I
London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a melancholy1 too insistent2 to be ignored and too causeless to be enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery3. Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the world’s melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a mask on the faces of disillusioned5 men? The wind blew down Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away in a shudder6 of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday in London before the lamps are lit, tempts7 a man to believe in the nobility of work.
At the corner by Charing8 Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so lightly.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, following him, “you have not looked to see what my bills are.”
“Whatever they are I do not want them.”
“That’s where you are wrong, sir,” the man said earnestly. “You will never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains exactly what you do want.”
Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were ragged9, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a keen expectancy10, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of real importance.
“I don’t know what you are driving at,” he said, “but if it will give you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long time to get rid of them.”
“I only offer them to suitable persons,” the man said, folding up one of the handbills while he spoke11, “and I’m sure you will not regret taking it,” and he slipped the paper into Eustace’s hand and walked rapidly away.
Eustace looked after him curiously12 for a moment, and then opened the paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he gave a low whistle of astonishment13. “You will soon be warning a coffin14!” it read. “At 606, Gray’s Inn Road, your order will be attended to with civility and despatch15. Call and see us!!”
Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled16 the paper into his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards.
“How silly!” he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh.
ii
Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid17, and he was troubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbill continued to recur18 to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd, he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a second thought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again and again. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business by giving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thing had the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectual fairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given him the bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, and joking improbable. There had been depths in those little bright eyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man’s manner in making him accept the handbill had given the whole transaction a kind of ludicrous significance.
“You will soon be wanting a coffin ——!”
Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind. If he had had any near relations he might have construed19 the thing as an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world, and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin for anyone but himself.
“Oh damn the thing!” he said impatiently, as he opened the door of his flat, “it isn’t worth worrying about. I mustn’t let the whim20 of some mad tradesman get on my nerves. I’ve got no one to bury, anyhow.”
Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and when his neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o’clock, Eustace was glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who had experienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on the West Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, was delighted with so striking an example of British commercial enterprise.
“Though, mind you,” he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper on his knee, “this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell into the hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch the head of the ass4 who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address up in the Post Office Directory?”
Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book which makes London an English city. Together they found the Gray’s Inn Road, and ran their eyes down to No. 606.
“‘Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.’ Not much information there,” muttered the doctor.
“Coffin merchant’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” queried21 Eustace.
“I suppose he manufactures coffins22 wholesale23 for the trade. Still, I didn’t know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as though that handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiot ought to be stopped advertising24 in that way.”
“I’ll go and see him myself tomorrow,” said Eustace bluntly.
“Well, he’s given you an invitation,” said the doctor, “so it’s only polite of you to go. I’ll drop in here in the evening to hear what he’s like. I expect that you’ll find him as mad as a hatter.”
“Something like that,” said Eustace, “or he wouldn’t give handbills to people like me. I have no one to bury except myself.”
“No,” said the doctor in the hall, “I suppose you haven’t. Don’t let him measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!”
Eustace laughed.
“We never know,” he said sententiously.
iii
Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November gives but few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game of golf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his way to the Gray’s Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitude towards his errand despite the doctor’s laughter and the prosaic25 entry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not help reflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with the little wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding’s description of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it, approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable to chop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On the whole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle26 at all; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer.
No. 606, Gray’s Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker’s shop. The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwise unadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no little model coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even more surprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so that the uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade was carried on within, or who was responsible for the management of the business. This uncommercial modesty27 did not tend to remove Eustace’s doubts as to the sanity28 of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened the shop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and stepped over the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive29 inside than out. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in the partial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song. Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and no stock-intrade except a few planks30 leaning against the wall in one corner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waited patiently for a minute or two, and then as no one came he began stamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, for soon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending31 wooden stairs, the door behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop.
He was dressed quite neatly32 now, and his hands were no longer blue with cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had given him the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign of recognition.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked pleasantly.
Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter.
“I want to know about this,” he said. “It strikes me as being in pretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might be dangerous.”
“You think so, sir? Yet our representative,” he lingered affectionately on the words, “our representative told you, I believe, that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases.”
“That’s where you are wrong,” said Eustace sharply, “for I have no one to bury.”
“Except yourself,” said the coffin merchant suavely33.
Eustace looked at him keenly. “I don’t see ——” he began. But the coffin merchant interrupted him.
“You must know, sir,” he said, “that this is no ordinary undertaker’s business. We possess information that enables us to defy competition in our special class of trade.”
“Information!”
“Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If our representative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knew you would need it.”
“Excuse me,” said Eustace, “you appear to be sane34, but your words do not convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me that foolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did so because you knew I would need it. I ask you why?”
The coffin merchant shrugged35 his shoulders. “Ours is a sentimental36 trade,” he said, “I do not know why dead men want coffins, but they do. For my part I would wish to be cremated37.”
“Dead men?”
“Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr. ——?”
“Reynolds.”
“Thank you, my name is Harding — G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds, our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that you will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one.”
“You mean to say that I——”
“Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will need our services.”
The revelation of the coffin merchant’s insanity38 came to Eustace with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his head.
“Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!” he said gaily39.
The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form from his pocket. “If you would fill this up,” he said.
Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an order for a hundred-guinea funeral.
“I don’t know what your game is,” he said, “but this has gone on long enough.”
“Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds,” said the coffin merchant, and he leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face.
For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. “I think it’s time I——” he began slowly, and then he was silent, his whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The song of the gas-jet waned40 to a point in his ears, and then rose steadily41 till it was like the beating of the world’s heart. The eyes of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter and filled in the form.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds,” said the coffin merchant, shaking hands with him politely. “I can promise you every civility and despatch. Good-day, sir.”
Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand, and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them burn. The lit lamps in the Gray’s Inn Road seemed to him a little unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition42 to blunder into him.
“Queer business,” he said to himself dimly; “I’d better have a cab.”
He reached home in a dream.
It was nearly ten o’clock before the doctor remembered his promise, and went upstairs to Eustace’s flat. The outer door was half-open so that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity43 of habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with his face flushed and drooping44 on his shoulder, and his breath hissing45 noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him quizzically, “If I did not know you, my young friend,” he remarked, “I should say that you were as drunk as a lord.”
And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustace did not wake.
“Queer!” the doctor muttered, sniffing46 at Eustace’s lips; “he hasn’t been drinking.”
收听单词发音 |
1
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
insistent
|
|
| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
disillusioned
|
|
| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
tempts
|
|
| v.引诱或怂恿（某人）干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 )；使想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
charing
|
|
| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
recur
|
|
| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
construed
|
|
| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
queried
|
|
| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
coffins
|
|
| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
advertising
|
|
| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
planks
|
|
| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
suavely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
cremated
|
|
| v.火葬，火化（尸体）( cremate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
insanity
|
|
| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
waned
|
|
| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hissing
|
|
| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sniffing
|
|
| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |