During these two weeks, at the disposal of Ernest Peabody—on the Reform Ticket, "the people's choice for Lieutenant-Governor—" Winthrop had placed his Scarlet3 Car, and, as its chauffeur4, himself.
Not that Winthrop greatly cared for Reform, or Ernest Peabody. The "whirlwind" part of the campaign was what attracted him; the crowds, the bands, the fireworks, the rush by night from hall to hall, from Fordham to Tompkinsville. And, while inside the different Lyceums, Peabody lashed5 the Tammany Tiger, outside in his car, Winthrop was making friends with Tammany policemen, and his natural enemies, the bicycle cops. To Winthrop, the day in which he did not increase his acquaintance with the traffic squad7, was a day lost.
But the real reason for his efforts in the cause of Reform, was one he could not declare. And it was a reason that was guessed perhaps by only one person. On some nights Beatrice Forbes and her brother Sam accompanied Peabody. And while Peabody sat in the rear of the car, mumbling8 the speech he would next deliver, Winthrop was given the chance to talk with her. These chances were growing cruelly few. In one month after election day Miss Forbes and Peabody would be man and wife. Once before the day of their marriage had been fixed9, but, when the Reform Party offered Peabody a high place on its ticket, he asked, in order that he might bear his part in the cause of reform, that the wedding be postponed10. To the postponement11 Miss Forbes made no objection. To one less self-centred than Peabody, it might have appeared that she almost too readily consented.
"I knew I could count upon your seeing my duty as I saw it," said Peabody much pleased, "it always will be a satisfaction to both of us to remember you never stood between me and my work for reform."
"What do you think my brother-in-law-to-be has done now?" demanded Sam of Winthrop, as the Scarlet Car swept into Jerome Avenue. "He's postponed his marriage with Trix just because he has a chance to be Lieutenant-Governor. What is a Lieutenant-Governor anyway, do you know? I don't like to ask Peabody."
"It is not his own election he's working for," said Winthrop. He was conscious of an effort to assume a point of view both noble and magnanimous.
"He probably feels the 'cause' calls him. But, good Heavens!"
Winthrop swung the car back into the avenue.
"To think," he cried, "that a man who could marry—a girl, and then would ask her to wait two months. Or, two days! Two months lost out of his life, and she might die; he might lose her, she might change her mind. Any number of men can be Lieutenant-Governors; only one man can be——"
He broke off suddenly, coughed and fixed his eyes miserably13 on the road. After a brief pause, Brother Sam covertly14 looked at him. Could it be that "Billie" Winthrop, the man liked of all men, should love his sister, and—that she should prefer Ernest Peabody? He was deeply, loyally indignant. He determined15 to demand of his sister an immediate16 and abject17 apology.
At eight o'clock on the morning of election day, Peabody, in the Scarlet Car, was on his way to vote. He lived at Riverside Drive, and the polling-booth was only a few blocks distant. During the rest of the day he intended to use the car to visit other election districts, and to keep him in touch with the Reformers at the Gilsey House. Winthrop was acting18 as his chauffeur, and in the rear seat was Miss Forbes. Peabody had asked her to accompany him to the polling-booth, because he thought women who believed in reform should show their interest in it in public, before all men. Miss Forbes disagreed with him, chiefly because whenever she sat in a box at any of the public meetings the artists from the newspapers, instead of immortalizing the candidate, made pictures of her and her hat. After she had seen her future lord and master cast his vote for reform and himself, she was to depart by train to Tarrytown. The Forbes's country place was there, and for election day her brother Sam had invited out some of his friends to play tennis.
As the car darted19 and dodged20 up Eighth Avenue, a man who had been hidden by the stairs to the Elevated, stepped in front of it. It caught him, and hurled21 him, like a mail-bag tossed from a train, against one of the pillars that support the overhead tracks. Winthrop gave a cry and fell upon the brakes. The cry was as full of pain as though he himself had been mangled22. Miss Forbes saw only the man appear, and then disappear, but, Winthrop's shout of warning, and the wrench23 as the brakes locked, told her what had happened. She shut her eyes, and for an instant covered them with her hands. On the front seat Peabody clutched helplessly at the cushions. In horror his eyes were fastened on the motionless mass jammed against the pillar. Winthrop scrambled24 over him, and ran to where the man lay. So, apparently25, did every other inhabitant of Eighth Avenue; but Winthrop was the first to reach him and kneeling in the car tracks, he tried to place the head and shoulders of the body against the iron pillar. He had seen very few dead men; and to him, this weight in his arms, this bundle of limp flesh and muddy clothes, and the purple-bloated face with blood trickling26 down it, looked like a dead man.
Once or twice when in his car, Death had reached for Winthrop, and only by the scantiest27 grace had he escaped. Then the nearness of it had only sobered him. Now that he believed he had brought it to a fellow man, even though he knew he was in no degree to blame, the thought sickened and shocked him. His brain trembled with remorse28 and horror.
But voices assailing29 him on every side brought him to the necessity of the moment. Men were pressing close upon him, jostling, abusing him, shaking fists in his face. Another crowd of men, as though fearing the car would escape of its own volition30, were clinging to the steps and running boards.
