“I am he. Pray step in.”
The visitor looked somewhat astonished at having the door opened to him by the master of the house.
“I wanted to have a few words.”
The doctor, a pale, nervous young man, dressed in an ultra-professional, long black frock-coat, with a high, white collar cutting off his dapper side-whiskers in the centre, rubbed his hands together and smiled. In the thick, burly man in front of him he scented1 a patient, and it would be his first. His scanty2 resources had begun to run somewhat low, and, although he had his first quarter’s rent safely locked away in the right-hand drawer of his desk, it was becoming a question with him how he should meet the current expenses of his very simple housekeeping. He bowed, therefore, waved his visitor in, closed the hall door in a careless fashion, as though his own presence thereat had been a purely3 accidental circumstance, and finally led the burly stranger into his scantily4 furnished front room, where he motioned him to a seat. Dr. Wilkinson planted himself behind his desk, and, placing his finger-tips together, he gazed with some apprehension5 at his companion. What was the matter with the man? He seemed very red in the face. Some of his old professors would have diagnosed his case by now, and would have electrified6 the patient by describing his own symptoms before he had said a word about them. Dr. Horace Wilkinson racked his brains for some clue, but Nature had fashioned him as a plodder7—a very reliable plodder and nothing more. He could think of nothing save that the visitor’s watch-chain had a very brassy appearance, with a corollary to the effect that he would be lucky if he got half-a-crown out of him. Still, even half-a-crown was something in those early days of struggle.
Whilst the doctor had been running his eyes over the stranger, the latter had been plunging9 his hands into pocket after pocket of his heavy coat. The heat of the weather, his dress, and this exercise of pocket-rummaging had all combined to still further redden his face, which had changed from brick to beet10, with a gloss11 of moisture on his brow. This extreme ruddiness brought a clue at last to the observant doctor. Surely it was not to be attained12 without alcohol. In alcohol lay the secret of this man’s trouble. Some little delicacy14 was needed, however, in showing him that he had read his case aright—that at a glance he had penetrated15 to the inmost sources of his ailments16.
“It’s very hot,” observed the stranger, mopping his forehead.
“Yes, it is weather which tempts17 one to drink rather more beer than is good for one,” answered Dr. Horace Wilkinson, looking very knowingly at his companion from over his finger-tips.
“Dear, dear, you shouldn’t do that.”
“I! I never touch beer.”
“Neither do I. I’ve been an abstainer18 for twenty years.”
This was depressing. Dr. Wilkinson blushed until he was nearly as red as the other. “May I ask what I can do for you?” he asked, picking up his stethoscope and tapping it gently against his thumb-nail.
“Yes, I was just going to tell you. I heard of your coming, but I couldn’t get round before——” He broke into a nervous little cough.
“Yes?” said the doctor encouragingly.
“I should have been here three weeks ago, but you know how these things get put off.” He coughed again behind his large red hand.
“I do not think that you need say anything more,” said the doctor, taking over the case with an easy air of command. “Your cough is quite sufficient. It is entirely19 bronchial by the sound. No doubt the mischief20 is circumscribed21 at present, but there is always the danger that it may spread, so you have done wisely to come to me. A little judicious22 treatment will soon set you right. Your waistcoat, please, but not your shirt. Puff23 out your chest and say ninety-nine in a deep voice.”
The red-faced man began to laugh. “It’s all right, doctor,” said he. “That cough comes from chewing tobacco, and I know it’s a very bad habit. Nine-and-ninepence is what I have to say to you, for I’m the officer of the gas company, and they have a claim against you for that on the metre.”
Dr. Horace Wilkinson collapsed24 into his chair. “Then you’re not a patient?” he gasped25.
“Never needed a doctor in my life, sir.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” The doctor concealed26 his disappointment under an affectation of facetiousness27. “You don’t look as if you troubled them much. I don’t know what we should do if every one were as robust28. I shall call at the company’s offices and pay this small amount.”
“If you could make it convenient, sir, now that I am here, it would save trouble——”
“Oh, certainly!” These eternal little sordid29 money troubles were more trying to the doctor than plain living or scanty food. He took out his purse and slid the contents on to the table. There were two half-crowns and some pennies. In his drawer he had ten golden sovereigns. But those were his rent. If he once broke in upon them he was lost. He would starve first.
