the body of thy servant, and beneath a cloak of sin have Thy blessings142 been transmitted unto Thine anointed one.”
The relations between the old preacher and Rat 179Hyatt had been slightly embarrassing since Rat’s conversion143 and sudden backsliding of the year before, and they had little to say to each other when they met. Rat was now regarded as a hopeless loss and a minute part of hell’s future fuel supply. He considered his former spiritual comforter “a busted144 wind bag,” so there seemed little left to say on either side.
On the way back to the boats I reflected on the degrading entertainment of the afternoon. Outside of what Pop Wilkins called “the horning in of that turkey pirate,” the day was considered a success. The well aimed bullets had thrilled the spectators with savage145 joy, for somewhere in the heart of nearly every average human abides146 the primitive lust1 for blood. The marksmanship might just as well have been exhibited on inanimate and unsuffering targets. The helpless turkeys in the boxes gratified the baser instincts to the extent of their limitations, and when they were all dead the crowd went home as happy as if it had been to a bull fight, a prize ring, or to any other brutal147 spectacle disguised by pretended admiration148 of scientific ability. On the way back down the river, our boats kept close together and there was much discussion over the day’s events.
Pop Wilkins delivered a long tirade149 against Varney, and wound up by modestly admitting that probably he would have beheaded all of the birds with his squirrel rifle if he had had the opportunity, so 180after all it was merely a question as to who shot first.
“That feller c’d prob’ly thread needles with that damn rifle,” observed Bill. “I’ve read o’ fellers that had telescope eyes an’ a sixth sense that somehow couldn’t miss nuth’n they ever shot at. They c’d plunk holes wherever they wanted to, like they was use’n a gimlet. I wonder what ’e wasted them four extry catritches fer? Prob’ly so’s to make a nice sociable150 feel’n all ’round an’ make ’em think it wasn’t quite so raw. He prob’ly goes to shoots all over the country an’ sells the plunder151 in the market.”
The chill winds of a desolate152 winter had swept through the naked woods along the river, and a balmy May had come, with its tender unfolding leaves of hope and perfumed blossoms, when Josh Varney again appeared on the scene.
“Well! Well! How’s everybody?” he shouted genially153 as he drove up in front of Posey’s store one forenoon with a roan horse and a smart new buggy.
“We’re slowly git’n well. Say, Perfessor, you ain’t got no gun with you, have you?” queried154 Bill, as the pair shook hands. “’Cause if you have they’s a lot of us that’s goin’ to hide some poultry155.”
“Now, look ’ere Bill, you don’t want to be sore ’bout that little shoot’n last fall. I gave all them turkeys to some poor people, an’ they done a lot o’ good. I just happened to hit ’em, an’ I couldn’t repeat that performance in a hundred years.”
“You bet you couldn’t ’round ’ere if we seen you 181first,” replied Bill. “I’d hate to furnish turkeys fer you to shoot at fer a hundred years, an I’d hate to be the poor people wait’n fer you to feed the birds to ’em. Say, what you got up yer sleeve this trip? Sump’n still funnier, I s’pose.”
Posey was busy with a customer, and Varney remained with us on the platform. He produced some murky156 and doubtful cigars that Bill declared looked like genuine “El Hempos” and we smoked and talked for some time. Pop Wilkins joined us, and Sophy Perkins arrived at the store to purchase some calico. She bestowed157 a reserved nod and a feline158 glance on Varney, and greeted the rest of the party with scant159 politeness. She stood just inside, near the entrance, and utilized the time Posey was spending with his other customer in listening to our conversation. She soon became so absorbed in it that she forgot all about her calico and remained riveted160 to her point of vantage. Posey respected her preoccupation and busied himself with other things after his first visitor had left through the side door.
The chairs outside were tipped against the long window sill, and the party was making itself comfortable in the spring sunshine. Varney was relating a wondrous161 tale, and was fully13 aware of the acute eavesdropping162 within. Many of the romantic touches in his discourse163 were apparently164 for Sophy’s benefit.
“I got a long letter from a friend of mine,” said Josh, as he felt through his inside pockets, “an’ I wish I had it with me, but I guess I’ve left it somewhere. 182He’s making a trip ’round the world an’ ’e writes me that in India he ran across a marvellous breed of turkeys. You know turkeys originated in India, an’ they come from there first about five hundred years ago. These strange birds he writes about live away up in the Himalaya mountains and are pure white. They’re much larger than ordinary turkeys, an’ their color adapts ’em to the snowy peaks, an’ protects ’em from the natives when they pursue ’em out o’ the valleys, where they go to eat frogs along the water courses. They live almost entirely on frogs when they c’n git ’em. When they’re disturbed they wing back to the frozen heights, an’ sometimes don’t come down for a year. When they’re hunted up there they fly from crag to crag an’ they’re almost invisible, an’ its a funny thing, but their meat’s all white, too. They ain’t no dark meat on ’em like there is on common turkeys.