Winthrop saw Miss Forbes standing31 above them, talking eagerly to Peabody, and pointing at him. He heard children's shrill32 voices calling to new arrivals that an automobile1 had killed a man; that it had killed him on purpose. On the outer edge of the crowd men shouted: "Ah, soak him," "Kill him," "Lynch him."
A soiled giant without a collar stooped over the purple, blood-stained face, and then leaped upright, and shouted: "It's Jerry Gaylor, he's killed old man Gaylor."
The response was instant. Every one seemed to know Jerry Gaylor.
Winthrop took the soiled person by the arm.
"You help me lift him into my car," he ordered. "Take him by the shoulders. We must get him to a hospital."
"To a hospital? To the Morgue!" roared the man. "And the police station for yours. You don't do no get-away."
Winthrop answered him by turning to the crowd. "If this man has any friends here, they'll please help me put him in my car, and we'll take him to Roosevelt Hospital."
The soiled person shoved a fist and a bad cigar under Winthrop's nose.
"Has he got any friends?" he mocked. "Sure, he's got friends, and they'll fix you, all right."
"Sure!" echoed the crowd.
The man was encouraged.
"Don't you go away thinking you can come up here with your buzz wagon33 and murder better men nor you'll ever be and——"
"Oh, shut up!" said Winthrop.
He turned his back on the soiled man, and again appealed to the crowd.
"Don't stand there doing nothing," he commanded. "Do you want this man to die? Some of you ring for an ambulance and get a policeman, or tell me where is the nearest drug store."
No one moved, but every one shouted to every one else to do as Winthrop suggested.
Winthrop felt something pulling at his sleeve, and turning, found Peabody at his shoulder peering fearfully at the figure in the street. He had drawn34 his cap over his eyes and hidden the lower part of his face in the high collar of his motor coat. "I can't do anything, can I?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not," whispered Winthrop. "Go back to the car and don't leave Beatrice. I'll attend to this."
"That's what I thought," whispered Peabody eagerly. "I thought she and I had better keep out of it."
"Right!" exclaimed Winthrop. "Go back and get Beatrice away."
Peabody looked his relief, but still hesitated.
"I can't do anything, as you say," he stammered35, "and it's sure to get in the 'extras,' and they'll be out in time to lose us thousands of votes, and though no one is to blame, they're sure to blame me. I don't care about myself," he added eagerly, "but the very morning of election—half the city has not voted yet—the Ticket——"
"Damn the Ticket!" exclaimed Winthrop. "The man's dead!"
Peabody, burying his face still deeper in his collar, backed into the crowd. In the present and past campaigns, from carts and automobiles he had made many speeches in Harlem, and on the West Side, lithographs36 of his stern, resolute37 features hung in every delicatessen shop, and that he might be recognized, was extremely likely.
He whispered to Miss Forbes what he had said, and what Winthrop had said.
"But you DON'T mean to leave him," remarked Miss Forbes.
"I must," returned Peabody. "I can do nothing for the man, and you know how Tammany will use this—They'll have it on the street by ten. They'll say I was driving recklessly; without regard for human life. And, besides, they're waiting for me at headquarters. Please hurry. I am late now."
Miss Forbes gave an exclamation38 of surprise.
"Why, I'm not going," she said.
"You must go! I must go. You can't remain here alone."
Peabody spoke39 in the quick, assured tone that at the first had convinced Miss Forbes his was a most masterful manner.
"Winthrop, too," he added, "wants you to go away."
Miss Forbes made no reply. But she looked at Peabody inquiringly, steadily40, as though she were puzzled as to his identity, as though he had just been introduced to her. It made him uncomfortable.
"Are you coming?" he asked.
Her answer was a question.
"Are you going?"
"I am!" returned Peabody. He added sharply: "I must."
"Good-by," said Miss Forbes.
As he ran up the steps to the station of the elevated, it seemed to Peabody that the tone of her "good-by" had been most unpleasant. It was severe, disapproving41. It had a final, fateful sound. He was conscious of a feeling of self-dissatisfaction. In not seeing the political importance of his not being mixed up with this accident, Winthrop had been peculiarly obtuse42, and Beatrice, unsympathetic. Until he had cast his vote for Reform, he felt distinctly ill-used.
For a moment Beatrice Forbes sat in the car motionless, staring unseeingly at the iron steps by which Peabody had disappeared. For a few moments her brows were tightly drawn. Then, having apparently quickly arrived at some conclusion, she opened the door of the car and pushed into the crowd.
Winthrop received her most rudely.
"You mustn't come here!" he cried.
"I thought," she stammered, "you might want some one?"
"I told—" began Winthrop, and then stopped, and added—"to take you away. Where is he?"
Miss Forbes flushed slightly.
"He's gone," she said.
In trying not to look at Winthrop, she saw the fallen figure, motionless against the pillar, and with an exclamation, bent43 fearfully toward it.
"Can I do anything?" she asked.
The crowd gave way for her, and with curious pleased faces, closed in again eagerly. She afforded them a new interest.
A young man in the uniform of an ambulance surgeon was kneeling beside the mud-stained figure, and a police officer was standing over both. The ambulance surgeon touched lightly the matted hair from which the blood escaped, stuck his finger in the eye of the prostrate44 man, and then with his open hand slapped him across the face.
