The humblest painter of real life, if he could have his desire, would select a picturesque1 background for his figures; but events have an inexorable fashion for choosing their own landscape. In the present instance it is reluctantly conceded that there are few uglier or more commonplace towns in New England than Stillwater,--a straggling, overgrown village, with whose rural aspects are curiously2 blended something of the grimness and squalor of certain shabby city neighborhoods. Being of comparatively recent date, the place has none of those colonial associations which, like sprigs of lavender in an old chest of drawers, are a saving grace to other quite as dreary3 nooks and corners.
Here and there at what is termed the West End is a neat brick mansion4 with garden attached, where nature asserts herself in dahlias and china-asters; but the houses are mostly frame houses that have taken a prevailing5 dingy6 tint7 from the breath of the tall chimneys which dominate the village. The sidewalks in the more aristocratic quarter are covered with a thin, elastic8 paste of asphalte, worn down to the gravel9 in patches, and emitting in the heat of the day an astringent10, bituminous odor. The population is chiefly of the rougher sort, such as breeds in the shadow of foundries and factories, and if the Protestant pastor11 and the fatherly Catholic priest, whose respective lots are cast there, have sometimes the sense of being missionaries12 dropped in the midst of a purely13 savage14 community, the delusion15 is not wholly unreasonable16.
The irregular heaps of scoria that have accumulated in the vicinity of the iron works give the place an illusive17 air of antiquity18; bit it is neither ancient nor picturesque. The oldest and most pictorial19 thing in Stillwater is probably the marble yard, around three sides of which the village may be said to have sprouted20 up rankly, bearing here and there an industrial blossom in the shape of an iron-mill or a cardigan-jacket manufactory. Rowland Slocum, a man of considerable refinement21, great kindness of heart, and no force, inherited the yard from his father, and a the period this narrative22 opens (the summer of 187-) was its sole proprietor23 and nominal24 manager, the actual manager being Richard Shackford, a prospective25 partner in the business and the betrothed26 of Mr. Slocum's daughter Margaret.
Forty years ago every tenth person in Stillwater was either a Shackford or a Slocum. Twenty years later both names were nearly extinct there. That fatality27 which seems to attend certain New England families had stripped every leaf but two from the Shackford branch. These were Lemuel Shackford, then about forty-six, and Richard Shackford, aged28 four. Lemuel Shackford had laid up a competency as ship-master in the New York and Calcutta trade, and in 1852 had returned to his native village, where he found his name and stock represented only by little Dick, a very cheerful orphan29, who stared complacently30 with big blue eyes at fate, and made mud-pies in the lane whenever he could elude31 the vigilance of the kindly32 old woman who had taken him under her roof. This atom of humanity, by some strange miscalculation of nature, was his cousin.
The strict devotion to his personal interests which had enabled Mr. Shackford to acquire a fortune thus early caused him to look askance at a penniless young kinsman33 with stockings down at heel, and a straw hat three sizes too large for him set on the back of his head. But Mr. Shackford was ashamed to leave little Dick a burden upon the hands of a poor woman of no relationship whatever to the child; so little Dick was transferred to that dejected house which has already been described, and was then known as the Sloper house.
Here, for three of four years, Dick grew up, as neglected as a weed, and every inch as happy. It should be mentioned that for the first year or so a shock-headed Cicely from the town-farm had apparently34 been hired not to take care of him. But Dick asked nothing better than to be left to his own devices, which, moreover, were innocent enough. He would sit all day in the lane at the front gate pottering with a bit of twig35 or a case-knife in the soft clay. From time to time passers-by observed that the child was not making mud-pies, but tracing figures, comic or grotesque36 as might happen, and always quite wonderful for their lack of resemblance to anything human. That patch of reddish-brown clay was his sole resource, his slate37, his drawing-book, and woe38 to anybody who chanced to walk over little Dick's arabesques39. Patient and gentle in his acceptance of the world's rebuffs, this he would not endure. He was afraid of Mr. Shackford, yet one day, when the preoccupied40 man happened to trample41 on a newly executed hieroglyphic42, the child rose to his feet white with rage, his fingers clenched43, and such a blue fire flashing in the eyes that Mr. Shackford drew back aghast.
"Why, it's a little devil!"
While Shackford junior was amusing himself with his primitive44 bas-reliefs, Shackford senior amused himself with his lawsuits45. From the hour when he returned to the town until the end of his days Mr. Shackford was up to his neck in legal difficulties. Now he resisted a betterment assessment46, and fought the town; now he secured an injunction on the Miantowona Iron Works, and fought the corporation. He was understood to have a perpetual case in equity47 before the Marine48 Court in New York, to which city he made frequent and unannounced journeys. His immediate49 neighbors stood in terror of him. He was like a duelist, on the alert to twist the slightest thing into a _casus belli_. The law was his rapier, his recreation, and he was willing to bleed for it.
Meanwhile that fairy world of which every baby becomes a Columbus so soon as it is able to walk remained an undiscovered continent to little Dick. Grim life looked in upon him as he lay in the cradle. The common joys of childhood were a sealed volume to him. A single incident of those years lights up the whole situation. A vague rumor50 had been blown to Dick of a practice of hanging up stockings at Christmas. It struck his materialistic51 mind as a rather senseless thing to do; but nevertheless he resolved to try it one Christmas Eve. He lay awake a long while in the frosty darkness, skeptically waiting for something remarkable52 to happen; once he crawled out of the cot-bed and groped his way to the chimney place. The next morning he was scarcely disappointed at finding nothing in the piteous little stocking, except the original holes.
