It was after he had spent the first ten dollars he drew from his fund in New York that Tom felt the impulse to tell Honey of the way in which he was becoming involved with Maisie Danker. The ten dollars had melted. In signing the formalities for drawing the amount, he expected to have enough to carry him along till spring, when Maisie's visit was to end. He dreaded1 its ending, and yet it would have this element of relief in it; he would be able to keep his money. At a pinch he could spare ten dollars, though he couldn't spare them very well. More than ten dollars....
And before he knew it the ten dollars had vanished as if into air. Once Maisie knew what he had done her caprices multiplied. To her as to him ten dollars to "blow in"—she used the airy expression too—was a small fortune. It was only their instincts that were different. His was to let it go slowly, since the spending of a penny was against the protests of his conscience; hers to make away with it. If Tom could "draw the juice" for a first ten, he could draw it for a second, and for a third and a fourth after that. It was not extravagance that whipped her on; it was joy of life.
Tom's impulse to tell Honey was not acted on. It was not acted on after he drew the second ten; nor
[Pg 223]
after he drew the third. After he had drawn3 the fourth his unhappiness became so great that he sought a confidant.
And yet his unhappiness was not absolute; it was rather a poisoned bliss4. Had Maisie been content with what he could afford, the winter would have been like one in Paradise. But almost before he himself was aware of the promptings of thrift5, she vanquished6 them with her ridicule7.
"There's nothing I hate so much as anything cheap. If a fella can't give me what I like, he can keep away."
Time and time again Tom swore he would keep away. He did keep away, for a day, for two or three days in succession. Then she would meet him in the dark hallway, and, twining her arms around his neck without a word, would give him one of those kisses on the lips which thrilled him into subjection. He would be guilty of any folly8 for her then, because he couldn't help himself. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty dollars, all the hoarded9 inheritance from the Martin Quidmore who was already a dim memory, would be well thrown away if only she would kiss him once again.
He lost the healthy diversion which might have reached him through the Ansleys because they had taken the fat boy to Florida. Tom learned that from little Miss Ansley a few days after the return of the father and mother from New York. One afternoon as both were coming from their schools they had met on their way toward Louisburg Square. Even in her outdoor dress, she was quaintly11 grown-up and
[Pg 224]
Cambodian. A rough brown tweed had a little gold and a little red in it; a brown turban not unlike a fez bore on the left a small red wing tipped with a golden line. Maisie would have emphasized the red; she would have been vivid, eager to be noticed. This girl didn't need that kind of advertisement.
Seeing her before she saw him, he wondered whether she would give him any sign of recognition. At Harfrey the girls whom he saw at the Tollivants, and who proclaimed themselves "exclusive," always forgot him when they met him on the street. This had hurt him. He waited in some trepidation13 now, fearing to be hurt again. But when she saw him she nodded and smiled.
"Guy's better," she said, without greeting, "and we're all going off to Florida to-morrow. Guy and I don't want to go a bit; but mother's afraid of his catching14 cold, and father has to be in Washington, anyhow. So we're off."
Though he walked by her side for no more than a few yards, Tom was touched by her friendliness15. She was the first girl of that section of the world for which he had only the term "society" who had not been ashamed to be seen with him in a street. Little Miss Ansley even paused for a minute at the foot of her steps while they exchanged remarks about their schools. She went to Miss Winslow's. She liked her school. She was sorry to be going away as it would give her such a lot of back work to make up. She might go to Radcliffe when Guy went to Harvard, but so far her mother was opposed to it. In these casual observations she seemed to Tom to
[Pg 225]
lose something of her air of being a woman of the world. On his own side he lost a little of his awe16 of her.
The snuffing out of this interest threw him back on the easing of his heart by confidence. It was not confidence alone; it was also confession17. He was deceiving Honey, and to go on deceiving Honey began to seem to him baser than dishonor. Had Honey been his father, it would have been different. Fathers worked for their sons as a matter of course, and almost as a matter of course expected that their sons would play them false. There was no reason why Honey should work for him; and since Honey did work for him, there was every reason why he who reaped the benefit should be loyal. He was not loyal. He had even reached the point, and he cursed himself for reaching it, at which Honey was an Old Man of the Sea fastened on his back.
He told himself that this was the damnedest ingratitude18; and yet he couldn't tell himself that it wasn't so. It was. There were days when Honey's way of speaking, Honey's way of eating, the smell of Honey's person, and the black patch on his eye, revolted him. Here he was, a great lump of a fellow sixteen years of age, and dependent for everything, for everything, on a rough dock laborer19 who had been a burglar and a convict. It was preposterous20. Had he jumped into this situation he would not have borne it for a week. But he had not jumped into it; it had grown. It had grown round him. It held him now as if with tentacles21. He couldn't break away from it.
And yet Honey and he were bound to grow apart.
