After dark on Saturday night one could stand on the first tee of the golf-course and see the country-club windows as a yellow expanse over a very black and wavy1 ocean. The waves of this ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious caddies, a few of the more ingenious chauffeurs2, the golf professional’s deaf sister — and there were usually several stray, diffident waves who might have rolled inside had they so desired. This was the gallery.
The balcony was inside. It consisted of the circle of wicker chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and ballroom3. At these Saturday-night dances it was largely feminine; a great babel of middle-aged4 ladies with sharp eyes and icy hearts behind lorgnettes and large bosoms5. The main function of the balcony was critical, it occasionally showed grudging6 admiration7, but never approval, for it is well known among ladies over thirty-five that when the younger set dance in the summer-time it is with the very worst intentions in the world, and if they are not bombarded with stony8 eyes stray couples will dance weird9 barbaric interludes in the corners, and the more popular, more dangerous, girls will sometimes be kissed in the parked limousines10 of unsuspecting dowagers.
But, after all, this critical circle is not close enough to the stage to see the actors’ faces and catch the subtler byplay. It can only frown and lean, ask questions and make satisfactory deductions11 from its set of postulates12, such as the one which states that every young man with a large income leads the life of a hunted partridge. It never really appreciates the drama of the shifting, semi-cruel world of adolescence13. No; boxes, orchestra-circle, principals, and chorus be represented by the medley14 of faces and voices that sway to the plaintive15 African rhythm of Dyer’s dance orchestra.
>From sixteen-year-old Otis Ormonde, who has two more years at Hill School, to G. Reece Stoddard, over whose bureau at home hangs a Harvard law diploma; from little Madeleine Hogue, whose hair still feels strange and uncomfortable on top of her head, to Bessie MacRae, who has been the life of the party a little too long — more than ten years — the medley is not only the centre of the stage but contains the only people capable of getting an unobstructed view of it.
With a flourish and a bang the music stops. The couples exchange artificial, effortless smiles, facetiously16 repeat “LA-de-DA-DA dum-DUM,” and then the clatter17 of young feminine voices soars over the burst of clapping.
A few disappointed stags caught in midfloor as they bad been about to cut in subsided18 listlessly back to the walls, because this was not like the riotous19 Christmas dances — these summer hops20 were considered just pleasantly warm and exciting, where even the younger marrieds rose and performed ancient waltzes and terrifying fox trots22 to the tolerant amusement of their younger brothers and sisters.
Warren McIntyre, who casually23 attended Yale, being one of the unfortunate stags, felt in his dinner-coat pocket for a cigarette and strolled out onto the wide, semidark veranda24, where couples were scattered25 at tables, filling the lantern-hung night with vague words and hazy26 laughter. He nodded here and there at the less absorbed and as he passed each couple some half-forgotten fragment of a story played in his mind, for it was not a large city and every one was Who’s Who to every one else’s past. There, for example, were Jim Strain and Ethel Demorest, who had been privately27 engaged for three years. Every one knew that as soon as Jim managed to hold a job for more than two months she would marry him. Yet how bored they both looked, and how wearily Ethel regarded Jim sometimes, as if she wondered why she had trained the vines of her affection on such a wind-shaken poplar.
Warren was nineteen and rather pitying with those of his friends who hadn’t gone East to college. But, like most boys, he bragged28 tremendously about the girls of his city when he was away from it. There was Genevieve Ormonde, who regularly made the rounds of dances, house-parties, and football games at Princeton, Yale, Williams, and Cornell; there was black-eyed Roberta Dillon, who was quite as famous to her own generation as Hiram Johnson or Ty Cobb; and, of course, there was Marjorie Harvey, who besides having a fairylike face and a dazzling, bewildering tongue was already justly celebrated29 for having turned five cart-wheels in succession during the last pump-and-slipper dance at New Haven30.
Warren, who had grown up across the street from Marjorie, had long been “crazy about her.” Sometimes she seemed to reciprocate31 his feeling with a faint gratitude32, but she had tried him by her infallible test and informed him gravely that she did not love him. Her test was that when she was away from him she forgot him and had affairs with other boys. Warren found this discouraging, especially as Marjorie had been making little trips all summer, and for the first two or three days after each arrival home he saw great heaps of mail on the Harveys’ hall table addressed to her in various masculine handwritings. To make matters worse, all during the month of August she had been visited by her cousin Bernice from Eau Claire, and it seemed impossible to see her alone. It was always necessary to hunt round and find some one to take care of Bernice. As August waned33 this was becoming more and more difficult.