“They lay enormous eggs an’ the eggs generally have two yolks. Sometimes twins hatch out of ’em. The double yolks give an extra amount of vitality165 to the young turks, which is necessary up among the cold rocks where they’re hatched.
“The eggs have a delicious spicy166 flavor that comes from the spearmint and other pungent167 plants that the frogs nibble168 along the streams. The eggs are highly prized by epicures169, an’ there’s a Frenchman livin’ in Bombay that pays two rupees apiece for all ’e c’n git of ’em. He makes what ’e calls ‘omelets de frog secondaire,’ or something like that, 183with ’em, an’ ’e says there’s nothing like ’em. With him its hen eggs no more.
“There’s a sacred caste in India called the Brahmins, and they believe that these white turkeys are what they call reincarnations of a supernatural race of beings that ruled the earth before man existed.
“Somebody ought to import some o’ them turkeys an’ breed ’em in this country. Along a river like this they’d find plenty to eat an’ they wouldn’t be no expense at all. My friend writes that ’e hopes to bring two or three back with him when ’e comes home, an’ I’m anxious to see ’em. Oh, yes, come to think of it, I put a photograph in my pocket book that was in the letter.”
Varney thereupon produced a kodak print of a stately white bird. Some figures in oriental costume, somewhat out of focus and indistinct, were grouped back of it in the picture. Varney explained that these were Brahmins and native hunters.
Sophy peeked170 over the pile of straw hats in the window and had a good look at the photograph as Varney deftly held it so that it could be seen from that direction without appearing to do so.
We were greatly entertained by the story.
“Say, Perfessor,” asked Bill, “what do them fowls an’ their young ones feed on when they don’t git offen the snow an’ go down fer frogs? Do they have to have the frogs fer their complexions171?”
“That’s the strange part of it,” replied Varney. “You see they sort o’ lead double lives. Nature is 184wonderful in all her works. In the Himalayas there’s a small red mosquito that has never been found except away above the timber line. They have ’em out west in this country, too. They sometimes cover the snow so thick that it looks like blood, an’ the little turks patter ’round on the drifts an’ eat ’em with voracity172, an’ the big ones do, too.”
“‘Voracity,’ what’s that—sump’n their mixed with?” asked Bill.
“No, it means their awful appetite.”
“I’d s’pose them skeets ’ud make the turkey meat taste kin’ o’ nippy an’ prickly, sort o’ red-pepper like,” observed Bill, winking173 solemnly in our direction. “It oughta be hot stuff.”
“The insects make the finest kind o’ food for ’em,” continued Varney, ignoring Bill’s gentle raillery, and the incredulous smiles of the rest of us. “When the mosquito crop’s extra good they get so fat they can’t fly or run very far, and are easily caught. When they’re lean they c’n run like a race horse. The bird that’s in the picture weighed nearly seventy pounds when ’e was captured. He couldn’t fly, an’ ’e was chased into a cleft174 in a big rock and a net was slipped over ’im. The man that caught ’im was named Bungush Swamee, an ’e was a famous hunter. You see everybody has funny names in India.”
“What was that Bungush feller doin’ up there with a net?” asked Pop Wilkins. “Did ’e s’pect to find fish?”
“No, he took it up there for that very purpose. 185He wanted to catch ’is birds alive, without injury, so ’e c’d sell ’em to the museums an’ menageries. One year he caught seven an’ shipped ’em to the Zoo in Bombay, an’ that’s how that Frenchman I just spoke75 of happened to try the eggs. They laid ’em in the Zoo and the keeper o’ the Zoo was a friend o’ his.
“You askin’ about expecting to find fish up there reminds me that my friend said in ’is letter that another way they had o’ catching175 the birds was to lay out set lines over the snow with big fish hooks on ’em. They fastened ’em to the jagged rocks an’ left ’em out three or four days. They baited the hooks with frogs they’d brought up from down below. The frogs, of course, froze, but the turkeys would swallow ’em, an’ when the frogs thawed176 out inside their crops they’d be stuck with the hooks. My friend wrote that one man got three on one line once an’ had a terrible time pullin’ ’em in over the rough ice and snow. They have some awful snow storms up in them mountains. Sometimes it snows for years without let’n up, an’ the snow gits to be half a mile deep, so you see there’s lots of uncertainties178.”
Pop Wilkins remarked that he had often caught turkeys on fish lines, but his custom had been to troll for them through the open fields with spoon hooks, or use a pole and line with a casting bait when the birds were in the trees. Although he had 186never tried set lines on snow, he had no doubt it would work.
The subject was changed, and Sophy, after making her purchase, departed without looking in our direction.