The young doctor heard her, and looking up, scowled47 reprovingly. Seeing she was a rarely beautiful young woman, he scowled less severely48; and then deliberately49 and expertly, again slapped Mr. Jerry Gaylor on the cheek. He watched the white mark made by his hand upon the purple skin, until the blood struggled slowly back to it, and then rose.
He ignored every one but the police officer.
"There's nothing the matter with HIM," he said. "He's dead drunk."
The words came to Winthrop with such abrupt50 relief, bearing so tremendous a burden of gratitude51, that his heart seemed to fail him. In his suddenly regained52 happiness, he unconsciously laughed.
"Are you sure?" he asked eagerly. "I thought I'd killed him."
The surgeon looked at Winthrop coldly.
"When they're like that," he explained with authority, "you can't hurt 'em if you throw them off the Times Building."
He condescended53 to recognize the crowd. "You know where this man lives?"
Voices answered that Mr. Gaylor lived at the corner, over the saloon. The voices showed a lack of sympathy. Old man Gaylor dead was a novelty; old man Gaylor drunk was not.
The doctor's prescription54 was simple and direct.
"Put him to bed till he sleeps it off," he ordered; he swung himself to the step of the ambulance. "Let him out, Steve," he called. There was the clang of a gong and the rattle55 of galloping56 hoofs57.
The police officer approached Winthrop. "They tell me Jerry stepped in front of your car; that you wasn't to blame. I'll get their names and where they live. Jerry might try to hold you up for damages."
"Thank you very much," said Winthrop.
With several of Jerry's friends, and the soiled person, who now seemed dissatisfied that Jerry was alive, Winthrop helped to carry him up one flight of stairs and drop him upon a bed.
"In case he needs anything," said Winthrop, and gave several bills to the soiled person, upon whom immediately Gaylor's other friends closed in. "And I'll send my own doctor at once to attend to him."
The opinions as to what might be Mr. Gaylor's next move seemed unanimous.
From the saloon below, Winthrop telephoned to the family doctor, and then rejoined Miss Forbes and the Police officer. The officer gave him the names of those citizens who had witnessed the accident, and in return received Winthrop's card.
"Not that it will go any further," said the officer reassuringly59. "They're all saying you acted all right and wanted to take him to Roosevelt. There's many," he added with sententious indignation, "that knock a man down, and then run away without waiting to find out if they've hurted 'em or killed 'em."
The speech for both Winthrop and Miss Forbes was equally embarrassing.
"You don't say?" exclaimed Winthrop nervously60. He shook the policeman's hand. The handclasp was apparently satisfactory to that official, for he murmured "Thank you," and stuck something in the lining61 of his helmet. "Now, then!" Winthrop said briskly to Miss Forbes, "I think we have done all we can. And we'll get away from this place a little faster than the law allows."
Miss Forbes had seated herself in the car, and Winthrop was cranking up, when the same policeman, wearing an anxious countenance62, touched him on the arm. "There is a gentleman here," he said, "wants to speak to you." He placed himself between the gentleman and Winthrop and whispered: "He's 'Izzy' Schwab, he's a Harlem police-court lawyer and a Tammany man. He's after something, look out for him."
Winthrop saw, smiling at him ingratiatingly, a slight, slim youth, with beady, rat-like eyes, a low forehead, and a Hebraic nose. He wondered how it had been possible for Jerry Gaylor to so quickly secure counsel. But Mr. Schwab at once undeceived him.
"I'm from the Journal," he began, "not regular on the staff, but I send 'em Harlem items, and the court reporter treats me nice, see! Now about this accident; could you give me the name of the young lady?"
He smiled encouragingly at Miss Forbes.
"I could not!" growled63 Winthrop. "The man wasn't hurt, the policeman will tell you so. It is not of the least public interest."
"Well, mebbe not the lady's name," he granted, "but the name of the OTHER gentleman who was with you, when the accident occurred." His black, rat-like eyes snapped. "I think HIS name would be of public interest."
To gain time Winthrop stepped into the driver's seat. He looked at Mr. Schwab steadily.
"There was no other gentleman," he said. "Do you mean my chauffeur?" Mr. Schwab gave an appreciative65 chuckle66.
"No, I don't mean your chauffeur," he mimicked67. "I mean," he declared theatrically68 in his best police-court manner, "the man who to-day is hoping to beat Tammany, Ernest Peabody!"
Winthrop stared at the youth insolently69.
"I don't understand you," he said.
"Oh, of course not!" jeered70 "Izzy" Schwab. He moved excitedly from foot to foot. "Then who WAS the other man," he demanded, "the man who ran away?"
Winthrop felt the blood rise to his face. That Miss Forbes should hear this rat of a man, sneering71 at the one she was to marry, made him hate Peabody. But he answered easily:
"No one ran away. I told my chauffeur to go and call up an ambulance. That was the man you saw."
As when "leading on" a witness to commit himself, Mr. Schwab smiled sympathetically.
"And he hasn't got back yet," he purred, "has he?"
"No, and I'm not going to wait for him," returned Winthrop. He reached for the clutch, but Mr. Schwab jumped directly in front of the car.
"Was he looking for a telephone when he ran up the elevated steps?" he cried.
He shook his fists vehemently72.
