After a few years Samuel’s university decided1 that it had shone long enough in the reflected glory of his neckties, so they declaimed to him in Latin, charged him ten dollars for the paper which proved him irretrievably educated, and sent him into the turmoil2 with much self-confidence, a few friends, and the proper assortment3 of harmless bad habits.
His family had by that time started back to shirt-sleeves, through a sudden decline in the sugar-market, and it had already unbuttoned its vest, so to speak, when Samuel went to work. His mind was that exquisite4 TABULA RASA that a university education sometimes leaves, but he had both energy and influence, so he used his former ability as a dodging5 half-back in twisting through Wall Street crowds as runner for a bank.
His diversion was — women. There were half a dozen: two or three débutantes, an actress (in a minor6 way), a grass-widow, and one sentimental7 little brunette who was married and lived in a little house in Jersey8 City.
They had met on a ferry-boat. Samuel was crossing from New York on business (he bad been working several years by this time) and he helped her look for a package that she had dropped in the crush.
“Do you come over often?” he inquired casually9.
“Just to shop,” she said shyly. She had great brown eyes and the pathetic kind of little mouth. “I’ve only been married three months, and we find it cheaper to live over here.”
“Does he — does your husband like your being alone like this?”
She laughed, a cheery young laugh.
“Oh, dear me, no. We were to meet for dinner but I must have misunderstood the place. He’ll be awfully10 worried.”
“Well,” said Samuel disapprovingly11, “he ought to be. If you’ll allow me I’ll see you home.”
She accepted his offer thankfully, so they took the cable-car together. When they walked up the path to her little house they saw a light there; her husband had arrived before her.
“He’s frightfully jealous,” she announced, laughingly apologetic.
“Very well,” answered Samuel, rather stiffly. “I’d better leave you here.”
She thanked him and, waving a good night, he left her.
That would have been quite all if they hadn’t met on Fifth Avenue one morning a week later. She started and blushed and seemed so glad to see him that they chatted like old friends. She was going to her dressmaker’s, eat lunch alone at Taine’s, shop all afternoon, and meet her husband on the ferry at five. Samuel told her that her husband was a very lucky man. She blushed again and scurried12 off.
Samuel whistled all the way back to his office, but about twelve o’clock he began to see that pathetic, appealing little mouth everywhere — and those brown eyes. He fidgeted when he looked at the clock; he thought of the grill13 down-stairs where he lunched and the heavy male conversation thereof, and opposed to that picture appeared another; a little table at Taine’s with the brown eyes and the mouth a few feet away. A few minutes before twelve-thirty he dashed on his hat and rushed for the cable-car.
She was quite surprised to see him.
“Why — hello,” she said. Samuel could tell that she was just pleasantly frightened.
“I thought we might lunch together. It’s so dull eating with a lot of men.”
She hesitated.
“Why, I suppose there’s no harm in it. How could there be!”
It occurred to her that her husband should have taken lunch with her — but he was generally so hurried at noon. She told Samuel all about him: he was a little smaller than Samuel, but, oh, MUCH better-looking. He was a book-keeper and not making a lot of money, but they were very happy and expected to be rich within three or four years.
Samuel’s grass-widow had been in a quarrelsome mood for three or four weeks, and through contrast, he took an accentuated14 pleasure in this meeting; so fresh was she, and earnest, and faintly adventurous15. Her name was Marjorie.
They made another engagement; in fact, for a month they lunched together two or three times a week. When she was sure that her husband would work late Samuel took her over to New Jersey on the ferry, leaving her always on the tiny front porch, after she had gone in and lit the gas to use the security of his masculine presence outside. This grew to be a ceremony — and it annoyed him. Whenever the comfortable glow fell out through the front windows, that was his CONGé; yet he never suggested coming in and Marjorie didn’t invite him.
Then, when Samuel and Marjorie had reached a stage in which they sometimes touched each other’s arms gently, just to show that they were very good friends, Marjorie and her husband had one of those ultrasensitive, supercritical quarrels that couples never indulge in unless they care a great deal about each other. It started with a cold mutton-chop or a leak in the gas-jet — and one day Samuel found her in Taine’s, with dark shadows under her brown eyes and a terrifying pout16.
By this time Samuel thought he was in love with Marjorie — so he played up the quarrel for all it was worth. He was her best friend and patted her hand — and leaned down close to her brown curls while she whispered in little sobs17 what her husband had said that morning; and he was a little more than her best friend when he took her over to the ferry in a hansom.