[Pg 226]
It was in the nature of the case that it should be so. Always of a texture22 finer than Honey's, schooling23, association, and habits of mind were working together to refine the grain, while Honey was growing coarser. His work, Tom reasoned, kept him not only in a rut but in a brutalizing rut. Loading and unloading, unloading and re-loading, he had less use for his mind than in the days of his freebooting. Then a wild ass24 of the desert, he was now harnessed to a dray with no relief from hauling it. From morning to night he hauled; from night to morning he was stupefied with weariness. In on this stupefaction Tom found it more and more difficult to break. He was agog26 with interests and ideas; for neither interests nor ideas had Honey any room.
Nor had he, so far as Tom could judge, any room for affection. On the contrary, he repelled27 it. "Don't you go for to think that I've give up bein' a socialist28 because I got a soft side. No, sir! That wouldn't be it at all. What reely made me do it was because it didn't pay. I'd make big money now and then; but once I'd fixed29 the police, the lawyers, and nine times out o' ten the judge, I wouldn't have hardly nothink for meself. If out o' every hundred dollars I was able to pocket twenty-five it'd be as much as ever. This 'ere job don't pay as well to start with; but then it haven't no expenses."
Self-interest and a vague sense of responsibility were all he ever admitted as a key to his benevolence30. "It's along o' my bein' an Englishman. You can't get an Englishman 'ardly ever to be satisfied a'mindin' of his own business. Ten to one he'll do that and
[Pg 227]
mind somebody else's at the same time. A kind o' curse that's on 'em, I often thinks. Once when I was doin' a bit—might 'a been at Sing Sing—a guy come along to entertain us. Recited poetry at us. And I recolleck he chewed to beat the band over a piece he called, 'The White Man's Burden.' Well, that's what you are, Kid. You're my White Man's Burden. I can't chuck yer, nor nothink. I just got to carry yer till yer can git along without me; and then I'll quit. The old bunch'll be as glad to see me back as I'll be to go. There's just one thing I want yer to remember, Kid, that when yer've got yer eddication there won't be nothink to bind31 me to you, nor—" he held himself very straight, bringing out his words with a brutal25 firmness—"nor you to me. Yer'll know I'll be as glad to go the one way as you'll be to go the t'other, so there won't be no 'ard feelin' on both sides."
And before he knew it the ten dollars had vanished as if into air. Once Maisie knew what he had done her caprices multiplied. To her as to him ten dollars to "blow in"—she used the airy expression too—was a small fortune. It was only their instincts that were different. His was to let it go slowly, since the spending of a penny was against the protests of his conscience; hers to make away with it. If Tom could "draw the juice" for a first ten, he could draw it for a second, and for a third and a fourth after that. It was not extravagance that whipped her on; it was joy of life.
Tom's impulse to tell Honey was not acted on. It was not acted on after he drew the second ten; nor
[Pg 223]
after he drew the third. After he had drawn3 the fourth his unhappiness became so great that he sought a confidant.
And yet his unhappiness was not absolute; it was rather a poisoned bliss4. Had Maisie been content with what he could afford, the winter would have been like one in Paradise. But almost before he himself was aware of the promptings of thrift5, she vanquished6 them with her ridicule7.
"There's nothing I hate so much as anything cheap. If a fella can't give me what I like, he can keep away."
Time and time again Tom swore he would keep away. He did keep away, for a day, for two or three days in succession. Then she would meet him in the dark hallway, and, twining her arms around his neck without a word, would give him one of those kisses on the lips which thrilled him into subjection. He would be guilty of any folly8 for her then, because he couldn't help himself. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty dollars, all the hoarded9 inheritance from the Martin Quidmore who was already a dim memory, would be well thrown away if only she would kiss him once again.
He lost the healthy diversion which might have reached him through the Ansleys because they had taken the fat boy to Florida. Tom learned that from little Miss Ansley a few days after the return of the father and mother from New York. One afternoon as both were coming from their schools they had met on their way toward Louisburg Square. Even in her outdoor dress, she was quaintly11 grown-up and
[Pg 224]
Cambodian. A rough brown tweed had a little gold and a little red in it; a brown turban not unlike a fez bore on the left a small red wing tipped with a golden line. Maisie would have emphasized the red; she would have been vivid, eager to be noticed. This girl didn't need that kind of advertisement.
Seeing her before she saw him, he wondered whether she would give him any sign of recognition. At Harfrey the girls whom he saw at the Tollivants, and who proclaimed themselves "exclusive," always forgot him when they met him on the street. This had hurt him. He waited in some trepidation13 now, fearing to be hurt again. But when she saw him she nodded and smiled.
"Guy's better," she said, without greeting, "and we're all going off to Florida to-morrow. Guy and I don't want to go a bit; but mother's afraid of his catching14 cold, and father has to be in Washington, anyhow. So we're off."