"Oh, no, Mr. Winthrop, it won't do—you make a good witness. I wouldn't ask for no better, but, you don't fool 'Izzy' Schwab."
"You're mistaken, I tell you," cried Winthrop desperately73. "He may look like—like this man you speak of, but no Peabody was in this car."
"No, he wasn't!" he cried, "because he run away! And left an old man in the street—dead, for all he knowed—nor cared neither. Yah!" shrieked the Tammany heeler. "HIM a Reformer, yah!"
"Stand away from my car," shouted Winthrop, "or you'll get hurt."
"Yah, you'd like to, wouldn't you?" returned Mr. Schwab, leaping, nimbly to one side. "What do you think the Journal'll give me for that story, hey? 'Ernest Peabody, the Reformer, Kills an Old Man, AND RUNS AWAY.' And hiding his face, too! I seen him. What do you think that story's worth to Tammany, hey? It's worth twenty thousand votes!" The young man danced in front of the car triumphantly76, mockingly, in a frenzy77 of malice78. "Read the extras, that's all," he taunted79. "Read 'em in an hour from now!"
Winthrop glared at the shrieking80 figure with fierce, impotent rage; then, with a look of disgust, he flung the robe off his knees and rose. Mr. Schwab, fearing bodily injury, backed precipitately81 behind the policeman.
"Come here," commanded Winthrop softly. Mr. Schwab warily82 approached. "That story," said Winthrop, dropping his voice to a low whisper, "is worth a damn sight more to you than twenty thousand votes. You take a spin with me up Riverside Drive where we can talk. Maybe you and I can 'make a little business.'"
At the words, the face of Mr. Schwab first darkened angrily, and then, lit with such exultation83 that it appeared as though Winthrop's efforts had only placed Peabody deeper in Mr. Schwab's power. But the rat-like eyes wavered, there was doubt in them, and greed, and, when they turned to observe if any one could have heard the offer, Winthrop felt the trick was his. It was apparent that Mr. Schwab was willing to arbitrate.
He stepped gingerly into the front seat, and as Winthrop leaned over him and tucked and buckled84 the fur robe around his knees, he could not resist a glance at his friends on the sidewalk. They were grinning with wonder and envy, and as the great car shook itself, and ran easily forward, Mr. Schwab leaned back and carelessly waved his hand. But his mind did not waver from the purpose of his ride. He was not one to be cajoled with fur rugs and glittering brass85.
"Well, Mr. Winthrop," he began briskly. "You want to say something? You must be quick—every minute's money."
"Wait till we're out of the traffic," begged Winthrop anxiously "I don't want to run down any more old men, and I wouldn't for the world have anything happen to you, Mr.—" He paused politely.
"Schwab—Isadore Schwab."
"How did you know MY name?" asked Winthrop.
"The card you gave the police officer"
"I see," said Winthrop. They were silent while the car swept swiftly west, and Mr. Schwab kept thinking that for a young man who was afraid of the traffic, Winthrop was dodging86 the motor cars, beer vans, and iron pillars, with a dexterity87 that was criminally reckless.
At that hour Riverside Drive was empty, and after a gasp45 of relief, Mr. Schwab resumed the attack.
"Now, then," he said sharply, "don't go any further. What is this you want to talk about?"
"How much will the Journal give you for this story of yours?" asked Winthrop.
Mr. Schwab smiled mysteriously.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because," said Winthrop, "I think I could offer you something better."
"You mean," said the police-court lawyer cautiously, "you will make it worth my while not to tell the truth about what I saw?"
"Exactly," said Winthrop.
"That's all! Stop the car," cried Mr. Schwab. His manner was commanding. It vibrated with triumph. His eyes glistened88 with wicked satisfaction.
"Stop the car?" demanded Winthrop, "what do you mean?"
"I mean," said Mr. Schwab dramatically, "that I've got you where I want you, thank you. You have killed Peabody dead as a cigar butt89! Now I can tell them how his friends tried to bribe90 me. Why do you think I came in your car? For what money YOU got? Do you think you can stack up your roll against the New York Journal's, or against Tammany's?" His shrill voice rose exultantly91. "Why, Tammany ought to make me judge for this! Now, let me down here," he commanded, "and next time, don't think you can take on 'Izzy' Schwab and get away with it."
They were passing Grant's Tomb, and the car was moving at a speed that Mr. Schwab recognized was in excess of the speed limit.
"Do you hear me?" he demanded, "let me down!"
To his dismay Winthrop's answer was in some fashion to so juggle92 with the shining brass rods that the car flew into greater speed. To "Izzy" Schwab it seemed to scorn the earth, to proceed by leaps and jumps. But, what added even more to his mental discomfiture93 was, that Winthrop should turn, and slowly and familiarly wink94 at him.
As through the window of an express train, Mr. Schwab saw the white front of Claremont, and beyond it the broad sweep of the Hudson. And, then, without decreasing its speed, the car like a great bird, swept down a hill, shot under a bridge, and into a partly paved street. Mr. Schwab already was two miles from his own bailiwick. His surroundings were unfamiliar96. On the one hand were newly erected97, untenanted flat houses with the paint still on the window panes98, and on the other side, detached villas99, a roadhouse, an orphan100 asylum101, a glimpse of the Hudson.
