Carol was fond of Maud Dyer, because she had been particularly agreeable lately; had obviously repented1 of the nervous distaste which she had once shown. Maud patted her hand when they met, and asked about Hugh.
Kennicott said that he was “kind of sorry for the girl, some ways; she’s too darn emotional, but still, Dave is sort of mean to her.” He was polite to poor Maud when they all went down to the cottages for a swim. Carol was proud of that sympathy in him, and now she took pains to sit with their new friend.
Mrs. Dyer was bubbling, “Oh, have you folks heard about this young fellow that’s just come to town that the boys call ‘Elizabeth’? He’s working in Nat Hicks’s tailor shop. I bet he doesn’t make eighteen a week, but my! isn’t he the perfect lady though! He talks so refined, and oh, the lugs2 he puts on — belted coat, and pique3 collar with a gold pin, and socks to match his necktie, and honest — you won’t believe this, but I got it straight — this fellow, you know he’s staying at Mrs. Gurrey’s punk old boarding-house, and they say he asked Mrs. Gurrey if he ought to put on a dress-suit for supper! Imagine! Can you beat that? And him nothing but a Swede tailor — Erik Valborg his name is. But he used to be in a tailor shop in Minneapolis (they do say he’s a smart needle-pusher, at that) and he tries to let on that he’s a regular city fellow. They say he tries to make people think he’s a poet — carries books around and pretends to read ’em. Myrtle Cass says she met him at a dance, and he was mooning around all over the place, and he asked her did she like flowers and poetry and music and everything; he spieled like he was a regular United States Senator; and Myrtle — she’s a devil, that girl, ha! ha! — she kidded him along, and got him going, and honest, what d’you think he said? He said he didn’t find any intellectual companionship in this town. Can you BEAT it? Imagine! And him a Swede tailor! My! And they say he’s the most awful mollycoddle4 — looks just like a girl. The boys call him ‘Elizabeth,’ and they stop him and ask about the books he lets on to have read, and he goes and tells them, and they take it all in and jolly him terribly, and he never gets onto the fact they’re kidding him. Oh, I think it’s just TOO funny!”
The Jolly Seventeen laughed, and Carol laughed with them. Mrs. Jack5 Elder added that this Erik Valborg had confided6 to Mrs. Gurrey that he would “love to design clothes for women.” Imagine! Mrs. Harvey Dillon had had a glimpse of him, but honestly, she’d thought he was awfully7 handsome. This was instantly controverted8 by Mrs. B. J. Gougerling, wife of the banker. Mrs. Gougerling had had, she reported, a good look at this Valborg fellow. She and B. J. had been motoring, and passed “Elizabeth” out by McGruder’s Bridge. He was wearing the awfullest clothes, with the waist pinched in like a girl’s. He was sitting on a rock doing nothing, but when he heard the Gougerling car coming he snatched a book out of his pocket, and as they went by he pretended to be reading it, to show off. And he wasn’t really good-looking — just kind of soft, as B. J. had pointed9 out.
When the husbands came they joined in the expose. “My name is Elizabeth. I’m the celebrated10 musical tailor. The skirts fall for me by the thou. Do I get some more veal11 loaf?” merrily shrieked12 Dave Dyer. He had some admirable stories about the tricks the town youngsters had played on Valborg. They had dropped a decaying perch13 into his pocket. They had pinned on his back a sign, “I’m the prize boob, kick me.”
Glad of any laughter, Carol joined the frolic, and surprised them by crying, “Dave, I do think you’re the dearest thing since you got your hair cut!” That was an excellent sally. Everybody applauded. Kennicott looked proud.
She decided14 that sometime she really must go out of her way to pass Hicks’s shop and see this freak.
II
She was at Sunday morning service at the Baptist Church, in a solemn row with her husband, Hugh, Uncle Whittier, Aunt Bessie.