“Dear me!” said he, with a smile, as at some strange, unheard-of incident. “I have run short of small change. I am afraid I shall have to call upon the company, after all.”
“Very well, sir.” The inspector30 rose, and with a practised glance around, which valued every article in the room, from the two-guinea carpet to the eight-shilling muslin curtains, he took his departure.
When he had gone Dr. Wilkinson rearranged his room, as was his habit a dozen times in the day. He laid out his large Quain’s Dictionary of Medicine in the forefront of the table so as to impress the casual patient that he had ever the best authorities at his elbow. Then he cleared all the little instruments out of his pocket-case—the scissors, the forceps, the bistouries, the lancets—and he laid them all out beside the stethoscope, to make as good a show as possible. His ledger31, day-book, and visiting-book were spread in front of him. There was no entry in any of them yet, but it would not look well to have the covers too glossy32 and new, so he rubbed them together and daubed ink over them. Neither would it be well that any patient should observe that his name was the first in the book, so he filled up the first page of each with notes of imaginary visits paid to nameless patients during the last three weeks. Having done all this, he rested his head upon his hands and relapsed into the terrible occupation of waiting.
Terrible enough at any time to the young professional man, but most of all to one who knows that the weeks, and even the days during which he can hold out are numbered. Economise as he would, the money would still slip away in the countless33 little claims which a man never understands until he lives under a rooftree of his own. Dr. Wilkinson could not deny, as he sat at his desk and looked at the little heap of silver and coppers35, that his chances of being a successful practitioner36 in Sutton were rapidly vanishing away.
And yet it was a bustling37, prosperous town, with so much money in it that it seemed strange that a man with a trained brain and dexterous38 fingers should be starved out of it for want of employment. At his desk, Dr. Horace Wilkinson could see the never-ending double current of people which ebbed39 and flowed in front of his window. It was a busy street, and the air was forever filled with the dull roar of life, the grinding of the wheels, and the patter of countless feet. Men, women, and children, thousands and thousands of them passed in the day, and yet each was hurrying on upon his own business, scarce glancing at the small brass8 plate, or wasting a thought upon the man who waited in the front room. And yet how many of them would obviously, glaringly have been the better for his professional assistance. Dyspeptic men, anemic women, blotched faces, bilious40 complexions—they flowed past him, they needing him, he needing them, and yet the remorseless bar of professional etiquette41 kept them forever apart. What could he do? Could he stand at his own front door, pluck the casual stranger by the sleeve, and whisper in his ear, “Sir, you will forgive me for remarking that you are suffering from a severe attack of acne rosacea, which makes you a peculiarly unpleasant object. Allow me to suggest that a small prescription42 containing arsenic43, which will not cost you more than you often spend upon a single meal, will be very much to your advantage.” Such an address would be a degradation44 to the high and lofty profession of Medicine, and there are no such sticklers45 for the ethics46 of that profession as some to whom she has been but a bitter and a grudging47 mother.
Dr. Horace Wilkinson was still looking moodily48 out of the window, when there came a sharp clang at the bell. Often it had rung, and with every ring his hopes had sprung up, only to dwindle49 away again, and change to leaden disappointment, as he faced some beggar or touting50 tradesman. But the doctor’s spirit was young and elastic51, and again, in spite of all experience, it responded to that exhilarating summons. He sprang to his feet, cast his eyes over the table, thrust out his medical books a little more prominently, and hurried to the door. A groan52 escaped him as he entered the hall. He could see through the half-glazed upper panels that a gypsy van, hung round with wicker tables and chairs, had halted before his door, and that a couple of the vagrants53, with a baby, were waiting outside. He had learned by experience that it was better not even to parley54 with such people.
“I have nothing for you,” said he, loosing the latch55 by an inch. “Go away!”
He closed the door, but the bell clanged once more. “Get away! Get away!” he cried impatiently, and walked back into his consulting-room. He had hardly seated himself when the bell went for the third time. In a towering passion he rushed back, flung open the door.
“What the——?”
“If you please, sir, we need a doctor.”
