It was a hot afternoon in May and Mrs. Buckner thought that a pitcher1 of fruit lemonade might prevent the boys from filling up on ice cream at the drug store. She belonged to that generation, since retired2, upon whom the great revolution in American family life was to be visited; but at that time she believed that her children’s relation to her was as much as hers had been to her parents, for this was more than twenty years ago.
Some generations are close to those that succeed them; between others the gap is infinite and unbridgeable. Mrs. Buckner — a woman of character, a member of Society in a large Middle-Western city — carrying a pitcher of fruit lemonade through her own spacious4 back yard, was progressing across a hundred years. Her own thoughts would have been comprehensible to her great-grandmother; what was happening in a room above the stable would have been entirely5 unintelligible6 to them both. In what had once served as the coachman’s sleeping apartment, her son and a friend were not behaving in a normal manner, but were, so to speak, experimenting in a void. They were making the first tentative combinations of the ideas and materials they found ready at their hand — ideas destined7 to become, in future years, first articulate, then startling and finally commonplace. At the moment when she called up to them they were sitting with disarming8 quiet upon the still unhatched eggs of the mid-twentieth century.
Riply Buckner descended9 the ladder and took the lemonade. Basil Duke Lee looked abstractedly down at the transaction and said, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Buckner.”
“Are you sure it isn’t too hot up there?”
“No, Mrs. Buckner. It’s fine.”
It was stifling10; but they were scarcely conscious of the heat, and they drank two tall glasses each of the lemonade without knowing that they were thirsty. Concealed11 beneath a sawed-out trapdoor from which they presently took it was a composition book bound in imitation red leather which currently absorbed much of their attention. On its first page was inscribed13, if you penetrated14 the secret of the lemon-juice ink: “The Book of Scandal, written by Riply Buckner, Jr., and Basil D. Lee, Scandal Detectives.”
In this book they had set down such deviations15 from rectitude on the part of their fellow citizens as had reached their ears. Some of these false steps were those of grizzled men, stories that had become traditions in the city and were embalmed16 in the composition book by virtue17 of indiscreet exhumations at family dinner tables. Others were the more exciting sins, confirmed or merely rumored18, of boys and girls their own age. Some of the entries would have been read by adults with bewilderment, others might have inspired wrath19, and there were three or four contemporary reports that would have prostrated20 the parents of the involved children with horror and despair.
One of the mildest items, a matter they had hesitated about setting down, though it had shocked them only last year, was: “Elwood Leaming has been to the Burlesque21 Show three or four times at the Star.”
Another, and perhaps their favorite, because of its uniqueness, set forth22 that “H. P. Cramner committed some theft in the East he could be imprisoned23 for and had to come here”— H. P. Cramner being now one of the oldest and “most substantial” citizens of the city.
The single defect in the book was that it could only be enjoyed with the aid of the imagination, for the invisible ink must keep its secrets until that day when, the pages being held close to the fire, the items would appear. Close inspection24 was necessary to determine which pages had been used — already a rather grave charge against a certain couple had been superimposed upon the dismal25 facts that Mrs. R. B. Cary had consumption and that her son, Walter Cary, had been expelled from Pawling School. The purpose of the work as a whole was not blackmail26. It was treasured against the time when its protagonists27 should “do something” to Basil and Riply. Its possession gave them a sense of power. Basil, for instance, had never seen Mr. H. P. Cramner make a single threatening gesture in Basil’s direction but let him even hint that he was going to do something to Basil, and there preserved against him was the record of his past.
It is only fair to say that at this point the book passes entirely out of this story. Years later a janitor28 discovered it beneath the trapdoor, and finding it apparently29 blank, gave it to his little girl; so the misdeeds of Elwood Leaming and H. P. Cramner were definitely entombed at last beneath a fair copy of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.
The book was Basil’s idea. He was more the imaginative and in most ways the stronger of the two. He was a shining-eyed, brown-haired boy of fourteen, rather small as yet, and bright and lazy at school. His favorite character in fiction was Arsène Lupin, the gentleman burglar, a romantic phenomenon lately imported from Europe and much admired in the first bored decades of the century.
Riply Buckner, also in short pants, contributed to the partnership30 a breathless practicality. His mind waited upon Basil’s imagination like a hair trigger and no scheme was too fantastic for his immediate31 “Let’s do it!” Since the school’s third baseball team, on which they had been pitcher and catcher, decomposed32 after an unfortunate April season, they had spent their afternoons struggling to evolve a way of life which should measure up to the mysterious energies fermenting33 inside them. In the cache beneath the trapdoor were some “slouch” hats and bandanna34 handkerchiefs, some loaded dice35, half of a pair of handcuffs, a rope ladder of a tenuous36 crochet37 persuasion38 for rear-window escapes into the alley39, and a make-up box containing two old theatrical40 wigs41 and crêpe hair of various colors — all to be used when they decided42 what illegal enterprises to undertake.