Despite Aunt Bessie’s nagging15 the Kennicotts rarely attended church. The doctor asserted, “Sure, religion is a fine influence — got to have it to keep the lower classes in order — fact, it’s the only thing that appeals to a lot of those fellows and makes ’em respect the rights of property. And I guess this theology is O.K.; lot of wise old coots figured it all out, and they knew more about it than we do.” He believed in the Christian16 religion, and never thought about it, he believed in the church, and seldom went near it; he was shocked by Carol’s lack of faith, and wasn’t quite sure what was the nature of the faith that she lacked.
Carol herself was an uneasy and dodging17 agnostic.
When she ventured to Sunday School and heard the teachers droning that the genealogy18 of Shamsherai was a valuable ethical19 problem for children to think about; when she experimented with Wednesday prayer-meeting and listened to store-keeping elders giving their unvarying weekly testimony20 in primitive21 erotic symbols and such gory22 Chaldean phrases as “washed in the blood of the lamb” and “a vengeful God”; when Mrs. Bogart boasted that through his boyhood she had made Cy confess nightly upon the basis of the Ten Commandments; then Carol was dismayed to find the Christian religion, in America, in the twentieth century, as abnormal as Zoroastrianism — without the splendor23. But when she went to church suppers and felt the friendliness24, saw the gaiety with which the sisters served cold ham and scalloped potatoes; when Mrs. Champ Perry cried to her, on an afternoon call, “My dear, if you just knew how happy it makes you to come into abiding25 grace,” then Carol found the humanness behind the sanguinary and alien theology. Always she perceived that the churches — Methodist, Baptist, Congregational, Catholic, all of them — which had seemed so unimportant to the judge’s home in her childhood, so isolated26 from the city struggle in St. Paul, were still, in Gopher Prairie, the strongest of the forces compelling respectability.
This August Sunday she had been tempted27 by the announcement that the Reverend Edmund Zitterel would preach on the topic “America, Face Your Problems!” With the great war, workmen in every nation showing a desire to control industries, Russia hinting a leftward revolution against Kerensky, woman suffrage28 coming, there seemed to be plenty of problems for the Reverend Mr. Zitterel to call on America to face. Carol gathered her family and trotted29 off behind Uncle Whittier.
The congregation faced the heat with informality. Men with highly plastered hair, so painfully shaved that their faces looked sore, removed their coats, sighed, and unbuttoned two buttons of their uncreased Sunday vests. Large-bosomed, white-bloused, hot-necked, spectacled matrons — the Mothers in Israel, pioneers and friends of Mrs. Champ Perry — waved their palm-leaf fans in a steady rhythm. Abashed31 boys slunk into the rear pews and giggled32, while milky33 little girls, up front with their mothers, self-consciously kept from turning around.
The church was half barn and half Gopher Prairie parlor34. The streaky brown wallpaper was broken in its dismal35 sweep only by framed texts, “Come unto Me” and “The Lord is My Shepherd,” by a list of hymns36, and by a crimson38 and green diagram, staggeringly drawn39 upon hemp-colored paper, indicating the alarming ease with which a young man may descend40 from Palaces of Pleasure and the House of Pride to Eternal Damnation. But the varnished41 oak pews and the new red carpet and the three large chairs on the platform, behind the bare reading-stand, were all of a rocking-chair comfort.
Carol was civic42 and neighborly and commendable43 today. She beamed and bowed. She trolled out with the others the hymn37:
How pleasant ’tis on Sabbath morn
To gather in the church
And there I’ll have no carnal thoughts,
Nor sin shall me besmirch44.
With a rustle45 of starched46 linen47 skirts and stiff shirt-fronts, the congregation sat down, and gave heed48 to the Reverend Mr. Zitterel. The priest was a thin, swart, intense young man with a bang. He wore a black sack suit and a lilac tie. He smote49 the enormous Bible on the reading-stand, vociferated, “Come, let us reason together,” delivered a prayer informing Almighty50 God of the news of the past week, and began to reason.