"Let me out," yelled Mr. Schwab, "what you trying to do? Do you think a few blocks'll make any difference to a telephone? You think you're damned smart, don't you? But you won't feel so fresh when I get on the long distance. You let me down," he threatened, "or, I'll——"
With a sickening skidding102 of wheels, Winthrop whirled the car round a corner and into the Lafayette Boulevard, that for miles runs along the cliff of the Hudson.
"Yes," asked Winthrop, "WHAT will you do?"
On one side was a high steep bank, on the other many trees, and through them below, the river. But there were no houses, and at half-past eight in the morning those who later drive upon the boulevard were still in bed.
"WHAT will you do?" repeated Winthrop.
Miss Forbes, apparently as much interested in Mr. Schwab's answer as Winthrop, leaned forward. Winthrop raised his voice above the whir of flying wheels, the rushing wind and scattering103 pebbles104.
"I asked you into this car," he shouted, "because I meant to keep you in it until I had you where you couldn't do any mischief105. I told you I'd give you something better than the Journal would give you, and I am going to give you a happy day in the country. We're now on our way to this lady's house. You are my guest, and you can play golf, and bridge, and the piano, and eat and drink until the polls close, and after that you can go to the devil. If you jump out at this speed, you will break your neck. And, if I have to slow up for anything, and you try to get away, I'll go after you—it doesn't matter where it is—and break every bone in your body."
"Yah! you can't!" shrieked Mr. Schwab. "You can't do it!" The madness of the flying engines had got upon his nerves. Their poison was surging in his veins106. He knew he had only to touch his elbow against the elbow of Winthrop, and he could throw the three of them into eternity107. He was travelling on air, uplifted, defiant108, carried beyond himself.
"I can't do what?" asked Winthrop.
The words reached Schwab from an immeasurable distance, as from another planet, a calm, humdrum109 planet on which events moved in commonplace, orderly array. Without a jar, with no transition stage, instead of hurtling through space, Mr. Schwab found himself luxuriously110 seated in a cushioned chair, motionless, at the side of a steep bank. For a mile before him stretched an empty road. And, beside him in the car, with arms folded calmly on the wheel there glared at him a grim, alert young man.
"I can't do what?" growled the young man.
A feeling of great loneliness fell upon "Izzy" Schwab. Where were now those officers, who in the police courts were at his beck and call? Where the numbered houses, the passing surface cars, the sweating multitudes of Eighth Avenue? In all the world he was alone, alone on an empty country road, with a grim, alert young man.
"When I asked you how you knew my name," said the young man, "I thought you knew me as having won some races in Florida last winter. This is the car that won. I thought maybe you might have heard of me when I was captain of a football team at—a university. If you have any idea that you can jump from this car and not be killed, or, that I cannot pound you into a pulp111, let me prove to you you're wrong—now. We're quite alone. Do you wish to get down?"
"No," shrieked Schwab, "I won't!" He turned appealingly to the young lady. "You're a witness," he cried. "If he assaults me, he's liable. I haven't done nothing."
"We're near Yonkers," said the young man, "and if you try to take advantage of my having to go slow through the town, you know now what will happen to you."
Mr. Schwab having instantly planned on reaching Yonkers, to leap from the car into the arms of the village constable112, with suspicious alacrity113, assented114. The young man regarded him doubtfully.
"I'm afraid I'll have to show you," said the young man. He laid two fingers on Mr. Schwab's wrist; looking at him, as he did so, steadily and thoughtfully, like a physician feeling a pulse. Mr. Schwab screamed. When he had seen policemen twist steel nippers on the wrists of prisoners, he had thought, when the prisoners shrieked and writhed115, they were acting.
He now knew they were not.
"Now, will you promise?" demanded the grim young man.
"Yes," gasped Mr. Schwab. "I'll sit still. I won't do nothing."
"Good," muttered Winthrop.
A troubled voice that carried to the heart of Schwab a promise of protection, said: "Mr. Schwab, would you be more comfortable back here with me?"
Mr. Schwab turned two terrified eyes in the direction of the voice. He saw the beautiful young lady regarding him kindly116, compassionately117; with just a suspicion of a smile. Mr. Schwab instantly scrambled to safety over the front seat into the body of the car. Miss Forbes made way for the prisoner beside her and he sank back with a nervous, apologetic sigh. The alert young man was quick to follow the lead of the lady.
"You'll find caps and goggles118 in the boot, Schwab," he said hospitably119. "You had better put them on. We are going rather fast now." He extended a magnificent case of pigskin, that bloomed with fat black cigars. "Try one of these," said the hospitable120 young man. The emotions that swept Mr. Schwab he found difficult to pursue, but he raised his hat to the lady. "May I, Miss?" he said.
"Certainly," said the lady.
There was a moment of delay while with fingers that slightly trembled, Mr. Schwab selected an amazing green cap and lit his cigar; and then the car swept forward, singing and humming happily, and scattering the autumn leaves. The young lady leaned toward him with a book in a leather cover. She placed her finger on a twisting red line that trickled121 through a page of type.
"We're just here," said the young lady, "and we ought to reach home, which is just about there, in an hour."