Though he walked by her side for no more than a few yards, Tom was touched by her friendliness15. She was the first girl of that section of the world for which he had only the term "society" who had not been ashamed to be seen with him in a street. Little Miss Ansley even paused for a minute at the foot of her steps while they exchanged remarks about their schools. She went to Miss Winslow's. She liked her school. She was sorry to be going away as it would give her such a lot of back work to make up. She might go to Radcliffe when Guy went to Harvard, but so far her mother was opposed to it. In these casual observations she seemed to Tom to
[Pg 225]
lose something of her air of being a woman of the world. On his own side he lost a little of his awe16 of her.
The snuffing out of this interest threw him back on the easing of his heart by confidence. It was not confidence alone; it was also confession17. He was deceiving Honey, and to go on deceiving Honey began to seem to him baser than dishonor. Had Honey been his father, it would have been different. Fathers worked for their sons as a matter of course, and almost as a matter of course expected that their sons would play them false. There was no reason why Honey should work for him; and since Honey did work for him, there was every reason why he who reaped the benefit should be loyal. He was not loyal. He had even reached the point, and he cursed himself for reaching it, at which Honey was an Old Man of the Sea fastened on his back.
He told himself that this was the damnedest ingratitude18; and yet he couldn't tell himself that it wasn't so. It was. There were days when Honey's way of speaking, Honey's way of eating, the smell of Honey's person, and the black patch on his eye, revolted him. Here he was, a great lump of a fellow sixteen years of age, and dependent for everything, for everything, on a rough dock laborer19 who had been a burglar and a convict. It was preposterous20. Had he jumped into this situation he would not have borne it for a week. But he had not jumped into it; it had grown. It had grown round him. It held him now as if with tentacles21. He couldn't break away from it.
And yet Honey and he were bound to grow apart.
[Pg 226]
It was in the nature of the case that it should be so. Always of a texture22 finer than Honey's, schooling23, association, and habits of mind were working together to refine the grain, while Honey was growing coarser. His work, Tom reasoned, kept him not only in a rut but in a brutalizing rut. Loading and unloading, unloading and re-loading, he had less use for his mind than in the days of his freebooting. Then a wild ass24 of the desert, he was now harnessed to a dray with no relief from hauling it. From morning to night he hauled; from night to morning he was stupefied with weariness. In on this stupefaction Tom found it more and more difficult to break. He was agog26 with interests and ideas; for neither interests nor ideas had Honey any room.
Nor had he, so far as Tom could judge, any room for affection. On the contrary, he repelled27 it. "Don't you go for to think that I've give up bein' a socialist28 because I got a soft side. No, sir! That wouldn't be it at all. What reely made me do it was because it didn't pay. I'd make big money now and then; but once I'd fixed29 the police, the lawyers, and nine times out o' ten the judge, I wouldn't have hardly nothink for meself. If out o' every hundred dollars I was able to pocket twenty-five it'd be as much as ever. This 'ere job don't pay as well to start with; but then it haven't no expenses."
Self-interest and a vague sense of responsibility were all he ever admitted as a key to his benevolence30. "It's along o' my bein' an Englishman. You can't get an Englishman 'ardly ever to be satisfied a'mindin' of his own business. Ten to one he'll do that and
[Pg 227]
mind somebody else's at the same time. A kind o' curse that's on 'em, I often thinks. Once when I was doin' a bit—might 'a been at Sing Sing—a guy come along to entertain us. Recited poetry at us. And I recolleck he chewed to beat the band over a piece he called, 'The White Man's Burden.' Well, that's what you are, Kid. You're my White Man's Burden. I can't chuck yer, nor nothink. I just got to carry yer till yer can git along without me; and then I'll quit. The old bunch'll be as glad to see me back as I'll be to go. There's just one thing I want yer to remember, Kid, that when yer've got yer eddication there won't be nothink to bind31 me to you, nor—" he held himself very straight, bringing out his words with a brutal25 firmness—"nor you to me. Yer'll know I'll be as glad to go the one way as you'll be to go the t'other, so there won't be no 'ard feelin' on both sides."
It was a Sunday night. Tom had taken his troubles to bed with him, because he had nowhere else to take them. In bed you struck a truce32 with life. You suspended operations, at least for a few hours. You could sleep; you could postpone33. He slept as a rule so soundly, and so straight through the night, that, hunted as he was by care, he had once in the twenty-four hours a refuge in which the fiendish thing couldn't overtake him.
It had been a trying Sunday because Maisie had tempted34 him to a wilder than usual extravagance. There was enough snow on the ground for sleighing. She had been used to sleighing in Nashua. The sing
[Pg 228]
ing of runners and the jingling35 of bells, as a sleigh slid joyously36 past her, awakened37 her longing38 for the sport. By coaxing39, by teasing, by crying a little, and, worst of all, by making game of him, she had induced him to find a place where he could hire a sleigh and take her for a ride.