It proved that the only problems which America had to face were Mormonism and Prohibition51:
“Don’t let any of these self-conceited fellows that are always trying to stir up trouble deceive you with the belief that there’s anything to all these smart-aleck movements to let the unions and the Farmers’ Nonpartisan League kill all our initiative and enterprise by fixing wages and prices. There isn’t any movement that amounts to a whoop52 without it’s got a moral background. And let me tell you that while folks are fussing about what they call ‘economics’ and ‘socialism’ and ‘science’ and a lot of things that are nothing in the world but a disguise for atheism54, the Old Satan is busy spreading his secret net and tentacles55 out there in Utah, under his guise53 of Joe Smith or Brigham Young or whoever their leaders happen to be today, it doesn’t make any difference, and they’re making game of the Old Bible that has led this American people through its manifold trials and tribulations56 to its firm position as the fulfilment of the prophecies and the recognized leader of all nations. ‘Sit thou on my right hand till I make thine enemies the footstool of my feet,’ said the Lord of Hosts, Acts II, the thirty-fourth verse — and let me tell you right now, you got to get up a good deal earlier in the morning than you get up even when you’re going fishing, if you want to be smarter than the Lord, who has shown us the straight and narrow way, and he that passeth therefrom is in eternal peril57 and, to return to this vital and terrible subject of Mormonism — and as I say, it is terrible to realize how little attention is given to this evil right here in our midst and on our very doorstep, as it were — it’s a shame and a disgrace that the Congress of these United States spends all its time talking about inconsequential financial matters that ought to be left to the Treasury58 Department, as I understand it, instead of arising in their might and passing a law that any one admitting he is a Mormon shall simply be deported59 and as it were kicked out of this free country in which we haven’t got any room for polygamy and the tyrannies of Satan.
“And, to digress for a moment, especially as there are more of them in this state than there are Mormons, though you never can tell what will happen with this vain generation of young girls, that think more about wearing silk stockings than about minding their mothers and learning to bake a good loaf of bread, and many of them listening to these sneaking60 Mormon missionaries61 — and I actually heard one of them talking right out on a street-corner in Duluth, a few years ago, and the officers of the law not protesting — but still, as they are a smaller but more immediate62 problem, let me stop for just a moment to pay my respects to these Seventh–Day Adventists. Not that they are immoral63, I don’t mean, but when a body of men go on insisting that Saturday is the Sabbath, after Christ himself has clearly indicated the new dispensation, then I think the legislature ought to step in ——”
At this point Carol awoke.
She got through three more minutes by studying the face of a girl in the pew across: a sensitive unhappy girl whose longing64 poured out with intimidating65 self-revelation as she worshiped Mr. Zitterel. Carol wondered who the girl was. She had seen her at church suppers. She considered how many of the three thousand people in the town she did not know; to how many of them the Thanatopsis and the Jolly Seventeen were icy social peaks; how many of them might be toiling66 through boredom67 thicker than her own — with greater courage.
She examined her nails. She read two hymns. She got some satisfaction out of rubbing an itching68 knuckle69. She pillowed on her shoulder the head of the baby who, after killing70 time in the same manner as his mother, was so fortunate as to fall asleep. She read the introduction, title-page, and acknowledgment of copyrights, in the hymnal. She tried to evolve a philosophy which would explain why Kennicott could never tie his scarf so that it would reach the top of the gap in his turn-down collar.
There were no other diversions to be found in the pew. She glanced back at the congregation. She thought that it would be amiable71 to bow to Mrs. Champ Perry.
Her slow turning head stopped, galvanized.
Across the aisle72, two rows back, was a strange young man who shone among the cud-chewing citizens like a visitant from the sun-amber curls, low forehead, fine nose, chin smooth but not raw from Sabbath shaving. His lips startled her. The lips of men in Gopher Prairie are flat in the face, straight and grudging73. The stranger’s mouth was arched, the upper lip short. He wore a brown jersey74 coat, a delft-blue bow, a white silk shirt, white flannel75 trousers. He suggested the ocean beach, a tennis court, anything but the sun-blistered utility of Main Street.