In an instant he was rubbing his hands again with his blandest56 professional smile. These were patients, then, whom he had tried to hunt from his doorstep—the very first patients, whom he had waited for so impatiently. They did not look very promising57. The man, a tall, lank-haired gypsy, had gone back to the horse’s head. There remained a small, hard-faced woman with a great bruise58 all round her eye. She wore a yellow silk handkerchief round her head, and a baby, tucked in a red shawl, was pressed to her bosom59.
“Pray step in, madam,” said Dr. Horace Wilkinson, with his very best sympathetic manner. In this case, at least, there could be no mistake as to diagnosis60. “If you will sit on this sofa, I shall very soon make you feel much more comfortable.”
He poured a little water from his carafe61 into a saucer, made a compress of lint62, fastened it over the injured eye, and secured the whole with a spica bandage, secundum artem.
“Thank ye kindly63, sir,” said the woman, when his work was finished; “that’s nice and warm, and may God bless your honour. But it wasn’t about my eye at all that I came to see a doctor.”
“Not your eye?” Dr. Horace Wilkinson was beginning to be a little doubtful as to the advantages of quick diagnosis. It is an excellent thing to be able to surprise a patient, but hitherto it was always the patient who had surprised him.
“The baby’s got the measles64.”
The mother parted the red shawl, and exhibited a little dark, black-eyed gypsy baby, whose swarthy face was all flushed and mottled with a dark-red rash. The child breathed with a rattling65 sound, and it looked up at the doctor with eyes which were heavy with want of sleep and crusted together at the lids.
“Hum! Yes. Measles, sure enough—and a smart attack.”
“I just wanted you to see her, sir, so that you could signify.”
“Could what?”
“Signify, if anything happened.”
“Oh, I see—certify.”
“And now that you’ve seen it, sir, I’ll go on, for Reuben—that’s my man—is in a hurry.”
“But don’t you want any medicine?”
“Oh, now you’ve seen it, it’s all right. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“But you must have some medicine. The child is very ill.” He descended66 into the little room which he had fitted as a surgery, and he made up a two-ounce bottle of cooling medicine. In such cities as Sutton there are few patients who can afford to pay a fee to both doctor and chemist, so that unless the physician is prepared to play the part of both he will have little chance of making a living at either.
“There is your medicine, madam. You will find the directions upon the bottle. Keep the child warm and give it a light diet.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.” She shouldered her baby and marched for the door.
“Excuse me, madam,” said the doctor nervously67. “Don’t you think it too small a matter to make a bill of? Perhaps it would be better if we had a settlement at once.”
The gypsy woman looked at him reproachfully out of her one uncovered eye.
“Are you going to charge me for that?” she asked. “How much, then?”
“Well, say half-a-crown.” He mentioned the sum in a half-jesting way, as though it were too small to take serious notice of, but the gypsy woman raised quite a scream at the mention of it.
“‘Arf-a-crown! for that?”
“Well, my good woman, why not go to the poor doctor if you cannot afford a fee?”
She fumbled69 in her pocket, craning awkwardly to keep her grip upon the baby.
“Here’s sevenpence,” she said at last, holding out a little pile of copper34 coins. “I’ll give you that and a wicker footstool.”
“But my fee is half-a-crown.” The doctor’s views of the glory of his profession cried out against this wretched haggling70, and yet what was he to do? “Where am I to get ‘arf-a-crown? It is well for gentlefolk like you who sit in your grand houses, and can eat and drink what you like, an’ charge ‘arf-a-crown for just saying as much as, ”Ow d’ye do?’ We can’t pick up’ arf-crowns like that. What we gets we earns ‘ard. This sevenpence is just all I’ve got. You told me to feed the child light. She must feed light, for what she’s to have is more than I know.”
Whilst the woman had been speaking, Dr. Horace Wilkinson’s eyes had wandered to the tiny heap of money upon the table, which represented all that separated him from absolute starvation, and he chuckled71 to himself at the grim joke that he should appear to this poor woman to be a being living in the lap of luxury. Then he picked up the odd coppers, leaving only the two half-crowns upon the table.