“That feller’s the oiliest liar I ever heard,” declared Bill, after Varney had transacted181 his business and gone, “an’ e’ tells int’restin’ lies, too. It beats me how ’e does ’em. It’s a sort o’ natural gift, like singin’ an’ drawin’ pitchers182, an’ I love to hear ’im throw it. Most liars183 ’ud stop when they seen it wasn’t soakin’ in an’ people was git’n weak, but the Perfessor keeps right on ’till the goose flesh comes. Say, Pop, you an’ me’ll have to ferment184 sump’n to drown ’im with when ’e blows ’round ’ere ag’in. Let’s tell ’im one that’ll put ’im out o’ business for six months.”
“All right, Bill, you be thinkin’ of it. You’re sump’n of a past master yourself. I’m goin’ home to rest. I got enough for one day.”
Varney chuckled185 quietly to himself as he crossed the bridge, for with his story he had woven a web of many meshes186, and to it he hoped time would bring valuable spoil. He knew that he could rely on Sophy’s cupidity and insatiable curiosity to “start something,” and when he came again it was his intention to amplify187 and strengthen the ground work he had laid.
A week later the firm by whom Josh was employed received a mysterious letter asking all about him. It came from the county seat, and was afterwards 187ascertained to have been written by one of Sophy’s acquaintances, undoubtedly188 at her instigation. This was a characteristic and favorite form of strategy with Sophy, and was quite recognizable to Josh when the letter was shown to him. The reply that he suggested was sent by his obliging employers. It contained the assurance that Mr. Varney was a gentleman of high repute. He had sold their goods for several years, and they considered his honesty and ability above question.
In due course of time Sophy began to agitate189 the idea of getting “some of those wonderful white foreign turkeys” that she had “accidentally heard about” into the neighborhood. She thought that the club ought to take the matter up.
Bill assured her that “the Perfessor was handin’ out bunk190 the day that things was bein’ accident’ly overheard inside, an’ anything from ’im ’ud be ’bout like what ’e put over at the Thanksgivin’ shoot.”
This spirit of opposition191 only stimulated192 Sophy, and the subtle Josh had calculated on it to a nicety. He knew that the seed was now in fertile soil and he calmly awaited the harvest.
In a month he came again, and incidentally mentioned that his friend who wrote him about the Himalayan white turkeys had arrived in New York. He had started home with three birds, but two of them had been sickened by the roll of the ship on the way over, and had died just before getting into port. The one that survived the voyage was the 188remarkable gobbler that was in the picture he had shown on his last trip to the store.
“This bird’ll cause a lot of excitement in this country,” he declared. “They call ’im Hyder Ali, an’ ’e’s named after a famous Mohametan general that fought in Asia a good many years ago. This man Hyder Ali pretty nearly cleaned the English out of India once an’ they had a hot time getting ’im canned. There’s been ships an’ perfumery an’ race horses an’ brands o’ cigars an’ lots of other things named after ’im. He was one of the most famous men that ever lived in that part of the world.”
By degrees the imaginative and romantic Josh succeeded in creating an atmosphere of avid194 interest in everything relating to Hyder Ali, the marvellous fowl109 from beyond the briny195 seas, and he intended to intensify196 this atmosphere to the point of precipitation at the proper time.
A couple of weeks later Varney told Posey that he had bought the Himalayan gobbler from his friend, but did not know what to do with him for a week or ten days, as the man that was going to take care of it for him was away. It was arranged that the gobbler was to be brought to the store and temporarily installed in the chicken yard near the barn.
On the following Saturday afternoon, when Josh well knew that there would be a full attendance at Posey’s, that gay and debonair197 gentleman came in a light spring wagon198. He was accompanied by a young man with a thick “O’Merican” accent, who drove the rig, and whom he introduced as Mr. Flaherty. 189Interest immediately centered on the big box, perforated with many auger199 holes, that stood in the wagon back of the seat.
The vehicle was followed by the agitated200 and curious crowd, as it was driven back to the chicken yard. The box was tenderly removed and placed inside the wire netting enclosure by Varney and Flaherty.
The appearance of Hyder Ali had been skilfully timed. The composite effect of Varney’s discourses201 on the subject of this wondrous bird had been to produce psychologic conditions that he considered quite perfect for his dark purposes. He knew that the halo of prestige and romance, that had been patiently made to glow around Hyder Ali, would become still brighter when that peerless bird burst dramatically upon the rustic203 stage.
Out of the opened door of the box there came, with delicate mincing204 steps and regal mien205, what, to that crowd, was almost a celestial206 vision. He was an enormous bird. With the exception of his eyes, he was pure white, even to his carunculated neck wattle and comb. The eyes were of a deep pink, and gleamed like iridescent207 opals in their snowy setting. The slender comb dangled208 and hung jauntily209 on one side, like the tassle on a Turkish fez, and it imparted a rakish oriental air. The head was crowned with a dainty little wisp of airy feathers that would have fluttered the heart of the most obdurate210 of hen turkeys. The shifting light revealed pearly half-tones in the snowy raiment. He 190was immaculate and would hardly have seemed out of place on a pedestal. Many strange and queer things have stood on pedestals in this world, both in fact and fancy, and Hyder Ali would have ranked very far from the lower end of the scale.