A visitor from Minneapolis, here for business? No. He wasn’t a business man. He was a poet. Keats was in his face, and Shelley, and Arthur Upson, whom she had once seen in Minneapolis. He was at once too sensitive and too sophisticated to touch business as she knew it in Gopher Prairie.
With restrained amusement he was analyzing76 the noisy Mr. Zitterel. Carol was ashamed to have this spy from the Great World hear the pastor’s maundering. She felt responsible for the town. She resented his gaping77 at their private rites78. She flushed, turned away. But she continued to feel his presence.
How could she meet him? She must! For an hour of talk. He was all that she was hungry for. She could not let him get away without a word — and she would have to. She pictured, and ridiculed79, herself as walking up to him and remarking, “I am sick with the Village Virus. Will you please tell me what people are saying and playing in New York?” She pictured, and groaned80 over, the expression of Kennicott if she should say, “Why wouldn’t it be reasonable for you, my soul, to ask that complete stranger in the brown jersey coat to come to supper tonight?”
She brooded, not looking back. She warned herself that she was probably exaggerating; that no young man could have all these exalted81 qualities. Wasn’t he too obviously smart, too glossy-new? Like a movie actor. Probably he was a traveling salesman who sang tenor82 and fancied himself in imitations of Newport clothes and spoke83 of “the swellest business proposition that ever came down the pike.” In a panic she peered at him. No! This was no hustling85 salesman, this boy with the curving Grecian lips and the serious eyes.
She rose after the service, carefully taking Kennicott’s arm and smiling at him in a mute assertion that she was devoted86 to him no matter what happened. She followed the Mystery’s soft brown jersey shoulders out of the church.
Fatty Hicks, the shrill87 and puffy son of Nat, flapped his hand at the beautiful stranger and jeered88, “How’s the kid? All dolled up like a plush horse today, ain’t we!”
Carol was exceeding sick. Her herald89 from the outside was Erik Valborg, “Elizabeth.” Apprentice90 tailor! Gasoline and hot goose! Mending dirty jackets! Respectfully holding a tape-measure about a paunch!
And yet, she insisted, this boy was also himself.
III
They had Sunday dinner with the Smails, in a dining-room which centered about a fruit and flower piece and a crayon- enlargement of Uncle Whittier. Carol did not heed Aunt Bessie’s fussing in regard to Mrs. Robert B. Schminke’s bead91 necklace and Whittier’s error in putting on the striped pants, day like this. She did not taste the shreds92 of roast pork. She said vacuously93:
“Uh — Will, I wonder if that young man in the white flannel trousers, at church this morning, was this Valborg person that they’re all talking about?”
“Yump. That’s him. Wasn’t that the darudest get-up he had on!” Kennicott scratched at a white smear94 on his hard gray sleeve.
“It wasn’t so bad. I wonder where he comes from? He seems to have lived in cities a good deal. Is he from the East?”
“The East? Him? Why, he comes from a farm right up north here, just this side of Jefferson. I know his father slightly — Adolph Valborg — typical cranky old Swede farmer.”
“Oh, really?” blandly95.
“Believe he has lived in Minneapolis for quite some time, though. Learned his trade there. And I will say he’s bright, some ways. Reads a lot. Pollock says he takes more books out of the library than anybody else in town. Huh! He’s kind of like you in that!”
