“Hallo, Hubert! This room’s too small. Come into the hall.” Hubert had the instant feeling not only that he wanted to say something to his father, but that his father wanted to say something to him. They sat down in a recess9.
“What’s brought you up?”
“I want to get married, Sir.”
“Married?”
“To Jean Tasburgh.”
“Oh!”
“We thought of getting a special licence and having no fuss.”
The General shook his head. “She’s a fine girl, and I’m glad you feel like that, but the fact is your position’s queer, Hubert. I’ve just been hearing.”
Hubert noticed suddenly how worn-looking was his father’s face. “That fellow you shot. They’re pressing for your extradition10 on a charge of murder.”
“What?”
“It’s a monstrous11 business, and I can’t believe they’ll go on with it in the face of what you say about his going for you — luckily you’ve still got his scar on your arm; but it seems there’s the deuce of a fuss in the Bolivian papers; and those half-castes are sticking together about it.”
“I must see Hallorsen at once.”
“The authorities won’t be in a hurry, I expect.”
After this, the two sat silent in the big hall, staring in front of them with very much the same expression on their faces. At the back of both their minds the fear of this development had lurked12, but neither had ever permitted it to take definite shape; and its wretchedness was therefore the more potent13. To the General it was even more searing than to Hubert. The idea that his only son could be haled half across the world on a charge of murder was as horrible as a nightmare.
“No good to let it prey15 on our minds, Hubert,” he said at last; “if there’s any sense in the country at all we’ll get this stopped. I was trying to think of someone who knows how to get at people. I’m helpless in these matters — some fellows seem to know everybody and exactly how to work them. I think we’d better go to Lawrence Mont; he knows Saxenden anyway, and probably the people at the Foreign Office. It was Topsham who told me, but he can do nothing. Let’s walk, shall we? Do us good.”
Much touched by the way his father was identifying himself with his trouble, Hubert squeezed his arm, and they left the Club. In Piccadilly the General said, with a transparent16 effort: “I don’t much like all these changes.”
“Well, Sir, except for Devonshire House, I don’t believe I notice them.”
“No, it’s queer; the spirit of Piccadilly is stronger than the street itself, you can’t destroy its atmosphere. You never see a top hat now, and yet it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I felt the same walking down Piccadilly after the war as I did as a youngster back from India. One just had the feeling of having got there at last.”
“Yes; you get a queer sort of homesickness for it. I did in Mespot and Bolivia. If one closed one’s eyes the whole thing would start up.”
“Core of English life,” began the General, and stopped, as if surprised at having delivered a summary.
“Even the Americans feel it,” remarked Hubert, as they turned into Half-Moon Street. “Hallorsen was saying to me they had nothing like it over there; ‘no focus for their national influence’ was the way he put it.”
“And yet they HAVE influence,” said the General.
“No doubt about that, Sir, but can you define it? Is it their speed that gives it them?”
“Where does their speed get them? Everywhere in general; nowhere in particular. No, it’s their money, I think.”
“Well, I’ve noticed about Americans, and it’s where most people go wrong, that they care very little for money as money. They like to get it fast; but they’d rather lose it fast than get it slow.”
“Queer thing having no core,” said the General.
“The country’s too big, Sir. But they have a sort of core, all the same — pride of country.”
The General nodded.
“Queer little old streets these. I remember walking with my Dad from Curzon Street to the St. James’ Club in ‘82 — day I first went to Harrow — hardly a stick changed.” And so, concerned in talk that touched not on the feelings within them, they reached Mount Street.
“There’s your Aunt Em, don’t tell her.”
A few paces in front of them Lady Mont was, as it were, swimming home. They overtook her some hundred yards from the door.
“Con2,” she said, “you’re lookin’ thin.”
“My dear girl, I never was anything else.”
“No. Hubert, there was somethin’ I wanted to ask you. Oh! I know! But Dinny said you hadn’t had any breeches since the war. How do you like Jean? Rather attractive?”
“Yes, Aunt Em.”
“She wasn’t expelled.”
“Why should she have been?”
“Oh! well, you never know. She’s never terrorised me. D’you want Lawrence? It’s Voltaire now and Dean Swift. So unnecessary — they’ve been awfully17 done; but he likes doin’ them because they bite. About those mules18, Hubert?”
“What about them?”
“I never can remember if the donkey is the sire or the dam.”
“The donkey is the sire and the dam a mare14, Aunt Em.”