Their lemonades finished, they lit Home Runs and held a desultory43 conversation which touched on crime, professional baseball, sex and the local stock company. This broke off at the sound of footsteps and familiar voices in the adjoining alley.
From the window, they investigated. The voices belonged to Margaret Torrence, Imogene Bissel and Connie Davies, who were cutting through the alley from Imogene’s back yard to Connie’s at the end of the block. The young ladies were thirteen, twelve and thirteen years old respectively, and they considered themselves alone, for in time to their march they were rendering45 a mildly daring parody46 in a sort of whispering giggle47 and coming out strongly on the finale: “Oh, my dar -ling Clemon -tine.”
Basil and Riply leaned together from the window, then remembering their undershirts sank down behind the sill.
“We heard you!” they cried together.
The girls stopped and laughed. Margaret Torrence chewed exaggeratedly to indicate gum, and gum with a purpose. Basil immediately understood.
“Whereabouts?” he demanded.
“Over at Imogene’s house.”
They had been at Mrs. Bissel’s cigarettes. The implied recklessness of their mood interested and excited the two boys and they prolonged the conversation. Connie Davies had been Riply’s girl during dancing-school term; Margaret Torrence had played a part in Basil’s recent past; Imogene Bissel was just back from a year in Europe. During the last month neither Basil nor Riply had thought about girls, and, thus refreshed, they become conscious that the centre of the world had shifted suddenly from the secret room to the little group outside.
“Come on up,” they suggested.
“Come on out. Come on down to the Whartons’ yard.”
“All right.”
Barely remembering to put away the Scandal Book and the box of disguises, the two boys hurried out, mounted their bicycles and rode up the alley.
The Whartons’ own children had long grown up, but their yard was still one of those predestined places where young people gather in the afternoon. It had many advantages. It was large, open to other yards on both sides, and it could be entered upon skates or bicycles from the street. It contained an old seesaw48, a swing and a pair of flying rings; but it had been a rendezvous49 before these were put up, for it had a child’s quality — the thing that makes young people huddle50 inextricably on uncomfortable steps and desert the houses of their friends to herd51 on the obscure premises52 of “people nobody knows.” The Whartons’ yard had long been a happy compromise; there were deep shadows there all day long and ever something vague in bloom, and patient dogs around, and brown spots worn bare by countless53 circling wheels and dragging feet. In sordid54 poverty, below the bluff55 two hundred feet away, lived the “micks”— they had merely inherited the name, for they were now largely of Scandinavian descent — and when other amusements palled56, a few cries were enough to bring a gang of them swarming57 up the hill, to be faced if numbers promised well, to be fled from into convenient houses if things went the other way.
It was five o’clock and there was a small crowd gathered there for that soft and romantic time before supper — a time surpassed only by the interim58 of summer dusk thereafter. Basil and Riply rode their bicycles around abstractedly, in and out of trees, resting now and then with a hand on someone’s shoulder, shading their eyes from the glow of the late sun that, like youth itself, is too strong to face directly, but must be kept down to an undertone until it dies away.
Basil rode over to Imogene Bissel and balanced idly on his wheel before her. Something in his face then must have attracted her, for she looked up at him, looked at him really, and slowly smiled. She was to be a beauty and belle59 of many proms in a few years. Now her large brown eyes and large beautifully shaped mouth and the high flush over her thin cheek bones made her face gnome-like and offended those who wanted a child to look like a child. For a moment Basil was granted an insight into the future, and the spell of her vitality60 crept over him suddenly. For the first time in his life he realized a girl completely as something opposite and complementary to him, and he was subject to a warm chill of mingled61 pleasure and pain. It was a definite experience and he was immediately conscious of it. The summer afternoon became lost in her suddenly — the soft air, the shadowy hedges and banks of flowers, the orange sunlight, the laughter and voices, the tinkle62 of a piano over the way — the odor left all these things and went into Imogene’s face as she sat there looking up at him with a smile.
For a moment it was too much for him. He let it go, incapable63 of exploiting it until he had digested it alone. He rode around fast in a circle on his bicycle, passing near Imogene without looking at her. When he came back after a while and asked if he could walk home with her, she had forgotten the moment, if it had ever existed for her, and was almost surprised. With Basil wheeling his bicycle beside her, they started down the street.
“Can you come out tonight?” he asked eagerly. “There’ll probably be a bunch in the Whartons’ yard.”
“I’ll ask mother.”
“I’ll telephone you. I don’t want to go unless you’ll be there.”
“Why?” She smiled at him again, encouraging him.