"I see," said Schwab. But all he saw was a finger in a white glove, and long eyelashes tangled122 in a gray veil.
For many minutes, or for all Schwab knew, for many miles, the young lady pointed123 out to him the places along the Hudson, of which he had read in the public school history, and quaint6 old manor124 houses set in glorious lawns; and told him who lived in them. Schwab knew the names as belonging to down-town streets, and up-town clubs. He became nervously humble125, intensely polite, he felt he was being carried as an honored guest into the very heart of the Four Hundred, and when the car jogged slowly down the main street of Yonkers, although a policeman stood idly within a yard of him, instead of shrieking to him for help, "Izzy" Schwab looked at him scornfully across the social gulf126 that separated them, with all the intolerance he believed becoming in the upper classes.
"Those bicycle cops," he said confidentially127 to Miss Forbes, "are too chesty."
The car turned in between stone pillars, and under an arch of red and golden leaves, and swept up a long avenue to a house of innumerable roofs. It was the grandest house Mr. Schwab had ever entered, and when two young men in striped waistcoats and many brass buttons ran down the stone steps and threw open the door of the car, his heart fluttered between fear and pleasure.
Lounging before an open fire in the hall were a number of young men, who welcomed Winthrop delightedly and, to all of whom Mr. Schwab was formally presented. As he was introduced he held each by the hand and elbow and said impressively, and much to the other's embarrassment128, "WHAT name, please?"
Then one of the servants conducted him to a room opening on the hall, from whence he heard stifled129 exclamations130 and laughter, and some one saying "Hush131." But "Izzy" Schwab did not care. The slave in brass buttons was proffering132 him ivory-backed hair-brushes, and obsequiously133 removing the dust from his coat collar. Mr. Schwab explained to him that he was not dressed for automobiling, as Mr. Winthrop had invited him quite informally. The man was most charmingly sympathetic. And when he returned to the hall every one received him with the most genial134, friendly interest. Would he play golf, or tennis, or pool, or walk over the farm, or just look on? It seemed the wish of each to be his escort. Never had he been so popular.
He said he would "just look on." And so, during the last and decisive day of the "whirlwind" campaign, while in Eighth Avenue voters were being challenged, beaten, and bribed135, bonfires were burning, and "extras" were appearing every half hour, "Izzy" Schwab, the Tammany henchman, with a secret worth twenty thousand votes, sat a prisoner, in a wicker chair, with a drink and a cigar, guarded by four young men in flannels136, who played tennis violently at five dollars a corner.
It was always a great day in the life of "Izzy" Schwab. After a luncheon137, which, as he later informed his friends, could not have cost less than "two dollars a plate and drink all you like," Sam Forbes took him on at pool. Mr. Schwab had learned the game in the cellars of Eighth Avenue at two and a half cents a cue, and now, even in Columbus Circle he was a star. So, before the sun had set, Mr. Forbes, who at pool rather fancied himself, was seventy-five dollars poorer, and Mr. Schwab just that much to the good. Then there followed a strange ceremony called tea, or, if you preferred it, whiskey and soda138; and the tall footman bent before him with huge silver salvers laden139 down with flickering140 silver lamps, and bubbling soda bottles, and cigars, and cigarettes.
"You could have filled your pockets with twenty-five cent Havanas, and nobody would have said nothing!" declared Mr. Schwab, and his friends who never had enjoyed his chance to study at such close quarters the truly rich, nodded enviously141.
At six o'clock Mr. Schwab led Winthrop into the big library and asked for his ticket of leave.
"They'll be counting the votes soon," he begged. "I can't do no harm now, and I don't mean to. I didn't see nothing, and I won't say nothing. But it's election night, and—and I just GOT to be on Broadway."
"Right," said Winthrop, "I'll have a car take you in, and if you will accept this small check——"
"No!" roared "Izzy" Schwab. Afterward142 he wondered how he came to do it. "You've give me a good time, Mr. Winthrop. You've treated me fine, all the gentlemen have treated me nice. I'm not a blackmailer143, Mr. Winthrop." Mr. Schwab's voice shook slightly.
"Nonsense, Schwab, you didn't let me finish," said Winthrop, "I'm likely to need a lawyer any time; this is a retaining fee. Suppose I exceed the speed limit—I'm liable to do that——"
"You bet you are!" exclaimed Mr. Schwab violently.
"Well, then, I'll send for YOU, and there isn't a police magistrate144, nor any of the traffic squad, you can't handle, is there?"
Mr. Schwab flushed with pleasure.
"You can count on me," he vowed145, "and your friends too, and the ladies," he added gallantly146. "If ever the ladies want to get bail95, tell 'em to telephone for 'Izzy' Schwab. Of course," he said reluctantly, "if it's a retaining fee——"
But when he read the face of the check he exclaimed in protest. "But, Mr. Winthrop, this is more than the Journal would have give me!"
They put him in a car belonging to one of the other men, and all came out on the steps to wave him "good-by," and he drove magnificently into his own district, where there were over a dozen men who swore he tipped the French chauffeur a five dollar bill "just like it was a cigarette."
