In a small wayside cottage in the outskirts1 of one of those picturesque2 villages which surround London, an old woman sat at the head of a small deal table, with a black teapot, a brown sugar-basin, a yellow milk jug3, and a cracked tea-cup before her.
At the foot of the same table sat a young man, with a large knife in one hand, a huge loaf of bread in the other, and a mass of yellow butter in a blue plate in front of him.
The young man was James Slagg; the old woman was his mother. Jim had no brothers or sisters, and his father chanced to be absent at market, so he had the “old lady” all to himself.
“Well, well, Jim,” said Mrs Slagg, with a loving look at her son’s flushed face, “you’ve told me a heap o’ wonderful tales about telegrumphs, an’ tigers, an’ electricity an’ what not. If you was as great a liar4 as you was used to be, Jim, I tell ’ee plain, lad, I wouldn’t believe one word on it. But you’re a better boy than you was, Jim, an’ I do believe you—indeed I do, though I must confess that some on it is hard to swallow.”
“Thank ’ee, mother,” said Jim, with a pleasant nod, as he cut an enormous slice from the loaf, trowelled upon it a mass of the yellow butter, and pushed in his cup for more tea.
“It was good of ye, Jim,” said the old woman, “to leave all yer fine friends and come straight away here to see your mother.”
“Good o’ me!” ejaculated Jim, with his mouth full—too full, we might say—“what goodness is there in a feller goin’ home, eh? Who’s finer, I should like to know, than a feller’s mother?”
“Well, you are a good boy, Jim,” said the old woman, glancing at a superannuated5 clock, which told of the moments in loud, almost absurd solemnity; “but if you don’t stop talkin’ and go on wi’ your eatin’, you’ll lose the train.”
“True, mother. Time and tide, they say, wait for no man; but trains is wuss than time or tide, they won’t even wait for a woman.”
“But why go at all to-day, Jim; won’t to-morrow do?”
“No, mother, it won’t do. I didn’t mean to tell ’ee till I came back, for fear it should be a mistake; but I can’t keep nothin’ from you, old lady, so I may as well ease my mind before I go. The fact is, I’ve just heard of the whereabouts of John Shanks—Stumps6, you know—my old mate, that I’ve told you bolted with all our treasure from Bombay. Ah! mother, if I’d only brought that treasure home wi’ me, it’s a lady you’d have bin7 to-day. I had all sorts o’ plans for you—a coach an’ six was—”
“Never mind your plans, Jim, but tell me about poor Stumps.”
“Well, mother, a tramp came past here, an’ had a bit of a talk wi’ me yesterday. You know I ginerally have a bit of a chat wi’ tramps now, ever since that city missionary—God bless him—pulled me up at the docks, an’ began talkin’ to me about my soul. Well, that tramp came here early this mornin’, sayin’ he’d bin in a poor woman’s house in the city, where there was a man dyin’ in a corner. While he was talkin’ with some o’ the people there he chanced to mention my name, an’ observed that the dyin’ man got excited when he heard it, and called to the tramp and asked him about me, and then begged him, for love and for money, which he offered him, to come and fetch me to him as fast as he could, sayin’ that his name was Stumps, and he knew me. So, you see, as the next train is the first that—you needn’t look at the clock so often, old lady; it’s full ten minutes yet, and I’ll back my legs to do it in three.”
“Don’t forget to take your Bible wi’ you, dear boy.”
Jim Slagg rose with a pleasant nod, slapped the breast of his coat, on which the oblong form of a small book in the pocket could be traced, said “Good-day, mother,” and left the cottage.
It was not long before he stood in the dark passage which led to the room described to him by the tramp. The old woman who rented it gave him her unasked opinion of her lodger8 before admitting him.
“You’ve got no notion, sir, what a strange character that young man is.”
“O yes, I have; let me see him,” said Slagg.
“But, sir,” continued the landlady9, detaining him, “you must be careful, for he ain’t hisself quite. Not that he’s ever done anythink wiolent to me, poor young man, but he’s strong in his fits, an’ he raves10 terribly.”
“Has no doctor bin to see him?” asked Slagg.