Snow having turned to rain, and rain to frost, the landscape through which they drove was made of crystal. Every tree was as a tree of glass, sparkling in the sun. A deep blue sky, a keen dry wind, a little horse which enjoyed the outing as briskly as Maisie herself, made the two hours vibrant40 with the ecstasy41 of cold. All Tom's nerves were taut42 with the pleasure of the motion, of the air, of the skill, acquired chiefly at Bere, with which he managed the spirited young nag43. The knowledge of what it was costing him he was able to thrust aside. He would enjoy the moment, and face the reckoning afterward44. When he did face the reckoning, he found that of his fourth ten dollars he had spent six dollars and fifty-seven cents. Only three days earlier he had had the crisp clean bill unbroken in his hand....
He had been hardly able to eat his supper, and after supper the usual two hours of study to which he gave himself on Sunday nights were as time thrown away. Luckily, Honey's consideration left him the room to himself. Honey was like that. If Tom had to work, Honey effaced45 himself, in summer by sitting on the doorstep, in winter by going to bed. Much of Tom's wrestling with Virgil was carried on to the tune2 of Honey's snores.
This being Sunday evening, and Honey less tired
[Pg 229]
than on the days on which he worked, he had gone to "chew the rag," as he phrased it, with a little Jew tailor, who lived next door to Mrs. Danker. Tom was aware that behind this the motive46 was not love for the Jew tailor, but zeal47 that he, Tom, should be interfered48 with as little as possible in his eddication. Tom's eddication was as much an obsession49 to Honey as it was to Tom himself. It was an overmastering compulsion, like that which sent Peary to find the North Pole, Scott to find the South one, and Livingstone and Stanley to cross Africa. What he had to gain by it had no place in his calculation. A machine wound up, and going automatically, could not be more set on its purpose than Lemuel Honeybun on his.
But to-night his absenting of himself was of no help to Tom in giving his mind to the translation from English into Latin on which he was engaged. When he found himself rendering50 the expression "in the meantime" by the words in turpe tempore, he pushed books and paper away from him, with a bitter, emphatic51, "Damn!"
Though it was only nine, there was nothing for it but to go to bed. In bed he would sleep and forget. He always did. Putting out the gas, and pulling the bedclothes up around his ears, he mentally waved the white flag to his carking enemy.
But the carking enemy didn't heed52 the white flag; he came on just the same. For the first time in his life Tom Whitelaw couldn't sleep. Rolling from side to side, he groaned53 and swore at the refusal of relief to come to him. He was still wide awake when about
[Pg 230]
half past ten Honey came in and re-lit the gas, surprised to see the boy already with his face turned to the wall. Not to disturb him, Honey moved round the room on tiptoe.
Tom lay still, his eyes closed. He loathed54 this proximity55, this sharing of one room. In the two previous years he hadn't minded it. But he was older now, almost a man, able to take care of himself. Not only was he growing more fastidious, but the self-consciousness we know as modesty56 was bringing to the over-intimate a new kind of discomfort57. Long meaning to propose two small separate rooms as not much dearer than the larger one, he had not yet come to it, partly through unwillingness58 to add anything to their expenses, and partly through fear of hurting Honey's feelings. But to-night the lack of privacy gave the outlet59 of exasperation60 to his less tangible61 discontents.
He rolled over on his back. One gas jet spluttered in the antiquated62 chandelier. Under it a small deal table was heaped with his books and strewn with his papers. Beside it stood an old armchair stained with the stains of many lodgers63' use, the entrails of the seat protruding64 horribly between the legs. Two small chairs of the kitchen type, a wash-stand, a chest of drawers with a mirror hung above it, two or three flimsy rugs, and the iron cots on which they slept, made a setting for Honey, who sat beneath the gaslight, sewing a button on his undershirt. Turned in profile toward Tom, and wearing nothing but his drawers and socks, he bent65 above his work with the patience of a concentrated mind. He was really a fine
[Pg 231]
figure of a man, brawny66, hairy, spare, muscled like an athlete, a Rodin's Thinker all but the thought, yet irritating Tom as the embodiment of this penury67.
So not from an impulse of confession, but to ease the suffering of his nerves, Tom told something about Maisie Danker. It was only something. He told of the friendship, of the dancing lessons, of the movies, of the sleigh-ride that afternoon, of the forty dollars drawn from the bank. He said nothing of their kisses, nor of the frenzy68 which he thought might be love. Honey pulled his needle up through the hole, and pushed it back again, neither asking questions nor looking up.
"I guess we'll move," was his only comment, when the boy had finished the halting tale.
This quietness excited Tom the more. "What do you want to move for?"
"Because there's dangers what the on'y thing you can do to fight 'em is to run away."
"Who said anything about danger? Do you suppose ...?"
In sticking in his needle Honey handled the implement69 as if it were an awl70. "Do I suppose she's playin' the dooce with yer? No, Kid. She don't have to. You're playin' the dooce with yerself. It's yer age. Sixteen is a terr'ble imagination age."
"Oh, if you think I'm framing the whole thing...."