All of election day since her arrival in Winthrop's car, Miss Forbes had kept to herself. In the morning, when the other young people were out of doors, she remained in her room, and after luncheon when they gathered round the billiard table, she sent for her cart and drove off alone. The others thought she was concerned over the possible result of the election, and did not want to disturb them by her anxiety. Winthrop, thinking the presence of Schwab embarrassed her, recalling as it did Peabody's unfortunate conduct of the morning, blamed himself for bringing Schwab to the house. But he need not have distressed147 himself. Miss Forbes was thinking neither of Schwab nor Peabody, nor was she worried or embarrassed. On the contrary, she was completely happy.
When that morning she had seen Peabody running up the steps of the Elevated, all the doubts, the troubles, questions, and misgivings148 that night and day for the last three months had upset her, fell from her shoulders like the pilgrim's heavy pack. For months she had been telling herself that the unrest she felt when with Peabody was due to her not being able to appreciate the importance of those big affairs in which he was so interested; in which he was so admirable a figure. She had, as she supposed, loved him, because he was earnest, masterful, intent of purpose. His had seemed a fine character. When she had compared him with the amusing boys of her own age, the easy-going joking youths to whom the betterment of New York was of no concern, she had been proud in her choice. She was glad Peabody was ambitious. She was ambitious for him. She was glad to have him consult her on those questions of local government, to listen to his fierce, contemptuous abuse of Tammany. And yet early in their engagement she had missed something, something she had never known, but which she felt sure should exist. Whether she had seen it in the lives of others, or read of it in romances, or whether it was there because it was nature to desire to be loved, she did not know. But long before Winthrop returned from his trip round the world, in her meetings with the man she was to marry, she had begun to find that there was something lacking. And Winthrop had shown her that this something lacking was the one thing needful. When Winthrop had gone abroad he was only one of her brother's several charming friends. One of the amusing merry youths who came and went in the house as freely as Sam himself. Now, after two years' absence, he refused to be placed in that category.
He rebelled on the first night of his return. As she came down to the dinner of welcome her brother was giving Winthrop, he stared at her as though she were a ghost, and said, so solemnly that every one in the room, even Peabody, smiled: "Now I know why I came home." That he refused to recognize her engagement to Peabody, that on every occasion he told her, or by some act showed her, he loved her; that he swore she should never marry any one but himself, and that he would never marry any one but her, did not at first, except to annoy, in any way impress her.
But he showed her what in her intercourse149 with Peabody was lacking. At first she wished Peabody could find time to be as fond of her, as foolishly fond of her, as was Winthrop. But she realized that this was unreasonable150. Winthrop was just a hot-headed impressionable boy, Peabody was a man doing a man's work. And then she found that week after week she became more difficult to please. Other things in which she wished Peabody might be more like Winthrop, obtruded151 themselves. Little things which she was ashamed to notice, but which rankled152; and big things, such as consideration for others, and a sense of humor, and not talking of himself. Since this campaign began, at times she had felt that if Peabody said "I" once again, she must scream. She assured herself she was as yet unworthy of him, that her intelligence was weak, that as she grew older and so better able to understand serious affairs, such as the importance of having an honest man at Albany as Lieutenant-Governor, they would become more in sympathy. And now, at a stroke, the whole fabric153 of self-deception fell from her. It was not that she saw Peabody so differently, but that she saw herself and her own heart, and where it lay. And she knew that "Billy" Winthrop, gentle, joking, selfish only in his love for her, held it in his two strong hands.
For the moment, when as she sat in the car deserted154 by Peabody this truth flashed upon her, she forgot the man lying injured in the street, the unscrubbed mob crowding about her. She was conscious only that a great weight had been lifted. That her blood was flowing again, leaping, beating, dancing through her body. It seemed as though she could not too quickly tell Winthrop. For both of them she had lost out of their lives many days. She had risked losing him for always. Her only thought was to make up to him and to herself the wasted time. But throughout the day the one-time welcome, but now intruding155, friends and the innumerable conventions of hospitality required her to smile and show an interest, when her heart and mind were crying out the one great fact.
It was after dinner, and the members of the house party were scattered156 between the billiard-room and the piano. Sam Forbes returned from the telephone.
"Tammany," he announced, "concedes the election of Jerome by forty thousand votes, and that he carries his ticket with him. Ernest Peabody is elected his Lieutenant-Governor by a thousand votes. Ernest," he added, "seems to have had a close call." There was a tremendous chorus of congratulations in the cause of Reform. They drank the health of Peabody. Peabody himself, on the telephone, informed Sam Forbes that a conference of the leaders would prevent his being present with them that evening. The enthusiasm for Reform perceptibly increased.
An hour later Winthrop came over to Beatrice and held out his hand. "I'm going to slip away," he said. "Good-night."
"Going away!" exclaimed Beatrice. Her voice showed such apparently acute concern that Winthrop wondered how the best of women could be so deceitful, even to be polite.
"I promised some men," he stammered, "to drive them down-town to see the crowds."
Beatrice shook her head.
"It's far too late for that," she said. "Tell me the real reason."
Winthrop turned away his eyes.
"Oh! the real reason," he said gravely, "is the same old reason, the one I'm not allowed to talk about. It's cruelly hard when I don't see you," he went on, slowly dragging out the words, "but it's harder when I do; so I'm going to say 'good-night' and run into town."