“No; he won’t let me send for one. He says it’s o’ no use, an’ he couldn’t afford to pay for one. An’ oh! you’ve no notion what a miser11 that poor young man is. He must have plenty of money, for the box as he takes it out on—an’ it’s at his head he keeps it, day and night, ginerally holdin’ it with one hand—seems full o’ money, for it’s wonderful heavy. I could see that when he brought it here, an’ there’s no clo’es in it, that I can see, when he opens it, to get at the few pence he wants now an’ again. An’ he starves hisself, an’ says he’s not fit to live, an’ calls hisself sitch awful names, an’—”
“Well, well, show me his room,” said Slagg, with as much decision in his tone as compelled immediate12 obedience13.
In the corner of a small room, on a truckle-bed, with scant14 bedding, lay the emaciated15 form of John Shanks, alias16 Stumps, alias James Gibson. He had raised himself on one elbow, and was gazing with great lustrous17 invalid18 eyes at the door, when his old comrade entered, for he had been watching, and heard the first sound of footsteps in the passage.
“Oh! Jim Slagg,” he cried, extending a hand which bore strong resemblance to a claw, it was so thin. “Come to me, Jim, How I’ve wished an’ longed, an’—”
He stopped and burst into tears, for he was very weak, poor fellow, and even strong men weep when their strength is brought low.
“Come now, Stumps,” said Slagg, in a serious voice, as he sat down on the bed, put an arm round his old comrade’s thin shoulders, and made him lie down, “if you go to excite yourself like that, I’ll—I’ll—quit the room, an’ I won’t come back for an hour or more.”
“No! O no!” exclaimed the sick man; clutching Slagg’s arm with a trembling grip, “don’t leave me, Jim—don’t, don’t! I shall die if you do! I’m dyin’ anyhow, but it will kill me quicker if you go.”
“Well, I won’t go. There, keep quiet, my poor old Stumps.”
“Yes, that’s it—that’s it—I like to hear the old name,” murmured the sick man, closing his eyes. “Say it again, Jim—say it again.”
“Stumps,” said Slagg, getting down on his knees, the better to arrange and grasp his former comrade, “don’t be a fool now, but listen. I have come to look after you, so make your mind easy.”
“But I’ve been such a beast to you, Jim; it was so awful shabby,” cried Stumps, rousing himself again, “and I’ve been so sorry ever since. You can’t think how sorry. I have repented19, Jim, if ever a man did. An’ I’d have come back and confessed long ago, if I’d had the chance, but I can get no rest—no peace. I’ve never spent a rap of it, Jim, except what I couldn’t help—for you know, Jim, body an’ soul wouldn’t stick together without a little o’ suthin’ to eat an’ drink; an’ when I was ill I couldn’t work, you know. See, it’s all here—all here—except what little—”
He stopped abruptly20, having raised himself to open the lid of the box at his elbow, but his strength failed, and he sank on the pillow with a groan21.
“Stumps,” said Slagg, “come, old boy, you an’ me will have a bit of prayer together.”
The sick man opened his great eyes in astonishment22. It was so unlike his old friend’s brusque rollicking character to propose prayer, that he fancied he must be dreaming, and the possibility of the visit turning out unreal, induced an expression of distress23 on his haggard countenance24. On being ordered, however, in the peremptory25 and familiar tones of former days, to shut his eyes, he felt reassured26 and became calm, while his friend prayed for him.
It was not a set or formal prayer by any means. It sounded strangely like a man asking a friend, in commonplace terms, but very earnestly, to give him what he stood in great need of; and what Jim asked for was the salvation27 of his friend’s soul and his restoration to health. The petition, therefore, was remarkably28 brief, yet full of reverence29, for Jim, though naturally blunt and straightforward30, felt that he was addressing the great and blessed God and Saviour31, who had so recently rescued his own soul.
After saying “Amen!” which the sick man echoed, Slagg pulled out his Bible and read through the fourteenth chapter of John’s gospel, commenting quietly as he went along, while his comrade listened with intense earnestness. At the first verse Jim paused and said, “This wasn’t written to holy and sinless men. ‘Let not your heart be troubled,’ was said to the disciples33, one o’ them bein’ Peter, the man who was to deny Jesus three times with oaths and curses, and then forsake34 Him. The Lord came to save sinners. It would be a poor look-out for you, Stumps, if you thought yourself a good man.”