"No, I don't. Yer believes it all right. On'y it ain't quite so bad as what yer think. It don't do to be too delikit with women. Got to bat 'em away as if they was flies, when they bother yer too much.
[Pg 232]
Once let a woman in on yer game and yer 'and can be queered for good."
"Did I say anything about letting a woman in on my game?"
"No, yer on'y said she'd slipped in. It's too late now to keep her out. She's made the diff'rence."
"What difference?"
Honey threaded his needle laboriously71, held up the end of the thread to moisten it with his lips, and tied a knot in it. "The diff'rence in you. Yer ain't the same young feller what yer was six months ago. You and me has been like one," he went on, placidly72. "Now we're two. Been two this spell back. Couldn't make it out, no more'n Billy-be-damned; and now I see. The first girl."
Tom lashed73 about the bed.
"It was bound to come; and that's why—yer've arsked me about it onst or twice, so I may as well tell yer—that's why I never lets meself get fond o' yer. Could'a did it just as easy as not. When a man gits to my age a young boy what's next o' kin12 to him—why, he'll seem like as if 'twould be his son. But I wouldn't be ketched. 'Honey,' I says to meself, 'the first girl and you'll be dished.'"
"Oh, go to blazes!"
Having finished his button, Honey made it doubly secure by winding74 the thread around it. "Not that I blame yer, Kiddy. I ain't never led no celebrant life meself, not till I had to take you on, and cut out all low company what wouldn't 'a been good for you. But I figured it out that we might 'a got yer through college before yer fell for it. Well, we ain't. Maybe
[Pg 233]
now we'll not git yer to college at all. But we'll make a shy at it. We'll move."
"If you think that by moving you'll keep me from seeing her again...."
"No, son, not no more'n I could keep yer from cuttin' yer throat by lockin' up yer razor. Yer could git another razor. I know that. All the same, it'd be up to me, wouldn't it, not to leave no razors layin' round the room, where yer could put yer 'and on 'em?"
This settling of his destiny over his head angered Tom especially.
"I can save you the trouble of having me on your mind any more. To-morrow I'll be out on my own. I'm going to be a man."
"Sure, you're going to be a man—in time. But yer ain't a man yet."
"I'm sixteen. I can do what any other fellow of sixteen can do."
"No fella of sixteen can do much."
"He can earn a living."
"He can earn part of a livin'. How many boys of sixteen did yer ever know that could swing clear of home and friends and everythink, and feed and clothe and launder75 theirselves on what they made out'n their job?"
"Well, I can try, can't I?"
"Oh, yes, yer can try, Kid. But if you was me, I wouldn't cut loose from nobody, not till I'd got me 'and in."
Tom raised himself on his elbow, his eyes, beneath
[Pg 234]
their protruding horizontal eyebrows76, aglitter with the wrath77 which puts life and the world out of focus.
"I am going to cut loose. I'm going to be my own master."
"Are you, Kid? How much of yer own master do yer expect to be, on the ten or twelve per yer'll git to begin with—if yer gits that?"
"Even if it was only five or six per, I'd be making it myself."
"And what about college?"
"College—hell!"
The boy fell back on his pillow. Feeling he had delivered his ultimatum78, he waited for a reply. But Honey only stowed away his sewing materials in a little black box, after which he pulled off the articles of clothing he continued to wear, and set about his toilet for the night. At the sound of his splashing water on his face Tom muttered to himself: "God, another night of this will kill me."
Honey spoke79 through the muffling80 of the towel, while he dried his face. "Isn't all this fuss what I'm tellin' yer? The minute a girl gits in on a young feller's life there's hell to pay. That's why I'd like yer to steer81 clear of 'em as long as yer can hold out."
Tom shut his eyes, buried his face in the pillow, and affected82 not to hear.
"They don't mean to do no harm; they're just naterally troublesome. Seems as if they was born that way, and couldn't 'elp theirselves. There's a lot of 'em as is never satisfied till they've got a man like a jumpin'-jack, what all they need to do is to pull
[Pg 235]
the string to make him jig83. This girl is one o' them kind."
Tom continued to hold his peace.
"I've saw her. Pretty little thing she is all right. But give her two or three years. Lord love you, Kid, she'll be as washed out then as one of her own ribbons after a hard rain. And yet them is the kind that most young fellers'll run after, like a pup'll run after a squirrel."
Tom was startled. The figure of speech had been used to him before. He could hear it drawled in a tired voice, soft and velvety84. It was queer what conclusions about women these grown men came to! Quidmore had thought them as dangerous as Honey, and warned him against them much as Honey was doing now. Mrs. Quidmore had once been what Maisie was at that minute, and yet as he, Tom, remembered her.... But Honey was going on again, spluttering his words as he brushed his teeth.