"And, I believe, I've not told you," he went on, "that on Wednesday I'm running away for good, that is, for a year or two. I've made all the fight I can and I lose, and there is no use in my staying on here to—well—to suffer, that is the plain English of it. So," he continued briskly, "I won't be here for the ceremony, and this is 'good-by' as well as 'good-night.'"
"Where are you going for a year?" asked Miss Forbes.
Her voice now showed no concern. It even sounded as though she did not take his news seriously, as though as to his movements she was possessed159 of a knowledge superior to his own. He tried to speak in matter-of-fact tones.
"To Uganda!" he said.
"To Uganda?" repeated Miss Forbes. "Where is Uganda?"
"It is in East Africa; I had bad luck there last trip, but now I know the country better, and I ought to get some good shooting."
Miss Forbes appeared indifferently incredulous. In her eyes there was a look of radiant happiness. It rendered them bewilderingly beautiful.
"On Wednesday," she said. "Won't you come and see us again before you sail for Uganda?"
Winthrop hesitated.
"I'll stop in and say 'good-by' to your mother if she's in town, and to thank her. She's been awfully160 good to me. But you—I really would rather not see you again. You understand, or rather, you don't understand, and," he added vehemently, "you never will understand." He stood looking down at her miserably.
On the driveway outside there was a crunching161 on the gravel157 of heavy wheels and an aurora-borealis of lights.
"There's your car," said Miss Forbes. "I'll go out and see you off."
"You're very good," muttered Winthrop. He could not understand. This parting from her was the great moment in his life, and although she must know that, she seemed to be making it unnecessarily hard for him. He had told her he was going to a place very far away, to be gone a long time, and she spoke of saying "good-by" to him as pleasantly as though it was his intention to return from Uganda for breakfast.
Instead of walking through the hall where the others were gathered, she led him out through one of the French windows upon the terrace, and along it to the steps. When she saw the chauffeur standing by the car, she stopped.
"I thought you were going alone," she said.
"I am," answered Winthrop. "It's not Fred; that's Sam's chauffeur; he only brought the car around."
The man handed Winthrop his coat and cap, and left them, and Winthrop seated himself at the wheel. She stood above him on the top step. In the evening gown of lace and silver she looked a part of the moonlight night. For each of them the moment had arrived. Like a swimmer standing on the bank gathering162 courage for the plunge163, Miss Forbes gave a trembling, shivering sigh.
"You're cold," said Winthrop, gently. "You must go in. Good-by."
"It isn't that," said the girl. "Have you an extra coat?"
"It isn't cold enough for——"
"I meant for me," stammered the girl in a frightened voice. "I thought perhaps you would take me a little way, and bring me back."
At first the young man did not answer, but sat staring in front of him, then, he said simply:
"It's awfully good of you, Beatrice. I won't forget it."
It was a wonderful autumn night, moonlight, cold, clear and brilliant. She stepped in beside him and wrapped herself in one of his great-coats. They started swiftly down the avenue of trees.
"No, not fast," begged the girl, "I want to talk to you."
The car checked and rolled forward smoothly164, sometimes in deep shadow, sometimes in the soft silver glamour165 of the moon; beneath them the fallen leaves crackled and rustled166 under the slow moving wheels. At the highway Winthrop hesitated. It lay before them arched with great and ancient elms; below, the Hudson glittered and rippled167 in the moonlight.
"Which way do you want to go?" said Winthrop. His voice was very grateful, very humble.
The girl did not answer.
There was a long, long pause.
Then he turned and looked at her and saw her smiling at him with that light in her eyes that never was on land or sea.
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1
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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5
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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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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8
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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10
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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14
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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16
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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18
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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19
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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20
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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21
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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22
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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24
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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25
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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26
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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27
scantiest
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| adj.（大小或数量）不足的，勉强够的( scanty的最高级 ) | |
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28
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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29
assailing
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| v.攻击( assail的现在分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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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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34
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lithographs
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| n.平版印刷品( lithograph的名词复数 ) | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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38
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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39
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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40
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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41
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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42
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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43
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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45
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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46
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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47
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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49
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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50
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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51
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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52
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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53
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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54
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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55
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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56
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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57
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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58
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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61
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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62
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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63
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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64
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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65
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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66
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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67
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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68
theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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69
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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70
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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72
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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73
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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74
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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75
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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76
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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77
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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78
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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79
taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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80
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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81
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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82
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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83
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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84
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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85
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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86
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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87
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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88
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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90
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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91
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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92
juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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93
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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94
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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95
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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96
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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97
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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98
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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99
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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100
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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101
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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102
skidding
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| n.曳出，集材v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的现在分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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103
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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104
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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105
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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106
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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107
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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108
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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109
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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110
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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111
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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112
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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113
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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114
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
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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117
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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118
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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119
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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120
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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121
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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122
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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123
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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124
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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125
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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126
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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127
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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128
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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129
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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130
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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131
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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132
proffering
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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133
obsequiously
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134
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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135
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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136
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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137
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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138
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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139
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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140
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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141
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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142
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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143
blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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144
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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145
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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146
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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147
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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148
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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149
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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150
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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151
obtruded
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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154
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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155
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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156
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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157
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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158
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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159
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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160
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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161
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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162
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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163
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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164
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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165
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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166
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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