He paused on being released from what to him must have been a humiliating confinement211, looked disdainfully at his surroundings, and nonchalantly acquired a fat green tomato worm that decorated a nearby leaf.
He walked slowly, and with lordly dignity, about the enclosure, apparently conscious of the wonder and admiration he was attracting. He seemed like some rare exotic—entirely foreign to the strange environment into which an indiscriminate fate had thrust him.
“Let joy be unconfined! We’ve got Hyder Ali!” shouted Bill, half sarcastically212, as he joined the awe177 stricken crowd. He had arrived too late to witness the unloading, but he was impressed with the fact that Varney had, at least in some measure, “made good.” However, the demon213 of distrust still lingered in his heart. He had never seen or heard of anything that looked like Hyder Ali before, but was disposed to restrain his enthusiasm and await further developments.
Sophy Perkins came late in the afternoon and was in a highly flustered214 state. She spent a long time at the chicken yard with her wistful eyes riveted on the distinguished215 guest. To own that bird would crown her futile216 and disappointed life with bliss217. 191She longed for its possession as one who beseeches218 fate for the unattainable.
Seemingly in response to her fervent219 gaze, Hyder Ali spread his tail feathers into vast fan-like forms over his downy back. His pink eyes glistened220 with alluring221 and changing beams from amid the fluffy222 white array of distended223 plumage, as he turned slowly round and round, posed, and strutted224, quite human like, before Sophy’s bewildered vision.
His prolonged gobbles, as he majestically225 patrolled the chicken pen, had for her an ineffable226 musical charm.
She had once read a syndicated story in a newspaper magazine supplement, in which reincarnation and transmigration of souls figured in a supernatural and flesh creepy plot. After she had heard Josh Varney’s allusion227 to reincarnation in his first talk with us at the store, she had hunted it up and reread it carefully. In the woful and sobby tale a beautiful princess and her affinity228 discovered that they had once loved as shell-fish, and through countless229 ages had periodically met in other strange forms, which did not happen to be identical until the time of the story, when they met in a phosphorescent light in the dusty tomb of a Manchu ancestor.
During her second day’s visit to Hyder Ali a mysterious and indefinable thrill had crept into Sophy’s sterile230 heart. She pondered much over the resistless fascination231 that the bird exercised over her, and suddenly became obsessed232 with the idea 192that this was possibly the reincarnation of a soul mate that she might have had in some far off previous existence, somewhere in the star swept ?ons that were gone, that had drifted through the ages in various forms, until predestination had again brought them face to face. She had a hazy233 idea of the theory of reincarnation, but she had an instinctive234 feeling that, if there was anything of that sort, this was probably it, and a long lost affinity was before her.
The “loose wires in her upper story” that Rat Hyatt had mentioned at the turkey shoot began to rattle235 hopelessly on the subject of the white gobbler.
Into her mind there came a desperate resolve to acquire that bird, by fair means or foul236. All of her persistence237, and every form of artifice238 and cunning of which she was capable would thenceforth be devoted239 to that end.
After Hyder Ali had sojourned a week in Posey’s pen, attended with adoration240, and fed with selected worms, corn meal mush, and other dainties by the faithful Sophy, Mr. Flaherty came with his little spring wagon and took him away. He said that the man who was to keep him for Mr. Varney had returned home, but he did not say where he lived.
Thus was Hyder Ali dangled temptingly before the Turkey Club, and tantalizingly241 whisked from sight. Varney was eagerly questioned when he came again, but his manner was very reserved. He seemed willing to talk volubly on any subject but the gobbler, the only thing anybody wanted to hear 193about. He finally said that he had paid three hundred dollars for the bird and intended to exhibit him at the county fairs in various parts of the state during the fall, charging a small admission fee to make it profitable.
Sophy was anxious to know if he would sell the bird, and, after talking it all over with her, the reluctant Josh consented to a “grand raffle10” for the turkey, provided three hundred chances could be sold at one dollar each. He felt that exhibiting the bird around the country might be a good deal of a job, although he regarded it as a fine thing from a financial point of view. If he was to part with Hyder Ali he would rather that he would remain with his friends along the river, as he was very fond of all of them, and they might talk over the county fair idea later.
It was agreed that when all of the chances were sold the drawing should be held under the auspices of the Turkey Club in the yard back of Posey’s store, where Hyder Ali was to be brought.
Numbered tickets, corresponding to the names in Sophy’s sales book were to be deposited in a hat. Josh Varney, as the owner of the turkey, was to hold the hat. Sophy was to be blindfolded242, and to draw forth the tickets one by one, until the contents of the hat were exhausted243. They were to be handed to somebody else who would call off the numbers and cancel them in the book. The last ticket in the hat was to win Hyder Ali.