The Smails and Kennicott laughed very much at this sly jest. Uncle Whittier seized the conversation. “That fellow that’s working for Hicks? Milksop, that’s what he is. Makes me tired to see a young fellow that ought to be in the war, or anyway out in the fields earning his living honest, like I done when I was young, doing a woman’s work and then come out and dress up like a show-actor! Why, when I was his age ——”
Carol reflected that the carving-knife would make an excellent dagger96 with which to kill Uncle Whittier. It would slide in easily. The headlines would be terrible
Kennicott said judiciously97, “Oh, I don’t want to be unjust to him. I believe he took his physical examination for military service. Got varicose veins98 — not bad, but enough to disqualify him. Though I will say he doesn’t look like a fellow that would be so awful darn crazy to poke84 his bayonet into a Hun’s guts99.”
“Will! PLEASE!”
“Well, he don’t. Looks soft to me. And they say he told Del Snafflin, when he was getting a hair-cut on Saturday, that he wished he could play the piano.”
“Isn’t it wonderful how much we all know about one another in a town like this,” said Carol innocently.
Kennicott was suspicious, but Aunt Bessie, serving the floating island pudding, agreed, “Yes, it is wonderful. Folks can get away with all sorts of meannesses and sins in these terrible cities, but they can’t here. I was noticing this tailor fellow this morning, and when Mrs. Riggs offered to share her hymn-book with him, he shook his head, and all the while we was singing he just stood there like a bump on a log and never opened his mouth. Everybody says he’s got an idea that he’s got so much better manners and all than what the rest of us have, but if that’s what he calls good manners, I want to know!”
Carol again studied the carving-knife. Blood on the whiteness of a tablecloth101 might be gorgeous.
Then:
“Fool! Neurotic102 impossibilist! Telling yourself orchard103 fairy-tales — at thirty. . . . Dear Lord, am I really THIRTY? That boy can’t be more than twenty-five.”
IV
She went calling.
Boarding with the Widow Bogart was Fern Mullins, a girl of twenty-two who was to be teacher of English, French, and gymnastics in the high school this coming session. Fern Mullins had come to town early, for the six-weeks normal course for country teachers. Carol had noticed her on the street, had heard almost as much about her as about Erik Valborg. She was tall, weedy, pretty, and incurably104 rakish. Whether she wore a low middy collar or dressed reticently105 for school in a black suit with a high-necked blouse, she was airy, flippant. “She looks like an absolute totty,” said all the Mrs. Sam Clarks, disapprovingly106, and all the Juanita Haydocks, enviously107.
That Sunday evening, sitting in baggy108 canvas lawn-chairs beside the house, the Kennicotts saw Fern laughing with Cy Bogart who, though still a junior in high school, was now a lump of a man, only two or three years younger than Fern. Cy had to go downtown for weighty matters connected with the pool-parlor. Fern drooped109 on the Bogart porch, her chin in her hands.
“She looks lonely,” said Kennicott.
“She does, poor soul. I believe I’ll go over and speak to her. I was introduced to her at Dave’s but I haven’t called.” Carol was slipping across the lawn, a white figure in the dimness, faintly brushing the dewy grass. She was thinking of Erik and of the fact that her feet were wet, and she was casual in her greeting: “Hello! The doctor and I wondered if you were lonely.”
Resentfully, “I am!”
Carol concentrated on her. “My dear, you sound so! I know how it is. I used to be tired when I was on the job — I was a librarian. What was your college? I was Blodgett.”
More interestedly, “I went to the U.” Fern meant the University of Minnesota.
“You must have had a splendid time. Blodgett was a bit dull.”
“Where were you a librarian?” challengingly.
“St. Paul — the main library.”
“Honest? Oh dear, I wish I was back in the Cities! This is my first year of teaching, and I’m scared stiff. I did have the best time in college: dramatics and basket-ball and fussing and dancing — I’m simply crazy about dancing. And here, except when I have the kids in gymnasium class, or when I’m chaperoning the basket-ball team on a trip out-of-town, I won’t dare to move above a whisper. I guess they don’t care much if you put any pep into teaching or not, as long as you look like a Good Influence out of school-hours — and that means never doing anything you want to. This normal course is bad enough, but the regular school will be FIERCE! If it wasn’t too late to get a job in the Cities, I swear I’d resign here. I bet I won’t dare to go to a single dance all winter. If I cut loose and danced the way I like to, they’d think I was a perfect hellion — poor harmless me! Oh, I oughtn’t to be talking like this. Fern, you never could be cagey!”
