“Do you know, Wheeler,” the doctor remarked one day when they came up from the hospital together to get a breath of air, “I sometimes wonder whether all these inoculations they’ve been having, against typhoid and smallpox6 and whatnot, haven’t lowered their vitality. I’ll go off my head if I keep losing men! What would you give to be out of it all, and safe back on the farm?” Hearing no reply, he turned his head, peered over his raincoat collar, and saw a startled, resisting look in the young man’s blue eyes, followed by a quick flush.
“You don’t want to be back on the farm, do you! Not a little bit! Well, well; that’s what it is to be young!” He shook his head with a smile which might have been commiseration7, might have been envy, and went back to his duties.
Claude stayed where he was, drawing the wet grey air into his lungs and feeling vexed8 and reprimanded. It was quite true, he realized; the doctor had caught him. He was enjoying himself all the while and didn’t want to be safe anywhere. He was sorry about Tannhauser and the others, but he was not sorry for himself. The discomforts9 and misfortunes of this voyage had not spoiled it for him. He grumbled10, of course, because others did. But life had never seemed so tempting11 as it did here and now. He could come up from heavy work in the hospital, or from poor Fanning and his everlasting12 eggs, and forget all that in ten minutes. Something inside him, as elastic13 as the grey ridges14 over which they were tipping, kept bounding up and saying: “I am all here. I’ve left everything behind me. I am going over.”
Only on that one day, the cold day of the Virginian’s funeral, when he was seasick15, had he been really miserable16. He must be heartless, certainly, not to be overwhelmed by the sufferings of his own men, his own friends — but he wasn’t. He had them on his mind and did all he could for them, but it seemed to him just now that he took a sort of satisfaction in that, too, and was somewhat vain of his usefulness to Doctor Trueman. A nice attitude! He awoke every morning with that sense of freedom and going forward, as if the world were growing bigger each day and he were growing with it. Other fellows were sick and dying, and that was terrible, — but he and the boat went on, and always on.
Something was released that had been struggling for a long while, he told himself. He had been due in France since the first battle of the Marne; he had followed false leads and lost precious time and seen misery17 enough, but he was on the right road at last, and nothing could stop him. If he hadn’t been so green, so bashful, so afraid of showing what he felt, and so stupid at finding his way about, he would have enlisted18 in Canada, like Victor, or run away to France and joined the Foreign Legion. All that seemed perfectly19 possible now. Why hadn’t he?
Well, that was not “the Wheelers’ way.” The Wheelers were terribly afraid of poking20 themselves in where they weren’t wanted, of pushing their way into a crowd where they didn’t belong. And they were even more afraid of doing anything that might look affected21 or “romantic.” They couldn’t let themselves adopt a conspicuous22, much less a picturesque23 course of action, unless it was all in the day’s work. Well, History had condescended24 to such as he; this whole brilliant adventure had become the day’s work. He had got into it after all, along with Victor and the Marine25 and other fellows who had more imagination and self-confidence in the first place. Three years ago he used to sit moping by the windmill because he didn’t see how a Nebraska farmer boy had any “call,” or, indeed, any way, to throw himself into the struggle in France. He used enviously26 to read about Alan Seeger and those fortunate American boys who had a right to fight for a civilization they knew.
But the miracle had happened; a miracle so wide in its amplitude27 that the Wheelers, — all the Wheelers and the roughnecks and the low-brows were caught up in it. Yes, it was the rough-necks’ own miracle, all this; it was their golden chance. He was in on it, and nothing could hinder or discourage him unless he were put over the side himself — which was only a way of joking, for that was a possibility he never seriously considered. The feeling of purpose, of fateful purpose, was strong in his breast.
点击收听单词发音
1 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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2 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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3 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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4 epidemic | |
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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5 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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6 smallpox | |
n.天花 | |
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7 commiseration | |
n.怜悯,同情 | |
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8 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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9 discomforts | |
n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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10 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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11 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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12 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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13 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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14 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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15 seasick | |
adj.晕船的 | |
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16 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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17 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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18 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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19 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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20 poking | |
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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21 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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22 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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23 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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24 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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25 marine | |
adj.海的;海生的;航海的;海事的;n.水兵 | |
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26 enviously | |
adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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27 amplitude | |
n.广大;充足;振幅 | |
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