“Because I don’t want to.”
“But why don’t you want to?”
“Listen,” he said quickly, “what boys do you like better than me?”
“Nobody. I like you and Hubert Blair best.”
Basil felt no jealousy64 at the coupling of this name with his. There was nothing to do about Hubert Blair but accept him philosophically65, as other boys did when dissecting66 the hearts of other girls.
“I like you better than anybody,” he said deliriously67.
The weight of the pink dappled sky above him was not endurable. He was plunging68 along through air of ineffable69 loveliness while warm freshets sprang up in his blood and he turned them, and with them his whole life, like a stream toward this girl.
They reached the carriage door at the side of her house.
“Can’t you come in, Basil?”
“No.” He saw immediately that that was a mistake, but it was said now. The intangible present had eluded70 him. Still he lingered. “Do you want my school ring?”
“Yes, if you want to give it to me.”
“I’ll give it to you tonight.” His voice shook slightly as he added, “That is, I’ll trade.”
“What for?”
“Something.”
“What?” Her color spread; she knew.
“You know. Will you trade?”
Imogene looked around uneasily. In the honey-sweet silence that had gathered around the porch, Basil held his breath. “You’re awful,” she whispered. “Maybe. . . . Good-by.”
II
It was the best hour of the day now and Basil was terribly happy. This summer he and his mother and sister were going to the lakes and next fall he was starting away to school. Then he would go to Yale and be a great athlete, and after that — if his two dreams had fitted onto each other chronologically71 instead of existing independently side by side — he was due to become a gentleman burglar. Everything was fine. He had so many alluring72 things to think about that it was hard to fall asleep at night.
That he was now crazy about Imogene Bissel was not a distraction74, but another good thing. It had as yet no poignancy75, only a brilliant and dynamic excitement that was bearing him along toward the Whartons’ yard through the May twilight76.
He wore his favorite clothes — white duck knickerbockers, pepper-and-salt Norfolk jacket, a Belmont collar and a gray knitted tie. With his black hair wet and shining, he made a handsome little figure as he turned in upon the familiar but now re-enchanted lawn and joined the voices in the gathering77 darkness. Three or four girls who lived in neighboring houses were present, and almost twice as many boys; and a slightly older group adorning78 the side veranda79 made a warm, remote nucleus80 against the lamps of the house and contributed occasional mysterious ripples81 of laughter to the already overburdened night.
Moving from shadowy group to group, Basil ascertained82 that Imogene was not yet here. Finding Margaret Torrence, he spoke83 to her aside, lightly.
“Have you still got that old ring of mine?”
Margaret had been his girl all year at dancing school, signified by the fact that he had taken her to the cotillion which closed the season. The affair had languished84 toward the end; none the less, his question was undiplomatic.
“I’ve got it somewhere,” Margaret replied carelessly. “Why? Do you want it back?”
“Sort of.”
“All right. I never did want it. It was you that made me take it, Basil. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”
“You couldn’t give it to me tonight, could you?” His heart leaped as he saw a small figure come in at the rear gate. “I sort of want to get it tonight.”
“Oh, all right, Basil.”
She ran across the street to her house and Basil followed. Mr. and Mrs. Torrence were on the porch, and while Margaret went upstairs for the ring he overcame his excitement and impatience85 and answered those questions as to the health of his parents which are so meaningless to the young. Then a sudden stiffening86 came over him, his voice faded off and his glazed87 eyes fixed88 upon a scene that was materializing over the way.
From the shadows far up the street, a swift, almost flying figure emerged and floated into the patch of lamplight in front of the Whartons’ house. The figure wove here and there in a series of geometric patterns, now off with a flash of sparks at the impact of skates and pavement, now gliding89 miraculously90 backward, describing a fantastic curve, with one foot lifted gracefully91 in the air, until the young people moved forward in groups out of the darkness and crowded to the pavement to watch. Basil gave a quiet little groan93 as he realized that of all possible nights, Hubert Blair had chosen this one to arrive.
“You say you’re going to the lakes this summer, Basil. Have you taken a cottage?”
Basil became aware after a moment that Mr. Torrence was making this remark for the third time.
“Oh, yes, sir,” he answered —“I mean, no. We’re staying at the club.”
“Won’t that be lovely?” said Mrs. Torrence.
Across the street, he saw Imogene standing94 under the lamp-post and in front of her Hubert Blair, his jaunty95 cap on the side of his head, maneuvering96 in a small circle. Basil winced97 as he heard his chuckling98 laugh. He did not perceive Margaret until she was beside him, pressing his ring into his hand like a bad penny. He muttered a strained hollow good-by to her parents, and weak with apprehension99, followed her back across the street.