The chances were all sold within a week, some 194purchasers taking as many as a dozen. Just before the supply was gone Josh and his friend Flaherty each took ten and the book was declared closed.
Sophy was only able to buy seven, but she hoped that they would be sufficient for her purpose.
Every able bodied person, and some who were not, who lived within ten miles and could by any means get to the store, was there on the day of the drawing.
Hyder Ali arrived in his perforated box and was reinstalled in the chicken yard, where he walked about in lonely majesty244, while his destiny was in the balance—the cynosure245 of many anxious and covetous246 eyes.
A platform had been improvised247 with four big drygoods boxes in the yard, high enough for everybody to see what was going on. Mr. Varney stood on it and announced the conditions. He acknowledged the receipt of the proceeds of the raffle, and stated that the bird now belonged to the winner.
The three hundred numbered tickets were then produced by Sophy. She handed them to Varney to deposit in the ancient plug hat that Pop Wilkins had obligingly loaned for the occasion, in accordance with time honored custom. Pop, with the sun reflecting from his bald head, stood on the platform, adjusted his brass248 rimmed249 spectacles, and made ready to call off the cancellations.
Varney ran through the tickets several times and counted them to see if they were all there. His numbers were from 281 to 290. He mixed the tickets 195over thoroughly250 inside the hat with his hand, and the blindfolded Sophy began drawing. She had carefully bent251 all of her own tickets in such a way as to enable her to identify them by touch, and had no doubt that she would own Hyder Ali within the next twenty minutes. There was excited buying and selling, at big premiums252, of numbers remaining in the hat as the contest narrowed down, and there were frequent delays in the drawing to accommodate the speculators. Six of Sophy’s tickets had come out. None of them were bent and cold chills raced up and down her spine253. Her agile254 and nervous fingers had carefully avoided a well bent ticket near one side of the grimy interior of the hat. When she drew out a flat ticket next to it, she learned to her horror that it was her last number. With a faint heart she reached for the other, hoping that there had been some error in her count, but the last ticket was number 294, and it belonged to Mr. Flaherty.
It was evident to her that the wily Josh had discovered the bent tickets, and while he was handling them over inside the hat he had managed to straighten them all and bend Flaherty’s. Whatever other artifice Josh might have had in reserve had he not discovered the bunch of bent tickets will always be a mystery, but he certainly had no intention of leaving Hyder Ali in the river country.
Sophy removed the handkerchief, under which she had found no difficulty in peeking255 during the drawing, and looked upon Josh.
Human eyes have seldom glittered with the venomous 196and deadly glow that he now saw in Sophy’s orbs. Such eyes might have blazed through a labyrinth256 in a jungle upon one who had seized a tiger cub257. Backed by courage the look would have portended258 murder.
Sophy at once realized the hopelessness of her position, for no specious259 protest was possible. She had encountered an adept260 in an art in which she was but a tyro261. It was all over and she was compelled to smother262 her impotent wrath263.
To the crowd, ignorant of the little drama on the platform, everything had seemed entirely regular. None of them had ever had a ghost of a chance of getting the turkey, but they were good natured losers. Pop Wilkins carefully restored the old stovepipe hat to his shining dome264. While regretting that he had not won Hyder Ali and that that remarkable193 bird from foreign lands was not to remain in the community, he declared that there was now nothing to do but congratulate the winner.
“That’s what we done at the turkey shoot last year,” remarked Bill in an undertone, as we watched the perforated box being loaded on to Flaherty’s spring wagon.
Varney tactfully refrained from assisting in the loading. “I hate to part with that bird,” he declared, “but business is business an’ there ’e goes!”
Sophy continued to look upon him with a steely and viperous265 glare, but he did not appear to notice her. They each knew that the other thoroughly 197understood the situation, and there were no ethics266 that were debatable. Sophy knew that Flaherty was a man of straw, and that she had been skilfully robbed of the fruits of her chicanery267. Varney regarded her discomfiture268 with the generous benevolence269 of a victor.
Sophy believed that all moral logic202, and every other kind of logic, entitled her to Hyder Ali. She considered that in addition to the loss of the bird, she had been swindled out of the seven dollars she had paid for her worthless chances.
She justified270 her own dishonesty to herself by the conviction that she had worked hard enough for the club to have the turkey anyway, and as long as some ticket had to be left until the last, it might just as well be her’s as anybody’s. It was all a matter of chance anyway, and, as it turned out it would have been much better for everybody if Hyder Ali could have been kept in the neighborhood with her instead of being taken away. She considered that she had suffered a great injustice271, and that a defenseless woman should be thus robbed and maltreated was to her the acme272 of outrage273.
Varney had his own rig with him and left for the county seat soon after Flaherty and his spring wagon had departed in an opposite direction. The precious pair was gone—with Hyder Ali, and two hundred and eighty dollars of tangible274 profits.