“But I don’t—oh! I don’t, and you know I don’t!” exclaimed the sick man vehemently35.
“Then the Lord says, ‘Let not your heart be troubled,’ and tells you to believe in God and Himself.”
At the second verse Slagg remarked that it would be a sad, sad thing if the mansion36 prepared, among the many mansions37, for his friend were to be left empty.
“But how am I to get to it, Jim; how am I ever to find the way?”
“Just what the disciple32 named Thomas asked—an’ he was a very doubting follower38 of Jesus, like too many of us. The Master said to him what He says to you and me, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life; no one cometh unto the Father but by me.’”
At the ninth verse the sailor-missionary said, “Jesus is God, you see, so we’re safe to trust Him,” and, at the thirteenth verse, “Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name that will I do,” he said. “Now, we have asked Jesus to save you, and He will do it, by His Holy Spirit, as He has saved me—has saved millions in time past, and will save millions more in time to come. Why, you see, in the sixteenth verse He tells you He will pray the Father to send you a Comforter, who will stay with you for ever. Has He not reason then for beginnin’ with ‘let not your heart be troubled’? And that same Comforter, the Holy Spirit, is to ‘teach us all things,’ so, you see, every difficulty is taken out of our way. ‘Arise, let us go hence.’ Now, my old messmate, I have arisen. Will you not arise and go with me, both of us looking unto Jesus?”
“I will—God helping39 me!” cried the sick man, literally40 arising from his couch and raising both arms to heaven.
“There, now—thank the Lord; but you must lie down again and keep quiet,” said Jim, gently and kindly41 forcing his friend backward.
Stumps did not resist. He closed his eyes, and the restful feeling that had suddenly arisen in his heart when he said the momentous42 words, “I will,” coupled with exhaustion43, resulted almost instantaneously in a quiet slumber44.
“When did he eat last?” asked Slagg of the old woman, in a low voice, for he had been taught, or had learned intuitively, that few things are more disheartening in a sick-room than a whisper.
“This morning he breakfasted at six, but it was on’y a hap’orth o’ bread and a drink o’ cold water.”
“And how dare you starve your lodger in that way?” demanded Slagg, leading the astonished woman into the passage and closing the door. “Don’t you know that starving a man is equal to murdering him, and that you’ll be liable to be hung if he dies? There, take this half-sov, and be off to the nearest shop, an’ buy—let me see—sassengers and steaks and—oh, you know better than me what a sick man wants. Get along with you, and be back sharp. Stay! where are your matches? Ah! Any coals? Good, now away with you and fetch a doctor too, else I’ll fetch a policeman, you bolster45 of bones.”
Thus ordered, threatened, and adjured46, the landlady, half-amused, and more than half-frightened at the visitor’s gushing47 energy, hurried from the house, while Slagg returned to the miserable48 room, and did his best to render it less miserable by kindling49 a splendid fire.
It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add, that a breakfast soon filled that room with delicious odour, such as had not been felt in that lowly neighbourhood for many years; that Stumps, after a refreshing50 sleep, partook of the feast with relish51; that Jim Slagg also partook of it—of most of it, indeed—and enjoyed it to the full; that the old landlady was invited to “fall to,” and did fall to with alacrity52; that the domestic cat also managed to fall to, surreptitiously, without invitation, and not the less enjoyably on that account; that a miserable semi-featherless but unconquerable canary in a cage in the window took care that it was not forgotten; and that several street boys, smelling the viands53 from afar, came round the outer door, became clamorous54, and were not sent empty away.
It may, however, be advisable to add, that Stumps did not die; that joy of heart, good feeding, and—perhaps—the doctor, brought him round, and that he afterwards went to the country to spend the period of convalescence55 in the cottage by the roadside, with Slagg’s mother.
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1
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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2
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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6
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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7
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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8
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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10
raves
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| n.狂欢晚会( rave的名词复数 )v.胡言乱语( rave的第三人称单数 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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11
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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12
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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13
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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14
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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15
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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16
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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27
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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29
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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30
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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32
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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38
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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39
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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40
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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41
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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42
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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43
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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44
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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45
bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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46
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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47
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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48
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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49
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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50
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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51
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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52
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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53
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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54
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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55
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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