“Don’t be frightened, my dear! . . . Doesn’t that sound atrociously old and kind! I’m talking to you the way Mrs. Westlake talks to me! That’s having a husband and a kitchen range, I suppose. But I feel young, and I want to dance like a — like a hellion? — too. So I sympathize.”
Fern made a sound of gratitude110. Carol inquired, “What experience did you have with college dramatics? I tried to start a kind of Little Theater here. It was dreadful. I must tell you about it ——”
Two hours later, when Kennicott came over to greet Fern and to yawn, “Look here, Carrie, don’t you suppose you better be thinking about turning in? I’ve got a hard day tomorrow,” the two were talking so intimately that they constantly interrupted each other.
As she went respectably home, convoyed by a husband, and decorously holding up her skirts, Carol rejoiced, “Everything has changed! I have two friends, Fern and —— But who’s the other? That’s queer; I thought there was —— Oh, how absurd!”
V
She often passed Erik Valborg on the street; the brown jersey coat became unremarkable. When she was driving with Kennicott, in early evening, she saw him on the lake shore, reading a thin book which might easily have been poetry. She noted111 that he was the only person in the motorized town who still took long walks.
She told herself that she was the daughter of a judge, the wife of a doctor, and that she did not care to know a capering112 tailor. She told herself that she was not responsive to men . . . not even to Percy Bresnahan. She told herself that a woman of thirty who heeded113 a boy of twenty-five was ridiculous. And on Friday, when she had convinced herself that the errand was necessary, she went to Nat Hicks’s shop, bearing the not very romantic burden of a pair of her husband’s trousers. Hicks was in the back room. She faced the Greek god who, in a somewhat ungodlike way, was stitching a coat on a scaley sewing-machine, in a room of smutted plaster walls.
She saw that his hands were not in keeping with a Hellenic face. They were thick, roughened with needle and hot iron and plow-handle. Even in the shop he persisted in his finery. He wore a silk shirt, a topaz scarf, thin tan shoes.
This she absorbed while she was saying curtly114, “Can I get these pressed, please?”
Not rising from the sewing-machine he stuck out his hand, mumbled115, “When do you want them?”
“Oh, Monday.”
The adventure was over. She was marching out.
“What name?” he called after her.
He had risen and, despite the farcicality of Dr. Will Kennicott’s bulgy116 trousers draped over his arm, he had the grace of a cat.
“Kennicott.”
“Kennicott. Oh! Oh say, you’re Mrs. Dr. Kennicott then, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She stood at the door. Now that she had carried out her preposterous117 impulse to see what he was like, she was cold, she was as ready to detect familiarities as the virtuous118 Miss Ella Stowbody.
“I’ve heard about you. Myrtle Cass was saying you got up a dramatic club and gave a dandy play. I’ve always wished I had a chance to belong to a Little Theater, and give some European plays, or whimsical like Barrie, or a pageant119.”
He pronounced it “pagent”; he rhymed “pag” with “rag.”
Carol nodded in the manner of a lady being kind to a tradesman, and one of her selves sneered120, “Our Erik is indeed a lost John Keats.”
He was appealing, “Do you suppose it would be possible to get up another dramatic club this coming fall?”
“Well, it might be worth thinking of.” She came out of her several conflicting poses, and said sincerely, “There’s a new teacher, Miss Mullins, who might have some talent. That would make three of us for a nucleus121. If we could scrape up half a dozen we might give a real play with a small cast. Have you had any experience?”