"It can be awful easy to git mixed up with a girl, and awful hard to git unmixed. She'll put a man in a hole where he can't help doin' somethink foolish, and then make out as what she've got a claim on him. There's a lot o' talk about women bein' the prey85 o' men; but for one woman as I've ever saw that way I've saw a hundred men as was the prey o' women. Now when a girl of eighteen gits a young boy like you to spend the money as he's saved for his eddication...."
The boy sprang up in bed, hammering the bedclothes. "Don't you say anything against her. I won't listen to it."
[Pg 236]
With that supple86 tread which always made Tom think of one who could easily slip through windows, Honey walked to the closet where he kept his night-shirt. "'Tain't nothink agin her, Kid. Was on'y goin' to say that a girl what'll git a young boy to do that shows what she is. And yer did spend the money a-takin' her about, now didn't yer?"
Tom fell back upon his pillow. Putting out the gas, Honey threw himself on his creaking cot.
"You're a free boy, Kiddy," he went on, while arranging the sheet and blanket as he liked them. "If yer wants to beat it to-morrer, beat it away. Don't stop because yer'll be afraid I'll miss yer. Wasn't never no hand for missin' no one, and don't mean to begin. What I'd 'a liked have been to fill yer up with eddication so that yer could jaw87 to beat the best of 'em, if yer turned out to be the Whitelaw baby."
Tom had almost forgotten who the Whitelaw baby was. Not since that Sunday afternoon nearly three years ago had Honey ever mentioned him. The memory having come back, he made an inarticulate sound of impatience88, finally snuggling to sleep.
He tried to think of Maisie, to conjure89 up the rose in her cheeks, the laughter in her eyes; but all he saw, as he drifted into dreams, was the quaint10 Cambodian face of little Hildred Ansley. Only once did Honey speak again, muttering, as he too fell asleep:
"We'll move."
It had been a trying Sunday because Maisie had tempted34 him to a wilder than usual extravagance. There was enough snow on the ground for sleighing. She had been used to sleighing in Nashua. The sing
[Pg 228]
ing of runners and the jingling35 of bells, as a sleigh slid joyously36 past her, awakened37 her longing38 for the sport. By coaxing39, by teasing, by crying a little, and, worst of all, by making game of him, she had induced him to find a place where he could hire a sleigh and take her for a ride.
Snow having turned to rain, and rain to frost, the landscape through which they drove was made of crystal. Every tree was as a tree of glass, sparkling in the sun. A deep blue sky, a keen dry wind, a little horse which enjoyed the outing as briskly as Maisie herself, made the two hours vibrant40 with the ecstasy41 of cold. All Tom's nerves were taut42 with the pleasure of the motion, of the air, of the skill, acquired chiefly at Bere, with which he managed the spirited young nag43. The knowledge of what it was costing him he was able to thrust aside. He would enjoy the moment, and face the reckoning afterward44. When he did face the reckoning, he found that of his fourth ten dollars he had spent six dollars and fifty-seven cents. Only three days earlier he had had the crisp clean bill unbroken in his hand....
He had been hardly able to eat his supper, and after supper the usual two hours of study to which he gave himself on Sunday nights were as time thrown away. Luckily, Honey's consideration left him the room to himself. Honey was like that. If Tom had to work, Honey effaced45 himself, in summer by sitting on the doorstep, in winter by going to bed. Much of Tom's wrestling with Virgil was carried on to the tune2 of Honey's snores.
This being Sunday evening, and Honey less tired
[Pg 229]
than on the days on which he worked, he had gone to "chew the rag," as he phrased it, with a little Jew tailor, who lived next door to Mrs. Danker. Tom was aware that behind this the motive46 was not love for the Jew tailor, but zeal47 that he, Tom, should be interfered48 with as little as possible in his eddication. Tom's eddication was as much an obsession49 to Honey as it was to Tom himself. It was an overmastering compulsion, like that which sent Peary to find the North Pole, Scott to find the South one, and Livingstone and Stanley to cross Africa. What he had to gain by it had no place in his calculation. A machine wound up, and going automatically, could not be more set on its purpose than Lemuel Honeybun on his.
But to-night his absenting of himself was of no help to Tom in giving his mind to the translation from English into Latin on which he was engaged. When he found himself rendering50 the expression "in the meantime" by the words in turpe tempore, he pushed books and paper away from him, with a bitter, emphatic51, "Damn!"
Though it was only nine, there was nothing for it but to go to bed. In bed he would sleep and forget. He always did. Putting out the gas, and pulling the bedclothes up around his ears, he mentally waved the white flag to his carking enemy.
But the carking enemy didn't heed52 the white flag; he came on just the same. For the first time in his life Tom Whitelaw couldn't sleep. Rolling from side to side, he groaned53 and swore at the refusal of relief to come to him. He was still wide awake when about
[Pg 230]
half past ten Honey came in and re-lit the gas, surprised to see the boy already with his face turned to the wall. Not to disturb him, Honey moved round the room on tiptoe.