A melodious275 gobble was faintly heard far away on the road while Flaherty was still in sight. It might have been a wail276 of sorrow and farewell.
198“I s’pose,” remarked Bill, “that Hyder Ali’s yellin’ fer help. He’s prob’ly ’fraid them two jay birds’ll send ’im back to them Brummins an’ that Bungspout Swammy fish net man in India, where ’e’ll git ’is crop chilled with them frozen frogs, but ’e needn’t worry. I didn’t buy no chances fer I didn’t think there’d be any show for a white man with Josh an’ Sophy up on them boxes, an’ they wasn’t. I thought they was goin’ to be sump’n doin’ when I seen Sophy eyein’ Josh. She looked like she wanted to squirt some lye at ’im. Sophy’s got a bad eye. She c’n sour a pan o’ milk that’s twenty feet off by jest lookin’ at it in a cert’n way.
“Them kewpies ’ave finished the cookin’ this time an’ we’re done good an’ brown. I don’t think they’ll be ’round any more ’less Josh comes to sell us a striped elephant next year, an’ if ’e does I ’spose we’ll buy it. I don’t think we wanted that misquito fatted bird anyway. He didn’t look to me like ’e was healthy.”
Sophy was ill for a couple of weeks and visited the store but rarely during the rest of the summer.
“She looks like she’d been licked,” observed Rat Hyatt. “She don’t seem to have no pep any more. I met ’er on the bridge the other day, an’ when I spoke to ’er she answered as nice an’ polite as anybody, instead o’ lookin’ at me like I was a skunk277, an’ pass’n on the way she used to do.”
During the latter part of August Sophy chanced to see a copy of a weekly paper that was published in a small town about fifty miles away. In it was 199an announcement of a “grand raffle,” to be held the following week, “for a wonderful white turkey imported from Siberia at great expense, the like of which has never been seen or heard of in this country.”
The article went on to say that “this is a great event that is about to take place in our midst, and ye editor blushingly owns to the soft impeachment278 of having taken ten chances with his hard earned pelf279. We hope to win the splendid prize, but if we fail we respectfully ask anybody who is in arrears280 on their subscription to please call at our holy editorial sanctum with some mazuma, for though ye ed. toys with the trailing skirts of fickle281 fortune, yet must he eat.”
Sophy kept her own counsel and prevailed on Pop Wilkins to lend her his horse and two seated buggy for a few days to enable her to visit a sick relative who lived some distance away. She was gone a week, and when she returned Hyder Ali was in the buggy. His beautiful head protruded282 inquiringly from the top of a gunny sack in which he was carefully secured. Sophy drove home with her prize, returned the rig to the obliging Pop, and walked loftily into the store, on her way back, to make some purchases.
She was a changed woman, and victory was on her brow. She greeted the loiterers about the store, but, as Posey expressed it, “she spoke from above.”
Naturally the neighborhood was in a ferment of curiosity.
200“How’d you git ’im?” asked Bill pleasantly.
“I caught ’im on a fish line,” she replied grimly.
Beyond this she refused any explanations and her attitude was regarded as the height of cruelty. She said it was nobody’s business but her own, and no further light was thrown on the subject.
Early in the fall a band of gipsies came and camped on a grassy283 glade284 in the woods not far from where Sophy lived. They remained several weeks. The men traded horses with the nearby farmers, and the women went about the neighborhood in their picturesque costumes, begged small articles, and told fortunes.
One morning Sophy was horrified285 to find that Hyder Ali was gone. She at once suspected the gipsies, and rushed to their camp, but the Romany folk had departed. She found a long white feather on the ground that undoubtedly had come from her cherished bird. She at once enlisted286 all the help she could get. The assistance of the sheriff was invoked287 and the trail of the gipsies was taken by a large party. They were located about fifteen miles away. Thorough search revealed no trace of the missing property. The gipsies were confronted with the tell-tale feather, but denied all knowledge of it. There seemed to be nothing further to do and the matter was dropped by the sheriff.
In November, just before the annual turkey shoot, Mr. Roscoe Plunkett, of the firm of Plunkett & Mott, whose goods Varney had sold for several years, came to Posey’s store to check up their account. He 201said that his firm had suffered considerable losses through the shady and sinuous288 methods of Varney, and that he was no longer with them. They had delved289 deep into his history before he came to them and found that he had a rancid past. It was checkered290 with a couple of jail confinements291, but he had managed in each case to obtain his freedom after trial. He had been a champion rifle shot, and had given exhibitions of trick shooting in a wild west show for a year or two. Of late he had been mixed up with a man named Flaherty. They had found a farmer in the southern part of the state who had an albino turkey—one of those rare freaks of nature, due to deficient292 pigmentation. It was a beautiful gobbler of abnormal size. They bought the bird for twenty-five dollars, and, since that time they had been going about the country raffling293 it off. One of them had always won it.
