The hotel remains10 to-day pretty much the same as when Jonathan Bayley handed in his accounts in 1840, except that Sewell hasfrom time to time sold the furniture of some of the upper chambers12 to bridal couples in the neighborhood. The bar is still open, and the parlor13 door says Parlour in tall black letters. Now and then a passing drover looks in at that lonely bar-room, where a high-shouldered bottle of Santa Cruz rum ogles14 with a peculiarly knowing air a shrivelled lemon on a shelf; now and then a farmer rides across country to talk crops and stock and take a friendly glass with Tobias; and now and then a circus caravan15 with speckled ponies16, or a menagerie with a soggy elephant, halts under the swinging sign, on which there is a dim mail-coach with four phantomish horses driven by a portly gentleman whose head has been washed off by the rain. Other customers there are none, except that one regular boarder whom have mentioned.
If misery17 makes a man acquainted with strange bed-fellows, it is equally certain that the profession of surveyor and civil engineer often takes one into undreamed-of localities. I had never heard of Greenton until my duties sent me there, and kept me there two weeks in the dreariest19 season of the year. I do not think I would, of my own volition20, have selected Greenton for a fortnight's sojourn21 at any time; but now the business is over, I shall never regret the circumstances that made me the guest of Tobias Sewell, and brought me into intimate relations with Miss Mehetabel's Son.
It was a black October night in the year of grace 1872, that discovered me standing22 in front of the old tavern at the Corners.
Though the ten miles' ride from K——— had been depressing, especially the last five miles, on account of the cold autumnal rain that had set in, I felt a pang23 of regret on hearing the rickety open wagon24 turn round in the road and roll off in the darkness. There were no lights visible anywhere, and only for the big, shapeless mass of something in front of me, which the driver had said was the hotel, I should have fancied that I had been set down by the roadside. I was wet to the skin and in no amiable25 humor; and not being able to find bell-pull or knocker, or even a door, I belabored26 the side of the house with my heavy walking-stick. In a minute or two I saw a light flickering27 somewhere aloft, then I heard the sound of a window opening, followed by an exclamation28 of disgust as a blast of wind extinguished the candle which had given me an instantaneous picture en silhouette29 of a man leaning out of a casement30.
“I say, what do you want, down there?” inquired an unprepossessing voice.
“I want to come in; I want a supper, and a bed, and numberless things.”
“This is n't no time of night to go rousing honest folks out of their sleep. Who are you, anyway?”
The question, superficially considered, was a very simple one, and I, of all people in the world, ought to have been able to answer it off-hand; but it staggered me. Strangely enough, there came drifting across my memory the lettering on the back of a metaphysical work which I had seen years before on a shelf in the Astor Library. Owing to an unpremeditatedly funny collocation of title and author, the lettering read as follows: “Who am I? Jones.” Evidently it had puzzled Jones to know who he was, or he would n't have written a book about it, and come to so lame31 and impotent a conclusion. It certainly puzzled me at that instant to define my identity. “Thirty years ago,” I reflected, “I was nothing; fifty years hence I shall be nothing again, humanly speaking. In the mean time, who am I, sure-enough?” It had never before occurred to me what an indefinite article I was. I wish it had not occurred to me then. Standing there in the rain and darkness, I wrestled32 vainly with the problem, and was constrained33 to fall back upon a Yankee expedient34.
“Isn't this a hotel?” I asked finally,
“Well, it is a sort of hotel,” said the voice, doubtfully. My hesitation35 and prevarication36 had apparently not inspired my interlocutor with confidence in me.
“Then let me in. I have just driven over from K——— in this infernal rain. I am wet through and through.”
“But what do you want here, at the Corners? What's your business? People don't come here, leastways in the middle of the night.”
“It is n't in the middle of the night,” I returned, incensed38. “I come on business connected with the new road. I 'm the superintendent39 of the works.”
“Oh!”
“And if you don't open the door at once, I'll raise the whole neighborhood—and then go to the other hotel.”
When I said that, I supposed Greenton was a village with a population of at least three or four thousand and was wondering vaguely40 at the absence of lights and other signs of human habitation. Surely, I thought, all the people cannot be abed and asleep at half past ten o'clock: perhaps I am in the business section of the town, among the shops.
“You jest wait,” said the voice above.
This request was not devoid41 of a certain accent of menace, and I braced42 myself for a sortie on the part of the besieged43, if he had any such hostile intent. Presently a door opened at the very place where I least expected a door, at the farther end of the building, in fact, and a man in his shirtsleeves, shielding a candle with his left hand, appeared on the threshold. I passed quickly into the house, with Mr. Tobias Sewell (for this was Mr. Sewell) at my heels, and found myself in a long, low-studded bar-room.