“Just a bum100 club that some of us got up in Minneapolis when I was working there. We had one good man, an interior decorator — maybe he was kind of sis and effeminate, but he really was an artist, and we gave one dandy play. But I—— Of course I’ve always had to work hard, and study by myself, and I’m probably sloppy122, and I’d love it if I had training in rehearsing — I mean, the crankier the director was, the better I’d like it. If you didn’t want to use me as an actor, I’d love to design the costumes. I’m crazy about fabrics123 — textures124 and colors and designs.”
She knew that he was trying to keep her from going, trying to indicate that he was something more than a person to whom one brought trousers for pressing. He besought125:
“Some day I hope I can get away from this fool repairing, when I have the money saved up. I want to go East and work for some big dressmaker, and study art drawing, and become a high-class designer. Or do you think that’s a kind of fiddlin’ ambition for a fellow? I was brought up on a farm. And then monkeyin’ round with silks! I don’t know. What do you think? Myrtle Cass says you’re awfully educated.”
“I am. Awfully. Tell me: Have the boys made fun of your ambition?”
She was seventy years old, and sexless, and more advisory126 than Vida Sherwin.
“Well, they have, at that. They’ve jollied me a good deal, here and Minneapolis both. They say dressmaking is ladies’ work. (But I was willing to get drafted for the war! I tried to get in. But they rejected me. But I did try! ) I thought some of working up in a gents’ furnishings store, and I had a chance to travel on the road for a clothing house, but somehow — I hate this tailoring, but I can’t seem to get enthusiastic about salesmanship. I keep thinking about a room in gray oatmeal paper with prints in very narrow gold frames — or would it be better in white enamel127 paneling? — but anyway, it looks out on Fifth Avenue, and I’m designing a sumptuous128 ——” He made it “sump-too-ous”—“robe of linden green chiffon over cloth of gold! You know — tileul. It’s elegant. . . . What do you think?”
“Why not? What do you care for the opinion of city rowdies, or a lot of farm boys? But you mustn’t, you really mustn’t, let casual strangers like me have a chance to judge you.”
“Well —— You aren’t a stranger, one way. Myrtle Cass — Miss Cass, should say — she’s spoken about you so often. I wanted to call on you — and the doctor — but I didn’t quite have the nerve. One evening I walked past your house, but you and your husband were talking on the porch, and you looked so chummy and happy I didn’t dare butt30 in.”
Maternally129, “I think it’s extremely nice of you to want to be trained in — in enunciation130 by a stage-director. Perhaps I could help you. I’m a thoroughly131 sound and uninspired schoolma’am by instinct; quite hopelessly mature.”
“Oh, you aren’t EITHER!”
She was not very successful at accepting his fervor132 with the air of amused woman of the world, but she sounded reasonably impersonal133: “Thank you. Shall we see if we really can get up a new dramatic club? I’ll tell you: Come to the house this evening, about eight. I’ll ask Miss Mullins to come over, and we’ll talk about it.”
VI
“He has absolutely no sense of humor. Less than Will. But hasn’t he ——— What is a ‘sense of humor’? Isn’t the thing he lacks the back-slapping jocosity134 that passes for humor here? Anyway —— Poor lamb, coaxing135 me to stay and play with him! Poor lonely lamb! If he could be free from Nat Hickses, from people who say ‘dandy’ and ‘bum,’ would he develop?
“I wonder if Whitman didn’t use Brooklyn back-street slang, as a boy?
“No. Not Whitman. He’s Keats — sensitive to silken things. ‘Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes as are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings.’ Keats, here! A bewildered spirit fallen on Main Street. And Main Street laughs till it aches, giggles136 till the spirit doubts his own self and tries to give up the use of wings for the correct uses of a ‘gents’ furnishings store.’ Gopher Prairie with its celebrated eleven miles of cement walk. . . . I wonder how much of the cement is made out of the tombstones of John Keatses?”
VII
Kennicott was cordial to Fern Mullins, teased her, told her he was a “great hand for running off with pretty school- teachers,” and promised that if the school-board should object to her dancing, he would “bat ’em one over the head and tell ’em how lucky they were to get a girl with some go to her, for once.”