During the previous week a friend of Plunkett’s, who was a commercial traveler, had written him that he had met Varney in Michigan, and that Flaherty and the white turkey were with him.
This new light on the general cussedness and dark ways of Josh Varney came too late to be of any benefit to Sophy. She had gone to live with some relatives in a small town in Iowa, taking her illusions and her bitter hatreds294 with her. Her henpecked husband had mercifully been relieved of his earthly troubles, but this had not seemed to disturb her as much as her other afflictions. She had become completely disgusted with her surroundings, and had 202sought new fields for her restless propensities295.
“It’s too bad Josh don’t know she’s a widow,” remarked Bill, “fer them two might git married now, if they wanted to.”
Bill labored128 long in lettering out the notice of the next annual turkey shoot, which he tacked296 up in the store.
There was a full attendance when the day came. The weather was again pleasant, the blood letting was satisfactory, and no untoward297 incident marred298 the joy of the occasion.
When the shooting was over Bill pounded officially on a barrel top and called the business meeting to order.
“The first thing to be done at this meet’n is to ’lect a new Chief Gobbler, fer this one has now resigned. This chair has quit, an’ now pays its parting respects to all the members. I say now that this chair has been blasphemed an’ jumped on fer five years. Nothin’ has ever been done right. Ev’rybody has cussed the chair right an’ left, an’ the chair has never peeped or said a word back. In quit’n this hon’able office this chair now makes answer to all them sore heads that’s been criticize’n it fer all these years, an’ that answer is BAH!!!!
“Now we’ll perceed to nominations299 fer the chair’s successor.”
A Voice:—“I nom’nate Mr. Bill Stiles fer the ensuin’ year, an’ I move it be made unimous.”
The Chair:—“Is there no other nominations?”
203Another Voice:—“I nom’nate Mr. Josh Varney, an’ I move it be made unimous.” (Chorus of cat calls.)
A voice from the rear:—“I move that the chair stops smokin’ when it’s presidin’ an’ I move we adjourn130!”
The Chair:—“If that feller back there thinks ’e c’n run this meet’n better’n it’s bein’ done, let ’im come up in front. This chair’s goin’ to do its smokin’ while it’s alive instid o’ wait’n ’till afterwards like some people. We gotta have some dignity about this thing, an’ you fellers keep quiet! Now who makes any more nominations?”
“Now,” he continued, “havin’ got this turr’ble weight offen our chests, the next business’ll be the ’lection of a new boss, fer Sophy Perkins has left us. She’s gone way off some’rs where the winds are blowin’ an’ she’ll never come back. Mr. Posey has been suggested fer new secretary an’ treasurer. Does anybody nominate ’im?”
“He’d be a good man to take in the money, but he’d make a hell of a secretary!” shouted somebody in the crowd.
“Never mind, does somebody nominate ’im?” continued Bill.
“How d’ye know Sophy’ll never come back?” demanded another voice from the rear.
“The next business,” announced Bill, “is the report o’ the chair on the case o’ Mr. Josh Varney. Some o’ you’ll prob’ly faintly recollect303 of ’is havin’ been among us some time ago.”
He then related the story of Plunkett, revealed the sins of Varney in all their sable304 hues305 and commented caustically306 on the soft headedness of the victims of that artful tactician307.
“All you fellers has been just as easy marks fer Josh as them ten turkeys in them boxes was a year ago. Some day we may ketch the perfessor, but knowin’ ’im as I do, I don’t b’lieve we will. He bruised308 a lot o’ gold shekels out o’ this bunch with that pale fowl, an’ besides ’e made us feel bad.”
Mr. Rat Hyatt was now recognized by the chair.
“Fer years,” said Rat, “all of us has called Sophy Perkins ‘the stinger,’ an’ she was a stinger, but I now move you, Mr. Chairman, that that title be hereby shifted offen ’er an’ put on that pink eyed turkey man.”
The motion was unanimously carried and ordered spread upon the records that Sophy had left at the store.
“Yes, it’s been a phenonomous year,” replied Bill, thoughtfully.