“Here you are,” he said brusquely. “Never mind the fee, and take these coppers. They may be of some use to you. Good-bye!” He bowed her out, and closed the door behind her. After all she was the thin edge of the wedge. These wandering people have great powers of recommendation. All large practices have been built up from such foundations. The hangers-on to the kitchen recommend to the kitchen, they to the drawing-room, and so it spreads. At least he could say now that he had had a patient.
He went into the back room and lit the spirit-kettle to boil the water for his tea, laughing the while at the recollection of his recent interview. If all patients were like this one it could easily be reckoned how many it would take to ruin him completely. Putting aside the dirt upon his carpet and the loss of time, there were twopence gone upon the bandage, fourpence or more upon the medicine, to say nothing of phial, cork72, label, and paper. Then he had given her fivepence, so that his first patient had absorbed altogether not less than one sixth of his available capital. If five more were to come he would be a broken man. He sat down upon the portmanteau and shook with laughter at the thought, while he measured out his one spoonful and a half of tea at one shilling eightpence into the brown earthenware73 teapot. Suddenly, however, the laugh faded from his face, and he cocked his ear towards the door, standing74 listening with a slanting75 head and a sidelong eye. There had been a rasping of wheels against the curb76, the sound of steps outside, and then a loud peal77 at the bell. With his teaspoon78 in his hand he peeped round the corner and saw with amazement79 that a carriage and pair were waiting outside, and that a powdered footman was standing at the door. The spoon tinkled80 down upon the floor, and he stood gazing in bewilderment. Then, pulling himself together, he threw open the door.
“Young man,” said the flunky, “tell your master, Dr. Wilkinson, that he is wanted just as quick as ever he can come to Lady Millbank, at the Towers. He is to come this very instant. We’d take him with us, but we have to go back to see if Dr. Mason is home yet. Just you stir your stumps81 and give him the message.”
The footman nodded and was off in an instant, while the coachman lashed82 his horses and the carriage flew down the street.
Here was a new development. Dr. Horace Wilkinson stood at his door and tried to think it all out. Lady Millbank, of the Towers! People of wealth and position, no doubt. And a serious case, or why this haste and summoning of two doctors? But, then, why in the name of all that is wonderful should he be sent for?
He was obscure, unknown, without influence. There must be some mistake. Yes, that must be the true explanation; or was it possible that some one was attempting a cruel hoax83 upon him? At any rate, it was too positive a message to be disregarded. He must set off at once and settle the matter one way or the other.
But he had one source of information. At the corner of the street was a small shop where one of the oldest inhabitants dispensed84 newspapers and gossip. He could get information there if anywhere. He put on his well-brushed top hat, secreted85 instruments and bandages in all his pockets, and without waiting for his tea closed up his establishment and started off upon his adventure.
The stationer at the corner was a human directory to every one and everything in Sutton, so that he soon had all the information which he wanted. Sir John Millbank was very well known in the town, it seemed. He was a merchant prince, an exporter of pens, three times mayor, and reported to be fully68 worth two millions sterling86.
The Towers was his palatial87 seat, just outside the city. His wife had been an invalid88 for some years, and was growing worse. So far the whole thing seemed to be genuine enough. By some amazing chance these people really had sent for him.
And then another doubt assailed89 him, and he turned back into the shop.
“I am your neighbour, Dr. Horace Wilkinson,” said he. “Is there any other medical man of that name in the town?”
No, the stationer was quite positive that there was not.
That was final, then. A great good fortune had come in his way, and he must take prompt advantage of it. He called a cab and drove furiously to the Towers, with his brain in a whirl, giddy with hope and delight at one moment, and sickened with fears and doubts at the next lest the case should in some way be beyond his powers, or lest he should find at some critical moment that he was without the instrument or appliance that was needed. Every strange and outre case of which he had ever heard or read came back into his mind, and long before he reached the Towers he had worked himself into a positive conviction that he would be instantly required to do a trephining at the least.
The Towers was a very large house, standing back amid trees, at the head of a winding90 drive. As he drove up the doctor sprang out, paid away half his worldly assets as a fare, and followed a stately footman who, having taken his name, led him through the oak-panelled, stained-glass hall, gorgeous with deers’ heads and ancient armour91, and ushered92 him into a large sitting-room93 beyond. A very irritable94-looking, acid-faced man was seated in an armchair by the fireplace, while two young ladies in white were standing together in the bow window at the further end.