“Yes, and they don’t have children — such a blessin’. Where’s Dinny?”
“She’s in town, somewhere.”
“She ought to marry.”
“Why?” said the General.
“Well, there she is! Hen was saying she’d make a good lady-inwaitin’— unselfish. That’s the danger.” And, taking a latchkey out of her bag, Lady Mont applied19 it to the door.
“I can’t get Lawrence to drink tea — would you like some?”
“No thank you, Em.”
“You’ll find him stewin’ in the library.” She kissed her brother and her nephew, and swam towards the stairs. “Puzzlin’,” they heard her say as they entered the library. They found Sir Lawrence surrounded by the works of Voltaire and Swift, for he was engaged on an imaginary dialogue between those two serious men. He listened gravely to the General’s tale.
“I saw,” he said, when his brother-inlaw had finished, “that Hallorsen had repented20 him of the evil — that will be Dinny. I think we’d better see him — not here, there’s no cook, Em’s still slimming — but we can all dine at the Coffee House.” And he took up the telephone.
Professor Hallorsen was expected in at five and should at once be given the message.
“This seems to be more of an F.O. business than a Police matter,” went on Sir Lawrence. “Let’s go over and see old Shropshire. He must have known your father well, Con; and his nephew, Bobbie Ferrar, is about as fixed21 a star as there is at the F.O. Old Shropshire’s always in!”
Arrived at Shropshire House Sir Lawrence said:
“Can we see the Marquess, Pommett?”
“I rather think he’s having his lesson, Sir Lawrence.”
“Lesson — in what?”
“Heinstein, is it, Sir Lawrence?”
“Then the blind is leading the blind, and it will be well to save him. The moment there’s a chance, Pommett, let us in.”
“Yes, Sir Lawrence.”
“Eighty-four and learning Einstein. Who said the aristocracy was decadent22? I should like to see the bloke who’s teaching it, though; he must have singular powers of persuasion23 — there are no flies on old Shropshire.”
At this moment a man of ascetic24 aspect, with a cold deep eye and not much hair, entered, took hat and umbrella from a chair, and went out.
“Behold the man!” said Sir Lawrence. “I wonder what he charges? Einstein is like the electron or the vitamin — inapprehensible; it’s as clear a case of money under false pretences25 as I’ve ever come across. Come along.”
The Marquess of Shropshire was walking up and down his study, nodding his quick and sanguine26 grey-bearded head as if to himself.
“Ah! young Mont,” he said, “did you meet that man — if he offers to teach you Einstein, don’t let him. He can no more explain space bounded yet infinite, than I can.”
“But even Einstein can’t, Marquess.”
“I am not old enough,” said the Marquess, “for anything but the exact sciences. I told him not to come again. Whom have I the pleasure of seeing?”
“My brother-inlaw General Sir Conway Cherrell, and his son Captain Hubert Cherrell, D.S.O. You’ll remember Conway’s father, Marquess — he was Ambassador at Madrid.”
“Yes, yes, dear me, yes! I know your brother Hilary, too; a live wire. Sit down! Sit down, young man! Is it anything to do with electricity?”
“Not wholly, Marquess; more a matter of extradition.”
“Indeed!” The Marquess, raising his foot to the seat of a chair, leaned his elbow on his knee and his bearded chin on his hand. And, while the General was explaining, he continued to stand in this attitude, gazing at Hubert, who was sitting with compressed lips, and lowered eyes. When the General had finished the Marquess said:
“D.S.O., I think your uncle said. In the war?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I shall do what I can. Could I see that scar?”
Hubert drew up his left sleeve, unlinked his shirt cuff27 and exposed an arm up which a long glancing scar stretched almost from wrist to elbow.
The Marquess whistled softly through teeth still his own. “Narrow escape that, young man.”
“Yes, Sir. I put up my arm just as he struck.”
“And then?”
“Jumped back and shot him as he came on again. Then I fainted.”
“This man was flogged for ill-treating his mules, you say?”
“Continually ill-treating them.”
“Continually?” repeated the Marquess. “Some think the meat-trade and Zoological Society continually ill-treat animals, but I never heard of their being flogged. Tastes differ. Now, let me see, what can I do? Is Bobbie in town, young Mont?”
“Yes, Marquess. I saw him at the Coffee House yesterday.”