But to Erik Valborg he was not cordial. He shook hands loosely, and said, “H’ are yuh.”
Nat Hicks was socially acceptable; he had been here for years, and owned his shop; but this person was merely Nat’s workman, and the town’s principle of perfect democracy was not meant to be applied137 indiscriminately.
The conference on a dramatic club theoretically included Kennicott, but he sat back, patting yawns, conscious of Fern’s ankles, smiling amiably138 on the children at their sport.
Fern wanted to tell her grievances139; Carol was sulky every time she thought of “The Girl from Kankakee”; it was Erik who made suggestions. He had read with astounding140 breadth, and astounding lack of judgment141. His voice was sensitive to liquids, but he overused the word “glorious.” He mispronounced a tenth of the words he had from books, but he knew it. He was insistent142, but he was shy.
When he demanded, “I’d like to stage ‘Suppressed Desires,’ by Cook and Miss Glaspell,” Carol ceased to be patronizing. He was not the yearner143: he was the artist, sure of his vision. “I’d make it simple. Use a big window at the back, with a cyclorama of a blue that would simply hit you in the eye, and just one tree-branch, to suggest a park below. Put the breakfast table on a dais. Let the colors be kind of arty and tea-roomy — orange chairs, and orange and blue table, and blue Japanese breakfast set, and some place, one big flat smear of black — bang! Oh. Another play I wish we could do is Tennyson Jesse’s ‘The Black Mask.’ I’ve never seen it but —— Glorious ending, where this woman looks at the man with his face all blown away, and she just gives one horrible scream.”
“Good God, is that your idea of a glorious ending?” bayed Kennicott.
“That sounds fierce! I do love artistic144 things, but not the horrible ones,” moaned Fern Mullins.
Erik was bewildered; glanced at Carol. She nodded loyally.
At the end of the conference they had decided nothing.
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收听单词发音
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1
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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2
lugs
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| 钎柄 | |
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3
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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mollycoddle
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| v.溺爱，娇养 | |
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5
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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6
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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7
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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8
controverted
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| v.争论，反驳，否定( controvert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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10
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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11
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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12
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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14
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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15
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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16
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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17
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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18
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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19
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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20
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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21
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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22
gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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23
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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24
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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25
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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26
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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27
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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28
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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29
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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30
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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31
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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34
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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35
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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36
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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37
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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38
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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39
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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40
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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41
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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42
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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43
commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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44
besmirch
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| v.污，糟蹋 | |
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45
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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46
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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48
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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49
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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50
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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51
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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52
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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53
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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54
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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55
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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56
tribulations
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| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
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57
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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58
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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59
deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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60
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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61
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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62
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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63
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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64
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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65
intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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66
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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67
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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68
itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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69
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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70
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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71
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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72
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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73
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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74
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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75
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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76
analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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77
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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78
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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79
ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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81
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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82
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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83
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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84
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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85
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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86
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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87
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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88
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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90
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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91
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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92
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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93
vacuously
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| adv.无意义地，茫然若失地，无所事事地 | |
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94
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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95
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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96
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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97
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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98
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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99
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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100
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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101
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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102
neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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103
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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104
incurably
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| ad.治不好地 | |
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105
reticently
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| adv.沉默寡言地，沉默地 | |
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106
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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107
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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108
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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109
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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111
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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112
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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113
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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115
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
bulgy
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| a.膨胀的；凸出的 | |
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117
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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118
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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119
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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120
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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122
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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123
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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124
textures
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| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
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125
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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126
advisory
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| adj.劝告的，忠告的，顾问的，提供咨询 | |
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127
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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128
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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129
maternally
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130
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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131
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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132
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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133
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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134
jocosity
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| n.诙谐 | |
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135
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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136
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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138
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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139
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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140
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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141
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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142
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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143
yearner
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| n.渴望者 | |
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144
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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