“Hullo! hullo! hullo! What’s this—heh?” cried the irritable man. “Are you Dr. Wilkinson? Eh?”
“Yes, sir, I am Dr. Wilkinson.”
“Really, now. You seem very young—much younger than I expected. Well, well, well, Mason’s old, and yet he don’t seem to know much about it. I suppose we must try the other end now. You’re the Wilkinson who wrote something about the lungs? Heh?”
Here was a light! The only two letters which the doctor had ever written to The Lancet—modest little letters thrust away in a back column among the wrangles95 about medical ethics and the inquiries96 as to how much it took to keep a horse in the country—had been upon pulmonary disease. They had not been wasted, then. Some eye had picked them out and marked the name of the writer. Who could say that work was ever wasted, or that merit did not promptly97 meet with its reward?
“Yes, I have written on the subject.”
“Ha! Well, then, where’s Mason?”
“I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance.”
“No?—that’s queer too. He knows you and thinks a lot of your opinion. You’re a stranger in the town, are you not?”
“Yes, I have only been here a very short time.”
“That was what Mason said. He didn’t give me the address. Said he would call on you and bring you, but when the wife got worse of course I inquired for you and sent for you direct. I sent for Mason, too, but he was out. However, we can’t wait for him, so just run away upstairs and do what you can.”
“Well, I am placed in a rather delicate position,” said Dr. Horace Wilkinson, with some hesitation98. “I am here, as I understand, to meet my colleague, Dr. Mason, in consultation99. It would, perhaps, hardly be correct for me to see the patient in his absence. I think that I would rather wait.”
“Would you, by Jove! Do you think I’ll let my wife get worse while the doctor is coolly kicking his heels in the room below? No, sir, I am a plain man, and I tell you that you will either go up or go out.”
The style of speech jarred upon the doctor’s sense of the fitness of things, but still when a man’s wife is ill much may be overlooked. He contented100 himself by bowing somewhat stiffly. “I shall go up, if you insist upon it,” said he.
“I do insist upon it. And another thing, I won’t have her thumped101 about all over the chest, or any hocus-pocus of the sort. She has bronchitis and asthma102, and that’s all. If you can cure it well and good. But it only weakens her to have you tapping and listening, and it does no good either.”
Personal disrespect was a thing that the doctor could stand; but the profession was to him a holy thing, and a flippant word about it cut him to the quick.
“Thank you,” said he, picking up his hat. “I have the honour to wish you a very good day. I do not care to undertake the responsibility of this case.”
“Hullo! what’s the matter now?”
“It is not my habit to give opinions without examining my patient. I wonder that you should suggest such a course to a medical man. I wish you good day.”
But Sir John Millbank was a commercial man, and believed in the commercial principle that the more difficult a thing is to attain13 the more valuable it is. A doctor’s opinion had been to him a mere103 matter of guineas. But here was a young man who seemed to care nothing either for his wealth or title. His respect for his judgment104 increased amazingly.
“Tut! tut!” said he; “Mason is not so thin-skinned. There! there! Have your way! Do what you like and I won’t say another word. I’ll just run upstairs and tell Lady Millbank that you are coming.”
The door had hardly closed behind him when the two demure105 young ladies darted106 out of their corner, and fluttered with joy in front of the astonished doctor.
“Oh, well done! well done!” cried the taller, clapping her hands.
“Don’t let him bully107 you, doctor,” said the other. “Oh, it was so nice to hear you stand up to him. That’s the way he does with poor Dr. Mason. Dr. Mason has never examined mamma yet. He always takes papa’s word for everything. Hush108, Maude; here he comes again.” They subsided109 in an instant into their corner as silent and demure as ever.
Dr. Horace Wilkinson followed Sir John up the broad, thick-carpeted staircase, and into the darkened sick room. In a quarter of an hour he had sounded and sifted110 the case to the uttermost, and descended with the husband once more to the drawing-room. In front of the fireplace were standing two gentlemen, the one a very typical, clean-shaven, general practitioner, the other a striking-looking man of middle age, with pale blue eyes and a long red beard.
“Hullo, Mason, you’ve come at last!”