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1
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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3
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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6
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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8
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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9
raffles
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| n.抽彩售物( raffle的名词复数 )v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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navigate
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| v.航行，飞行；导航，领航 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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javelin
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| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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frightfulness
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| 可怕； 丑恶； 讨厌； 恐怖政策 | |
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superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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32
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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33
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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34
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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35
succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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36
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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37
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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38
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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39
cocoon
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| n.茧 | |
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40
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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41
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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42
serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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43
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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44
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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45
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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46
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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47
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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48
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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49
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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50
utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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52
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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53
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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54
perk
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| n.额外津贴；赏钱；小费； | |
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55
affiliated
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| adj. 附属的, 有关连的 | |
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56
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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57
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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58
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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59
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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60
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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61
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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62
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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63
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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64
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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65
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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66
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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67
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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68
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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69
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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70
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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72
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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73
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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74
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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75
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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76
malignant
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|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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77
jealousy
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|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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78
relentless
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|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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79
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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80
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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82
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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83
intrigue
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|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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84
anonymous
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|
| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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85
contemptible
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|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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86
cowardice
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|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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87
garnered
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|
| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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89
impoverished
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|
| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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90
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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91
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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92
asperities
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| n.粗暴( asperity的名词复数 )；（表面的）粗糙；（环境的）艰苦；严寒的天气 | |
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93
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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94
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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95
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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96
retired
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|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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97
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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98
incumbency
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| n.职责，义务 | |
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99
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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100
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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102
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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103
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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104
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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105
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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106
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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107
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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108
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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109
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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110
auctioned
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| v.拍卖( auction的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
bidders
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| n.出价者，投标人( bidder的名词复数 ) | |
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112
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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113
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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114
contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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115
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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116
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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117
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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118
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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119
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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120
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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121
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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122
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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123
premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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124
teller
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| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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125
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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126
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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127
belabored
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的过去式和过去分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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128
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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129
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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130
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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131
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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132
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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133
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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134
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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135
countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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136
instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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137
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
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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139
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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140
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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141
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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142
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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143
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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144
busted
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|
| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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145
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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146
abides
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| 容忍( abide的第三人称单数 )； 等候； 逗留； 停留 | |
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147
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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148
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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149
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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150
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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151
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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152
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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153
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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154
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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155
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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156
murky
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|
| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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157
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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159
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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160
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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161
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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162
eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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163
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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164
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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165
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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166
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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167
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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168
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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169
epicures
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| n.讲究饮食的人( epicure的名词复数 ) | |
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170
peeked
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| v.很快地看( peek的过去式和过去分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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171
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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172
voracity
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| n.贪食，贪婪 | |
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173
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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174
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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175
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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176
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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177
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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178
uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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179
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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180
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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181
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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182
pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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183
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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184
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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185
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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187
amplify
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| vt.放大，增强；详述，详加解说 | |
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188
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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189
agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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190
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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191
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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192
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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193
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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194
avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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195
briny
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| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
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196
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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197
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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198
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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199
auger
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| n.螺丝钻，钻孔机 | |
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200
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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201
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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202
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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203
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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204
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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205
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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206
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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207
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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208
dangled
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|
| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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209
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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210
obdurate
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|
| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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211
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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212
sarcastically
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|
| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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213
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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214
flustered
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|
| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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215
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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216
futile
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|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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217
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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218
beseeches
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的第三人称单数 ) | |
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219
fervent
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|
| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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220
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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222
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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223
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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224
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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226
ineffable
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|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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227
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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228
affinity
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|
| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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229
countless
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|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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230
sterile
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|
| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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231
fascination
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|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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232
obsessed
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|
| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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233
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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234
instinctive
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|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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235
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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236
foul
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|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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237
persistence
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|
| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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238
artifice
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|
| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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239
devoted
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|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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240
adoration
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|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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241
tantalizingly
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|
| adv.…得令人着急，…到令人着急的程度 | |
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242
blindfolded
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|
| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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243
exhausted
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|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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244
majesty
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|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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245
cynosure
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| n.焦点 | |
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246
covetous
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|
| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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247
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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248
brass
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|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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249
rimmed
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|
| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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250
thoroughly
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|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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251
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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252
premiums
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| n.费用( premium的名词复数 )；保险费；额外费用；（商品定价、贷款利息等以外的）加价 | |
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253
spine
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|
| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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254
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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255
peeking
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| v.很快地看( peek的现在分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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256
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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257
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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258
portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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259
specious
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|
| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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260
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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261
tyro
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| n.初学者；生手 | |
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262
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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263
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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264
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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265
viperous
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|
| adj.有毒的，阴险的 | |
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266
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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267
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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268
discomfiture
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|
| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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269
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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270
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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271
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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272
acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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273
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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274
tangible
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|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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275
melodious
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|
| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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276
wail
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|
| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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277
skunk
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|
| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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278
impeachment
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|
| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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279
pelf
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| n.金钱；财物（轻蔑语） | |
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280
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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281
fickle
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|
| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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282
protruded
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|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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283
grassy
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|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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284
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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285
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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286
enlisted
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|
| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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287
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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288
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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289
delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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290
checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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291
confinements
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| 限制，被监禁( confinement的名词复数 )； 分娩 | |
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292
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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293
raffling
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| v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的现在分词 ) | |
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294
hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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295
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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296
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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297
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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298
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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299
nominations
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| n.提名，任命( nomination的名词复数 ) | |
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300
bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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301
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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302
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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303
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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304
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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305
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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306
caustically
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| adv.刻薄地；挖苦地；尖刻地；讥刺地 | |
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307
tactician
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| n. 战术家, 策士 | |
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308
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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309
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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310
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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