“Marjorie,” he said gently, when he left her, as usual, on the porch, “if at any time you want to call on me, remember that I am always waiting, always waiting.”
She nodded gravely and put both her hands in his. “I know,” she said. “I know you’re my friend, my best friend.”
Then she ran into the house and he watched there until the gas went on.
For the next week Samuel was in a nervous turmoil. Some persistently18 rational strain warned him that at bottom he and Marjorie had little in common, but in such cases there is usually so much mud in the water that one can seldom see to the bottom. Every dream and desire told him that he loved Marjorie, wanted her, had to have her.
The quarrel developed. Marjorie’s husband took to staying in New York until late at night came home several times disagreeably overstimulated, and made her generally miserable19. They must have had too much pride to talk it out — for Marjorie’s husband was, after all, pretty decent — so it drifted on from one misunderstanding to another. Marjorie kept coming more and more to Samuel; when a woman can accept masculine sympathy at is much more satisfactory to her than crying to another girl. But Marjorie didn’t realize how much she had begun to rely on him, how much he was part of her little cosmos20.
One night, instead of turning away when Marjorie went in and lit the gas, Samuel went in, too, and they sat together on the sofa in the little parlor21. He was very happy. He envied their home, and he felt that the man who neglected such a possession out of stubborn pride was a fool and unworthy of his wife. But when he kissed Marjorie for the first time she cried softly and told him to go. He sailed home on the wings of desperate excitement, quite resolved to fan this spark of romance, no matter how big the blaze or who was burned. At the time he considered that his thoughts were unselfishly of her; in a later perspective he knew that she had meant no more than the white screen in a motion picture: it was just Samuel — blind, desirous.
Next day at Taine’s, when they met for lunch, Samuel dropped all pretense22 and made frank love to her. He had no plans, no definite intentions, except to kiss her lips again, to hold her in his arms and feel that she was very little and pathetic and lovable. . . . He took her home, and this time they kissed until both their hearts beat high — words and phrases formed on his lips.
And then suddenly there were steps on the porch — a hand tried the outside door. Marjorie turned dead-white.
“Wait!” she whispered to Samuel, in a frightened voice, but in angry impatience23 at the interruption he walked to the front door and threw it open.
Every one has seen such scenes on the stage — seen them so often that when they actually happen people behave very much like actors. Samuel felt that he was playing a part and the lines came quite naturally: he announced that all had a right to lead their own lives and looked at Marjorie’s husband menacingly, as if daring him to doubt it. Marjorie’s husband spoke24 of the sanctity of the home, forgetting that it hadn’t seemed very holy to him lately; Samuel continued along the line of “the right to happiness”; Marjorie’s husband mentioned firearms and the divorce court. Then suddenly he stopped and scrutinized25 both of them — Marjorie in pitiful collapse26 on the sofa, Samuel haranguing27 the furniture in a consciously heroic pose.
“Go up-stairs, Marjorie,” he said, in a different tone.
“Stay where you are!” Samuel countered quickly.
Marjorie rose, wavered, and sat down, rose again and moved hesitatingly toward the stairs.
“Come outside,” said her husband to Samuel. “I want to talk to you.”
Samuel glanced at Marjorie, tried to get some message from her eyes; then he shut his lips and went out.
There was a bright moon and when Marjorie’s husband came down the steps Samuel could see plainly that he was suffering — but he felt no pity for him.
They stood and looked at each other, a few feet apart, and the husband cleared his throat as though it were a bit husky.
“That’s my wife,” he said quietly, and then a wild anger surged up inside him. “Damn you!” he cried — and hit Samuel in the face with all his strength.
In that second, as Samuel slumped28 to the ground, it flashed to him that he had been hit like that twice before, and simultaneously29 the incident altered like a dream — he felt suddenly awake. Mechanically he sprang to his feet and squared off. The other man was waiting, fists up, a yard away, but Samuel knew that though physically30 he had him by several inches and many pounds, he wouldn’t hit him. The situation had miraculously31 and entirely32 changed — a moment before Samuel had seemed to himself heroic; now he seemed the cad, the outsider, and Marjorie’s husband, silhouetted33 against the lights of the little house, the eternal heroic figure, the defender34 of his home.
There was a pause and then Samuel turned quickly away and went down the path for the last time.
收听单词发音 |
1
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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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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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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7
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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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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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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12
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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14
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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18
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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cosmos
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| n.宇宙；秩序，和谐 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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23
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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24
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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25
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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28
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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29
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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30
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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31
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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32
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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33
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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