There were two chairs drawn44 up before the hearth45, on which a huge hemlock46 backlog47 was still smouldering, and on the un-painted deal counter contiguous stood two cloudy glasses with bits of lemon-peel in the bottom, hinting at recent libations. Against the discolored wall over the bar hung a yellowed handbill, in a warped48 frame, announcing that “the Next Annual N. H. Agricultural Fair” would take place on the 10th of September, 1841. There was no other furniture or decoration in this dismal49 apartment, except the cobwebs which festooned the ceiling, hanging down here and there like stalactites.
Mr. Sewell set the candlestick on the mantel-shelf, and threw some pine-knots on the fire, which immediately broke into a blaze, and showed him to be a lank50, narrow-chested man, past sixty, with sparse51, steel-gray hair, and small, deep-set eyes, perfectly52 round, like a fish's, and of no particular color. His chief personal characteristics seemed to be too much feet and not enough teeth. His sharply cut, but rather simple face, as he turned it towards me, wore a look of interrogation. I replied to his mute inquiry53 by taking out my pocket-book and handing him my business-card, which he held up to the candle and perused54 with great deliberation.
“You 're a civil engineer, are you?” he said, displaying his gums, which gave his countenance55 an expression of almost infantile innocence56. He made no further audible remark, but mumbled57 between his thin lips something which an imaginative person might have construed58 into “If you 're at civil engineer, I 'll be blessed if I would n't like to see an uncivil one!”
Mr. Sewell's growl59, however, was worse than his bite—owing to his lack of teeth probably—for he very good-naturedly set himself to work preparing supper for me. After a slice of cold ham, and a warm punch, to which my chilled condition gave a grateful flavor, I went to bed in a distant chamber11 in a most amiable mood, feeling satisfied that Jones was a donkey to bother himself about his identity.
When I awoke, the sun was several hours high. My bed faced a window, and by raising myself on one elbow I could look out on what I expected would be the main street. To my astonishment60 I beheld61 a lonely country road winding62 up a sterile63 hill and disappearing over the ridge64. In a cornfield at the right of the road was a small private graveyard65, enclosed by a crumbling66 stonewall with a red gate. The only thing suggestive of life was this little corner lot occupied by death. I got out of bed and went to the other window. There I had an uninterrupted view of twelve miles of open landscape, with Mount Agamenticus in the purple distance. Not a house or a spire37 in sight. “Well,” I exclaimed, “Greenton does n't appear to be a very closely packed metropolis67!” That rival hotel with which I had threatened Mr. Sewell overnight was not a deadly weapon, looking at it by daylight. “By Jove!” I reflected, “maybe I 'm in the wrong place.” But there, tacked68 against a panel of the bedroom door, was a faded time-table dated Greenton, August 1, 1839.
I smiled all the time I was dressing69, and went smiling down stairs, where I found Mr. Sewell, assisted by one of the fair sex in the first bloom of her eightieth year, serving breakfast for me on a small table—in the bar-room!
“I overslept myself this morning,” I remarked apologetically, “and I see that I am putting you to some trouble. In future, if you will have me called, I will take my meals at the usual table de hôte.”
“At the what?” said Mr. Sewell.
“I mean with the other boarders.”
Mr. Sewell paused in the act of lifting a chop from the fire, and, resting the point of his fork against the woodwork of the mantelpiece, grinned from ear to ear.
“Bless you! there is n't any other boarders. There has n't been anybody put up here sence—let me see—sence father-in-law died, and that was in the fall of '40. To be sure, there 's Silas; he's a regular boarder; but I don't count him.”
Mr. Sewell then explained how the tavern had lost its custom when the old stage line was broken up by the railroad. The introduction of steam was, in Mr. Sewell's estimation, a fatal error. “Jest killed local business. Carried it off, I 'm darned if I know where. The whole country has been sort o' retrograding ever sence steam was invented.”
“Silas? Yes; he come here the summer 'Tilda died—she that was 'Tilda Bayley—and he 's here yet, going on thirteen year. He could n't live any longer with the old man. Between you and I, old Clem Jaffrey, Silas's father, was a hard nut. Yes,” said Mr. Sewell, crooking71 his elbow in inimitable pantomime, “altogether too often. Found dead in the road hugging a three-gallon demijohn. Habeas corpus in the barn,” added Mr. Sewell, intending, I presume, to intimate that a post-mortem examination had been deemed necessary. “Silas,” he resumed, in that respectful tone which one should always adopt when speaking of capital, “is a man of considerable property; lives on his interest, and keeps a hoss and shay. He 's a great scholar, too, Silas; takes all the pe-ri-odicals and the Police Gazette regular.”
Mr. Sewell was turning over a third chop, when the door opened and a stoutish72, middle-aged73 little gentleman, clad in deep black, stepped into the room.