The years that stole silently over the heads of the old man and the young child in Welch's Court brought a period of wild prosperity to Stillwater. The breath of war blew the forges to a white heat, and the baffling problem of the mediaeval alchemists was solved. The baser metals were transmuted53 into gold. A disastrous54, prosperous time, with the air rent periodically by the cries of newsboys as battles were fought, and by the roll of the drum in the busy streets as fresh recruits were wanted. Glory and death to the Southward, and at the North pale women in black.
All which interested Dick mighty55 little. After he had learned to read at the district school, he escaped into another world. Two lights were now generally seen burning of a night in the Shackford house: one on the ground-floor where Mr. Shackford sat mouthing his contracts and mortgages, and weaving his webs like a great, lean, gray spider; and the other in the north gable, where Dick hung over a tattered56 copy of Robinson Crusoe by the flicker57 of the candle-ends which he had captured during the day.
Little Dick was little Dick no more: a tall, heavily built blond boy, with a quiet, sweet disposition58, that at first offered temptations to the despots of the playground; but a sudden flaring59 up once or twice of that unexpected spirit which had broken out in his babyhood brought him immunity60 from serious persecution61.
The boy's home life at this time would have seemed pathetic to an observer,--the more pathetic, perhaps, in that Dick himself was not aware of its exceptional barrenness. The holidays that bring new brightness to the eyes of happier children were to him simply days when he did not go to school, and was expected to provide an extra quantity of kindling62 wood. He was housed, and fed, and clothed, after a fashion, but not loved. Mr. Shackford did not ill-treat the lad, in the sense of beating him; he merely neglected him. Every year the man became more absorbed in his law cases and his money, which accumulated magically. He dwelt in a cloud of calculations. Though all his interests attached him to the material world, his dry, attenuated63 body seemed scarcely a part of it.
"Shackford, what are you going to do with that scapegrace of yours?"
It was Mr. Leonard Tappleton who ventured the question. Few persons dared to interrogate65 Mr. Shackford on his private affairs.
"I am going to make a lawyer of him," said Mr. Shackford, crackling his finger-joints like stiff parchment.
"You couldn't do better. You _ought_ to have an attorney in the family."
"Just so," assented66 Mr. Shackford, dryly. "I could throw a bit of business in his way now and then,--eh?"
"You could make his fortune, Shackford. I don't see but you might employ him all the time. When he was not fighting the corporations, you might keep him at it suing you for his fees."
"Very good, very good indeed," responded Mr. Shackford, with a smile in which his eyes took no share, it was merely a momentary67 curling up of crisp wrinkles. He did not usually smile at other people's pleasantries; but when a person worth three or four hundred thousand dollars condescends68 to indulge a joke, it is not to be passed over like that of a poor relation. "Yes, yes," muttered the old man, as he stooped and picked up a pin, adding it to a row of similarly acquired pins which gave the left lapel of his threadbare coat the appearance of a miniature harp69, "I shall make a lawyer of him."
It had long been settled in Mr. Shackford's mind that Richard, so soon as he had finished his studies, should enter the law-office of Blandmann & Sharpe, a firm of rather sinister70 reputation in South Millville.
At fourteen Richard's eyes had begun to open on the situation; at fifteen he saw very clearly; and one day, without much preliminary formulating71 of his plan, he decided72 on a step that had been taken by every male Shackford as far back as tradition preserves the record of his family.
A friendship had sprung up between Richard and one William Durgin, a school-mate. This Durgin was a sallow, brooding boy, a year older than himself. The two lads were antipodal in disposition, intelligence, and social standing73; for though Richard went poorly clad, the reflection of his cousin's wealth gilded74 him. Durgin was the son of a washerwoman. An intimacy75 between the two would perhaps have been unlikely but for one fact: it was Durgin's mother who had given little Dick a shelter at the period of his parents' death. Though the circumstance did not lie within the pale of Richard's personal memory, he acknowledged the debt by rather insisting on Durgin's friendship. It was William Durgin, therefore, who was elected to wait upon Mr. Shackford on a certain morning which found that gentleman greatly disturbed by an unprecedented76 occurrence,--Richard had slept out of the house the previous night.
Durgin was the bearer of a note which Mr. Shackford received in some astonishment77, and read deliberately78, blinking with weak eyes behind the glasses. Having torn off the blank page and laid it aside for his own more economical correspondence (the rascal79 had actually used a whole sheet to write ten words!), Mr. Shackford turned, and with the absorbed air of a naturalist80 studying some abnormal bug81 gazed over the steel bow of his spectacles at Durgin.
Durgin hastily retreated.
"There's a poor lawyer saved," muttered the old man, taking down his overcoat from a peg64 behind the door, and snapping off a shred83 of lint84 on the collar with his lean forefinger85. Then his face relaxed, and an odd grin diffused86 a kind of wintry glow over it.
Richard had run away to sea.
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1
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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2
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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3
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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4
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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5
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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6
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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7
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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8
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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9
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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10
astringent
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| adj.止血的，收缩的，涩的；n.收缩剂，止血剂 | |
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11
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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12
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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13
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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14
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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15
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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16
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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17
illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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18
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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19
pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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20
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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21
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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22
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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23
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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24
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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25
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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26
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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28
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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29
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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30
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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31
elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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32
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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33
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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34
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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35
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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36
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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37
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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38
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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39
arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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40
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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41
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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42
hieroglyphic
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| n.象形文字 | |
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43
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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45
lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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46
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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47
equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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48
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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49
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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50
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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51
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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52
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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53
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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55
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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56
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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57
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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58
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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59
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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60
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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61
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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62
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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63
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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64
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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65
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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66
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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68
condescends
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的第三人称单数 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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69
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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70
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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71
formulating
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| v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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72
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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73
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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74
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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75
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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76
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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77
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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78
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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79
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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80
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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81
bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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82
skit
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| n.滑稽短剧；一群 | |
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83
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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84
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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85
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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86
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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