“I will get him to breakfast. If I remember he does not allow his children to keep rabbits, and has a dog that bites everybody. That should be to the good. A man who is fond of animals would always like to flog a man who isn’t. Before you go, young Mont, will you tell me what you think of this?” And replacing his foot on the ground, the Marquess went to the corner, took up a canvas that was leaning against the wall, and brought it to the light. It represented with a moderate degree of certainty a young woman without clothes.
“By Steinvitch,” said the Marquess; “she could corrupt28 no morals, could she — if hung?”
Sir Lawrence screwed in his monocle: “The oblong school. This comes of living with women of a certain shape, Marquess. No, she couldn’t corrupt morals, but she might spoil digestions29 — flesh sea-green, hair tomato, style blobby. Did you buy her?”
“Hardly,” said the Marquess; “she is worth a good deal of money, I am told. You — you wouldn’t take her away, I suppose?”
“For you, Sir, I would do most things, but not that; no,” repeated Sir Lawrence, moving backwards30, “not that.”
“I was afraid of it,” said the Marquess, “and yet I am told that she has a certain dynamic force. Well, that is that! I liked your father, General,” he said, more earnestly, “and if the word of his grandson is not to be taken against that of half-caste muleteers, we shall have reached a stage of altruism31 in this country so complete that I do not think we can survive. I will let you know what my nephew says. Good-bye, General; good-bye, my dear young man — that is a very nasty scar. Good-bye, young Mont — you are incorrigible32.”
On the stairs Sir Lawrence looked at his watch. “So far,” he said, “the matter has taken twenty minutes — say twenty-five from door to door. They can’t do it at that pace in America — and we very nearly had an oblong young woman thrown in. Now for the Coffee House, and Hallorsen.” And they turned their faces towards St. James’s Street. “This street,” he said, “is the Mecca of Western man, as the Rue33 de la Paix is the Mecca of Western woman.” And he regarded his companions whimsically. What good specimens34 they were of a product at once the envy and mock of every other country! All over the British Empire men made more or less in their image were doing the work and playing the games of the British world. The sun never set on the type; history had looked on it and decided35 that it would survive. Satire36 darted37 at its joints38, and rebounded39 from an unseen armour40. ‘It walks quietly down the days of Time,’ he thought, ‘the streets and places of the world, without manner to speak of, without parade of learning, strength, or anything, endowed with the conviction, invisible, impermeable41, of being IT.’
“Yes,” he said on the doorstep of ‘The Coffee House,’ “I look on this as the plumb42 centre of the universe. Others may claim the North Pole, Rome, Montmartre — I claim the Coffee House, oldest Club in the world, and I suppose, by plumbing43 standards, the worst. Shall we wash, or postpone44 it to a more joyful45 opportunity? Agreed. Let’s sit down here, then, and await the apostle of plumbing. I take him for a hustler. Pity we can’t arrange a match between him and the Marquess. I’d back the old boy.”
“Here he is,” said Hubert.
The American looked very big coming into the low hall of the oldest Club in the world.
“Sir Lawrence Mont,” he said; “Ah! Captain! General Sir Conway Cherrell? Proud to meet you, General. And what can I do for you, gentlemen?”
He listened to Sir Lawrence’s recital46 with a deepening gravity. “Isn’t that too bad? I can’t take this sitting. I’m going right along now to see the Bolivian Minister. And, Captain, I’ve kept the address of your boy Manuel, I’ll cable our Consul47 at La Paz to get a statement from him right away, confirming your story. Who ever heard of such darned foolishness? Forgive me, gentlemen, but I’ll have no peace till I’ve set the wires going.” And with a circular movement of his head he was gone. The three Englishmen sat down again.
“Old Shropshire must look to his heels,” Sir Lawrence said.
“So that’s Hallorsen,” said the General. “Fine-looking chap.”
Hubert said nothing. He was moved.
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收听单词发音
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1
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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3
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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5
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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7
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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8
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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9
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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10
extradition
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| n.引渡（逃犯） | |
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11
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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13
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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15
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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16
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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17
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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18
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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19
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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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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21
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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22
decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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23
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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26
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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27
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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28
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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29
digestions
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| n.消化能力( digestion的名词复数 )；消化，领悟 | |
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30
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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31
altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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32
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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33
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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34
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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35
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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36
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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37
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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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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39
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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40
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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41
impermeable
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| adj.不能透过的，不渗透的 | |
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42
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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43
plumbing
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| n.水管装置；水暖工的工作；管道工程v.用铅锤测量（plumb的现在分词）；探究 | |
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44
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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45
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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46
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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47
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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