Tom lay still, his eyes closed. He loathed54 this proximity55, this sharing of one room. In the two previous years he hadn't minded it. But he was older now, almost a man, able to take care of himself. Not only was he growing more fastidious, but the self-consciousness we know as modesty56 was bringing to the over-intimate a new kind of discomfort57. Long meaning to propose two small separate rooms as not much dearer than the larger one, he had not yet come to it, partly through unwillingness58 to add anything to their expenses, and partly through fear of hurting Honey's feelings. But to-night the lack of privacy gave the outlet59 of exasperation60 to his less tangible61 discontents.
He rolled over on his back. One gas jet spluttered in the antiquated62 chandelier. Under it a small deal table was heaped with his books and strewn with his papers. Beside it stood an old armchair stained with the stains of many lodgers63' use, the entrails of the seat protruding64 horribly between the legs. Two small chairs of the kitchen type, a wash-stand, a chest of drawers with a mirror hung above it, two or three flimsy rugs, and the iron cots on which they slept, made a setting for Honey, who sat beneath the gaslight, sewing a button on his undershirt. Turned in profile toward Tom, and wearing nothing but his drawers and socks, he bent65 above his work with the patience of a concentrated mind. He was really a fine
[Pg 231]
figure of a man, brawny66, hairy, spare, muscled like an athlete, a Rodin's Thinker all but the thought, yet irritating Tom as the embodiment of this penury67.
So not from an impulse of confession, but to ease the suffering of his nerves, Tom told something about Maisie Danker. It was only something. He told of the friendship, of the dancing lessons, of the movies, of the sleigh-ride that afternoon, of the forty dollars drawn from the bank. He said nothing of their kisses, nor of the frenzy68 which he thought might be love. Honey pulled his needle up through the hole, and pushed it back again, neither asking questions nor looking up.
"I guess we'll move," was his only comment, when the boy had finished the halting tale.
This quietness excited Tom the more. "What do you want to move for?"
"Because there's dangers what the on'y thing you can do to fight 'em is to run away."
"Who said anything about danger? Do you suppose ...?"
In sticking in his needle Honey handled the implement69 as if it were an awl70. "Do I suppose she's playin' the dooce with yer? No, Kid. She don't have to. You're playin' the dooce with yerself. It's yer age. Sixteen is a terr'ble imagination age."
"Oh, if you think I'm framing the whole thing...."
"No, I don't. Yer believes it all right. On'y it ain't quite so bad as what yer think. It don't do to be too delikit with women. Got to bat 'em away as if they was flies, when they bother yer too much.
[Pg 232]
Once let a woman in on yer game and yer 'and can be queered for good."
"Did I say anything about letting a woman in on my game?"
"No, yer on'y said she'd slipped in. It's too late now to keep her out. She's made the diff'rence."
"What difference?"
Honey threaded his needle laboriously71, held up the end of the thread to moisten it with his lips, and tied a knot in it. "The diff'rence in you. Yer ain't the same young feller what yer was six months ago. You and me has been like one," he went on, placidly72. "Now we're two. Been two this spell back. Couldn't make it out, no more'n Billy-be-damned; and now I see. The first girl."
Tom lashed73 about the bed.
"It was bound to come; and that's why—yer've arsked me about it onst or twice, so I may as well tell yer—that's why I never lets meself get fond o' yer. Could'a did it just as easy as not. When a man gits to my age a young boy what's next o' kin12 to him—why, he'll seem like as if 'twould be his son. But I wouldn't be ketched. 'Honey,' I says to meself, 'the first girl and you'll be dished.'"
"Oh, go to blazes!"
Having finished his button, Honey made it doubly secure by winding74 the thread around it. "Not that I blame yer, Kiddy. I ain't never led no celebrant life meself, not till I had to take you on, and cut out all low company what wouldn't 'a been good for you. But I figured it out that we might 'a got yer through college before yer fell for it. Well, we ain't. Maybe
[Pg 233]
now we'll not git yer to college at all. But we'll make a shy at it. We'll move."
"If you think that by moving you'll keep me from seeing her again...."
"No, son, not no more'n I could keep yer from cuttin' yer throat by lockin' up yer razor. Yer could git another razor. I know that. All the same, it'd be up to me, wouldn't it, not to leave no razors layin' round the room, where yer could put yer 'and on 'em?"
This settling of his destiny over his head angered Tom especially.
"I can save you the trouble of having me on your mind any more. To-morrow I'll be out on my own. I'm going to be a man."
"Sure, you're going to be a man—in time. But yer ain't a man yet."
"I'm sixteen. I can do what any other fellow of sixteen can do."
"No fella of sixteen can do much."
"He can earn a living."
"He can earn part of a livin'. How many boys of sixteen did yer ever know that could swing clear of home and friends and everythink, and feed and clothe and launder75 theirselves on what they made out'n their job?"
"Well, I can try, can't I?"
"Oh, yes, yer can try, Kid. But if you was me, I wouldn't cut loose from nobody, not till I'd got me 'and in."