Much as Warren worshipped Marjorie he had to admit that Cousin Bernice was sorta dopeless. She was pretty, with dark hair and high color, but she was no fun on a party. Every Saturday night he danced a long arduous34 duty dance with her to please Marjorie, but he had never been anything but bored in her company.
“Warren”—— a soft voice at his elbow broke in upon his thoughts, and he turned to see Marjorie, flushed and radiant as usual. She laid a hand on his shoulder and a glow settled almost imperceptibly over him.
“Warren,” she whispered “do something for me — dance with Bernice. She’s been stuck with little Otis Ormonde for almost an hour.”
Warren’s glow faded.
“Why — sure,” he answered half-heartedly.
“You don’t mind, do you? I’ll see that you don’t get stuck.”
“‘Sall right.”
Marjorie smiled — that smile that was thanks enough.
“You’re an angel, and I’m obliged loads.”
With a sigh the angel glanced round the veranda, but Bernice and Otis were not in sight. He wandered back inside, and there in front of the women’s dressing-room he found Otis in the centre of a group of young men who were convulsed with laughter. Otis was brandishing35 a piece of timber he had picked up, and discoursing36 volubly.
“She’s gone in to fix her hair,” he announced wildly. “I’m waiting to dance another hour with her.”
Their laughter was renewed.
“Why don’t some of you cut in?” cried Otis resentfully. “She likes more variety.”
“Why, Otis,” suggested a friend “you’ve just barely got used to her.”
“Why the two-by-four, Otis?” inquired Warren, smiling.
“The two-by-four? Oh, this? This is a club. When she comes out I’ll hit her on the head and knock her in again.”
Warren collapsed37 on a settee and howled with glee.
“Never mind, Otis,” he articulated finally. “I’m relieving you this time.”
Otis simulated a sudden fainting attack and handed the stick to Warren.
“If you need it, old man,” he said hoarsely38.
No matter how beautiful or brilliant a girl may be, the reputation of not being frequently cut in on makes her position at a dance unfortunate. Perhaps boys prefer her company to that of the butterflies with whom they dance a dozen times an but, youth in this jazz-nourished generation is temperamentally restless, and the idea of fox-trotting more than one full fox trot21 with the same girl is distasteful, not to say odious39. When it comes to several dances and the intermissions between she can be quite sure that a young man, once relieved, will never tread on her wayward toes again.
Warren danced the next full dance with Bernice, and finally, thankful for the intermission, he led her to a table on the veranda. There was a moment’s silence while she did unimpressive things with her fan.
“It’s hotter here than in Eau Claire,” she said.
Warren stifled40 a sigh and nodded. It might be for all he knew or cared. He wondered idly whether she was a poor conversationalist because she got no attention or got no attention because she was a poor conversationalist.
“You going to be here much longer?” he asked and then turned rather red. She might suspect his reasons for asking.
“Another week,” she answered, and stared at him as if to lunge at his next remark when it left his lips.
Warren fidgeted. Then with a sudden charitable impulse he decided41 to try part of his line on her. He turned and looked at her eyes.
“You’ve got an awfully42 kissable mouth,” he began quietly.
This was a remark that he sometimes made to girls at college proms when they were talking in just such half dark as this. Bernice distinctly jumped. She turned an ungraceful red and became clumsy with her fan. No one had ever made such a remark to her before.
“Fresh!”—— the word had slipped out before she realized it, and she bit her lip. Too late she decided to be amused, and offered him a flustered43 smile.
Warren was annoyed. Though not accustomed to have that remark taken seriously, still it usually provoked a laugh or a paragraph of sentimental44 banter45. And he hated to be called fresh, except in a joking way. His charitable impulse died and he switched the topic.
“Jim Strain and Ethel Demorest sitting out as usual,” he commented.
This was more in Bernice’s line, but a faint regret mingled46 with her relief as the subject changed. Men did not talk to her about kissable mouths, but she knew that they talked in some such way to other girls.
“Oh, yes,” she said, and laughed. “I hear they’ve been mooning around for years without a red penny. Isn’t it silly?”
Warren’s disgust increased. Jim Strain was a close friend of his brother’s, and anyway he considered it bad form to sneer47 at people for not having money. But Bernice had had no intention of sneering48. She was merely nervous.
收听单词发音 |
1
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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limousines
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| n.豪华轿车( limousine的名词复数 )；（往返机场接送旅客的）中型客车，小型公共汽车 | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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postulates
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| v.假定，假设( postulate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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27
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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31
reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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32
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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33
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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34
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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35
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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40
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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41
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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42
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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43
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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44
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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45
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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46
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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47
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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48
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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