“Yes, Sir John, and I have brought, as I promised, Dr. Wilkinson with me.”
“Dr. Wilkinson! Why, this is he.”
Dr. Mason stared in astonishment111. “I have never seen the gentleman before!” he cried.
“Nevertheless I am Dr. Wilkinson—Dr. Horace Wilkinson, of 114 Canal View.”
“Good gracious, Sir John!” cried Dr. Mason.
“Did you think that in a case of such importance I should call in a junior local practitioner! This is Dr. Adam Wilkinson, lecturer on pulmonary diseases at Regent’s College, London, physician upon the staff of the St. Swithin’s Hospital, and author of a dozen works upon the subject. He happened to be in Sutton upon a visit, and I thought I would utilise his presence to have a first-rate opinion upon Lady Millbank.”
“Thank you,” said Sir John, dryly. “But I fear my wife is rather tired now, for she has just been very thoroughly112 examined by this young gentleman. I think we will let it stop at that for the present; though, of course, as you have had the trouble of coming here, I should be glad to have a note of your fees.”
When Dr. Mason had departed, looking very disgusted, and his friend, the specialist, very amused, Sir John listened to all the young physician had to say about the case.
“Now, I’ll tell you what,” said he, when he had finished. “I’m a man of my word, d’ye see? When I like a man I freeze to him. I’m a good friend and a bad enemy. I believe in you, and I don’t believe in Mason. From now on you are my doctor, and that of my family. Come and see my wife every day. How does that suit your book?”
“I am extremely grateful to you for your kind intentions toward me, but I am afraid there is no possible way in which I can avail myself of them.”
“Heh! what d’ye mean?”
“I could not possibly take Dr. Mason’s place in the middle of a case like this. It would be a most unprofessional act.”
“Oh, well, go your own way!” cried Sir John, in despair. “Never was such a man for making difficulties. You’ve had a fair offer and you’ve refused it, and now you can just go your own way.”
The millionaire stumped113 out of the room in a huff, and Dr. Horace Wilkinson made his way homeward to his spirit-lamp and his one-and-eightpenny tea, with his first guinea in his pocket, and with a feeling that he had upheld the best traditions of his profession.
And yet this false start of his was a true start also, for it soon came to Dr. Mason’s ears that his junior had had it in his power to carry off his best patient and had forborne to do so. To the honour of the profession be it said that such forbearance is the rule rather than the exception, and yet in this case, with so very junior a practitioner and so very wealthy a patient, the temptation was greater than is usual. There was a grateful note, a visit, a friendship, and now the well-known firm of Mason and Wilkinson is doing the largest family practice in Sutton.
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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plodder
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| n.沉重行走的人，辛勤工作的人 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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beet
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| n.甜菜；甜菜根 | |
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gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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tempts
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| v.引诱或怂恿（某人）干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 )；使想要 | |
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abstainer
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| 节制者，戒酒者，弃权者 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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22
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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23
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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24
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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25
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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26
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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27
facetiousness
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| n.滑稽 | |
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28
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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29
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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30
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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31
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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32
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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33
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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34
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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35
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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36
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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37
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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38
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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39
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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40
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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41
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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42
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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43
arsenic
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| n.砒霜，砷；adj.砷的 | |
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44
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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45
sticklers
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| n.坚持…的人( stickler的名词复数 ) | |
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46
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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47
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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48
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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49
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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50
touting
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| v.兜售( tout的现在分词 )；招揽；侦查；探听赛马情报 | |
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51
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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52
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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53
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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54
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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55
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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56
blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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57
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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58
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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59
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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60
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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61
carafe
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| n.玻璃水瓶 | |
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62
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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63
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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64
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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65
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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66
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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67
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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68
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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69
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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70
haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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71
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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73
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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74
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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75
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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76
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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77
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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78
teaspoon
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| n.茶匙 | |
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79
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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80
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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81
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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82
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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83
hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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84
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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85
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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86
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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87
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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88
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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89
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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90
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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91
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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92
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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94
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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95
wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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96
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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97
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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98
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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99
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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100
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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101
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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103
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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104
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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105
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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106
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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107
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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108
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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109
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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110
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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111
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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112
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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113
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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