Tom raised himself on his elbow, his eyes, beneath
[Pg 234]
their protruding horizontal eyebrows76, aglitter with the wrath77 which puts life and the world out of focus.
"I am going to cut loose. I'm going to be my own master."
"Are you, Kid? How much of yer own master do yer expect to be, on the ten or twelve per yer'll git to begin with—if yer gits that?"
"Even if it was only five or six per, I'd be making it myself."
"And what about college?"
"College—hell!"
The boy fell back on his pillow. Feeling he had delivered his ultimatum78, he waited for a reply. But Honey only stowed away his sewing materials in a little black box, after which he pulled off the articles of clothing he continued to wear, and set about his toilet for the night. At the sound of his splashing water on his face Tom muttered to himself: "God, another night of this will kill me."
Honey spoke79 through the muffling80 of the towel, while he dried his face. "Isn't all this fuss what I'm tellin' yer? The minute a girl gits in on a young feller's life there's hell to pay. That's why I'd like yer to steer81 clear of 'em as long as yer can hold out."
Tom shut his eyes, buried his face in the pillow, and affected82 not to hear.
"They don't mean to do no harm; they're just naterally troublesome. Seems as if they was born that way, and couldn't 'elp theirselves. There's a lot of 'em as is never satisfied till they've got a man like a jumpin'-jack, what all they need to do is to pull
[Pg 235]
the string to make him jig83. This girl is one o' them kind."
Tom continued to hold his peace.
"I've saw her. Pretty little thing she is all right. But give her two or three years. Lord love you, Kid, she'll be as washed out then as one of her own ribbons after a hard rain. And yet them is the kind that most young fellers'll run after, like a pup'll run after a squirrel."
Tom was startled. The figure of speech had been used to him before. He could hear it drawled in a tired voice, soft and velvety84. It was queer what conclusions about women these grown men came to! Quidmore had thought them as dangerous as Honey, and warned him against them much as Honey was doing now. Mrs. Quidmore had once been what Maisie was at that minute, and yet as he, Tom, remembered her.... But Honey was going on again, spluttering his words as he brushed his teeth.
"It can be awful easy to git mixed up with a girl, and awful hard to git unmixed. She'll put a man in a hole where he can't help doin' somethink foolish, and then make out as what she've got a claim on him. There's a lot o' talk about women bein' the prey85 o' men; but for one woman as I've ever saw that way I've saw a hundred men as was the prey o' women. Now when a girl of eighteen gits a young boy like you to spend the money as he's saved for his eddication...."
The boy sprang up in bed, hammering the bedclothes. "Don't you say anything against her. I won't listen to it."
[Pg 236]
With that supple86 tread which always made Tom think of one who could easily slip through windows, Honey walked to the closet where he kept his night-shirt. "'Tain't nothink agin her, Kid. Was on'y goin' to say that a girl what'll git a young boy to do that shows what she is. And yer did spend the money a-takin' her about, now didn't yer?"
Tom fell back upon his pillow. Putting out the gas, Honey threw himself on his creaking cot.
"You're a free boy, Kiddy," he went on, while arranging the sheet and blanket as he liked them. "If yer wants to beat it to-morrer, beat it away. Don't stop because yer'll be afraid I'll miss yer. Wasn't never no hand for missin' no one, and don't mean to begin. What I'd 'a liked have been to fill yer up with eddication so that yer could jaw87 to beat the best of 'em, if yer turned out to be the Whitelaw baby."
Tom had almost forgotten who the Whitelaw baby was. Not since that Sunday afternoon nearly three years ago had Honey ever mentioned him. The memory having come back, he made an inarticulate sound of impatience88, finally snuggling to sleep.
He tried to think of Maisie, to conjure89 up the rose in her cheeks, the laughter in her eyes; but all he saw, as he drifted into dreams, was the quaint10 Cambodian face of little Hildred Ansley. Only once did Honey speak again, muttering, as he too fell asleep:
"We'll move."
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收听单词发音
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1
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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2
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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3
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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4
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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5
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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6
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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7
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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8
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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9
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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11
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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12
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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13
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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14
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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15
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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16
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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17
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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18
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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19
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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20
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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21
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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22
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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23
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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24
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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25
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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26
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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27
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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28
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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29
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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30
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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31
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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32
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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33
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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34
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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35
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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36
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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37
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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38
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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39
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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40
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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41
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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42
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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43
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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44
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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45
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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46
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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47
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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48
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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49
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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50
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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51
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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52
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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53
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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54
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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55
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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56
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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57
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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58
unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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59
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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60
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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61
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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62
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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63
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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64
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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65
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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66
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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67
penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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68
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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69
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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70
awl
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| n.尖钻 | |
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71
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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72
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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73
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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74
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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75
launder
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| v.洗涤；洗黑钱（把来路可疑的钱弄得似乎合法） | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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77
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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78
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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79
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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muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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86
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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87
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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