“Silas Jaffrey,” said Mr. Sewell, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, picking up me and the new-comer on one fork, so to speak. “Be acquainted!”
Mr. Jaffrey advanced briskly, and gave me his hand with unlooked-for cordiality. He was a dapper little man, with a head as round and nearly as bald as an orange, and not unlike an orange in complexion74, either; he had twinkling gray eyes and a pronounced Roman nose, the numerous freckles75 upon which were deepened by his funereal76 dress-coat and trousers. He reminded me of Alfred de Musset's blackbird, which, with its yellow beak77 and sombre plumage, looked like an undertaker eating an omelet.
“Silas will take care of you,” said Mr. Sewell, taking down his hat from a peg78 behind the door. “I 've got the cattle to look after. Tell him, if you want anything.”
While I ate my breakfast, Mr. Jaffrey hopped79 up and down the narrow bar-room and chirped80 away as blithely81 as a bird on a cherry-bough, occasionally ruffling82 with his fingers a slight fringe of auburn hair which stood up pertly round his head and seemed to possess a luminous83 quality of its own.
“Don't I find it a little slow up here at the Corners? Not at all, my dear sir. I am in the thick of life up here. So many interesting things going on all over the world—inventions, discoveries, spirits, railroad disasters, mysterious homicides. Poets, murderers, musicians, statesmen, distinguished84 travellers, prodigies85 of all kinds turning up everywhere. Very few events or persons escape me. I take six daily city papers, thirteen weekly journals, all the monthly magazines, and two quarterlies. I could not get along with less. I could n't if you asked me. I never feel lonely. How can I, being on intimate terms, as it were, with thousands and thousands of people? There's that young woman out West. What an entertaining creature she is!—now in Missouri, now in Indiana, and now in Minnesota, always on the go, and all the time shedding needles from various parts of her body as if she really enjoyed it! Then there 's that versatile86 patriarch who walks hundreds of miles and saws thousands of feet of wood, before breakfast, and shows no signs of giving out. Then there's that remarkable87, one may say that historical colored woman who knew Benjamin Franklin, and fought at the battle of Bunk—no, it is the old negro man who fought at Bunker Hill, a mere1 infant, of course, at that period. Really, now, it is quite curious to observe how that venerable female slave—formerly an African princess—is repeatedly dying in her hundred and eleventh year, and coming to life again punctually every six months in the small-type paragraphs. Are you aware, sir, that within the last twelve years no fewer than two hundred and eighty-seven of General Washington's colored coachmen have died?”
For the soul of me I could not tell whether this quaint18 little gentleman was chaffing me or not. I laid down my knife and fork, and stared at him.
“Then there are the mathematicians88!” he cried vivaciously89, without waiting for a reply. “I take great interest in them. Hear this!” and Mr. Jaffrey drew a newspaper from a pocket in the tail of his coat, and read as follows: “It has been estimated that if all the candles manufactured by this eminent90 firm (Stearine & Co.) were placed end to end, they would reach 2 and 7/8 times around the globe. Of course,” continued Mr. Jaffrey, folding up the journal reflectively, “abstruse calculations of this kind are not, perhaps, of vital importance, but they indicate the intellectual activity of the age. Seriously, now,” he said, halting in front of the table, “what with books and papers and drives about the country, I do not find the days too long, though I seldom see any one, except when I go over to K——— for my mail. Existence may be very full to a man who stands a little aside from the tumult91 and watches it with philosophic92 eye. Possibly he may see more of the battle than those who are in the midst of the action. Once I was struggling with the crowd, as eager and undaunted as the best; perhaps I should have been struggling still. Indeed, I know my life would have been very different now if I had married Mehetabel—if I had married Mehetabel.”
His vivacity93 was gone, a sudden cloud had come over his bright face, his figure seemed to have collapsed94, the light seemed to have faded out of his hair. With a shuffling95 step, the very antithesis96 of his brisk, elastic97 tread, he turned to the door and passed into the road.
“Well,” I said to myself, “if Greenton had forty thousand inhabitants, it could n't turn out a more astonishing old party than that!”
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1
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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4
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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11
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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13
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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14
ogles
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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17
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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18
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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dreariest
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的最高级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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22
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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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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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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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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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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27
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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28
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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prevarication
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| n.支吾；搪塞；说谎；有枝有叶 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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40
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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42
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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43
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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45
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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47
backlog
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| n.积压未办之事 | |
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48
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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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
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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51
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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52
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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53
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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54
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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55
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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56
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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57
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
construed
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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59
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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60
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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61
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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62
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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63
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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64
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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65
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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66
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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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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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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crooking
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| n.弯曲（木材等的缺陷）v.弯成钩形( crook的现在分词 ) | |
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stoutish
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| 略胖的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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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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chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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prodigies
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| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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mathematicians
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| 数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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