Hanging back in a shadow, he fixed his eyes not on Imogene but on Hubert Blair. There was undoubtedly100 something rare about Hubert. In the eyes of children less than fifteen, the shape of the nose is the distinguishing mark of beauty. Parents may call attention to lovely eyes, shining hair or gorgeous coloring, but the nose and its juxtaposition101 on the face is what the adolescent sees. Upon the lithe102, stylish103, athletic104 torso of Hubert Blair was set a conventional chubby105 face, and upon this face was chiseled106 the piquant107, retroussé nose of a Harrison Fisher girl.
He was confident; he had personality, uninhibited by doubts or moods. He did not go to dancing school — his parents had moved to the city only a year ago — but already he was a legend. Though most of the boys disliked him, they did homage108 to his virtuosic109 athletic ability, and for the girls his every movement, his pleasantries, his very indifference110, had a simply immeasurable fascination111. Upon several previous occasions Basil had discovered this; now the discouraging comedy began to unfold once more.
Hubert took off his skates, rolled one down his arm and caught it by the strap112 before it reached the pavement; he snatched the ribbon from Imogene’s hair and made off with it, dodging113 from under her arms as she pursued him, laughing and fascinated, around the yard. He cocked one foot behind the other and pretended to lean an elbow against a tree, missed the tree on purpose and gracefully saved himself from falling. The boys watched him noncommittally at first. Then they, too, broke out into activity, doing stunts114 and tricks as fast as they could think of them until those on the porch craned their necks at the sudden surge of activity in the garden. But Hubert coolly turned his back on his own success. He took Imogene’s hat and began setting it in various quaint115 ways upon his head. Imogene and the other girls were filled with delight.
Unable any longer to endure the nauseous spectacle, Basil went up to the group and said, “Why, hello, Hube,” in as negligent116 a tone as he could command.
Hubert answered: “Why, hello, old — old Basil the Boozle,” and set the hat a different way on his head, until Basil himself couldn’t resist an unwilling117 chortle of laughter.
“Basil the Boozle! Hello, Basil the Boozle!” The cry circled the garden. Reproachfully he distinguished118 Riply’s voice among the others.
“Hube the Boob!” Basil countered quickly; but his ill humor detracted from the effect, though several boys repeated it appreciatively.
Gloom settled upon Basil, and through the heavy dusk the figure of Imogene began to take on a new, unattainable charm. He was a romantic boy and already he had endowed her heavily from his fancy. Now he hated her for her indifference, but he must perversely119 linger near in the vain hope of recovering the penny of ecstasy120 so wantonly expended121 this afternoon.
He tried to talk to Margaret with decoy animation122, but Margaret was not responsive. Already a voice had gone up in the darkness calling in a child. Panic seized upon him; the blessed hour of summer evening was almost over. At a spreading of the group to let pedestrians123 through, he maneuvered124 Imogene unwillingly125 aside.
“I’ve got it,” he whispered. “Here it is. Can I take you home?”
She looked at him distractedly. Her hand closed automatically on the ring.
“What? Oh, I promised Hubert he could take me home.” At the sight of his face she pulled herself from her trance and forced a note of indignation. “I saw you going off with Margaret Torrence just as soon as I came into the yard.”
“I didn’t. I just went to get the ring.”
“Yes, you did! I saw you!”
Her eyes moved back to Hubert Blair. He had replaced his roller skates and was making little rhythmic126 jumps and twirls on his toes, like a witch doctor throwing a slow hypnosis over an African tribe. Basil’s voice, explaining and arguing, went on, but Imogene moved away. Helplessly he followed. There were other voices calling in the darkness now and unwilling responses on all sides.
“All right, mother!”
“I’ll be there in a second, mother.”
“Mother, can’t I please stay out five minutes more?”
“I’ve got to go,” Imogene cried. “It’s almost nine.”
Waving her hand and smiling absently at Basil, she started off down the street. Hubert pranced127 and stunted128 at her side, circled around her and made entrancing little figures ahead.
Only after a minute did Basil realize that another young lady was addressing him.
“What?” he demanded absently.
“Hubert Blair is the nicest boy in town and you’re the most conceited,” repeated Margaret Torrence with deep conviction.
He stared at her in pained surprise. Margaret wrinkled her nose at him and yielded up her person to the now-insistent demands coming from across the street. As Basil gazed stupidly after her and then watched the forms of Imogene and Hubert disappear around the corner, there was a low mutter of thunder along the sultry sky and a moment later a solitary129 drop plunged130 through the lamplit leaves overhead and splattered on the sidewalk at his feet. The day was to close in rain.
III
It came quickly and he was drenched131 and running before he reached his house eight blocks away. But the change of weather had swept over his heart and he leaped up every few steps, swallowing the rain and crying “Yo-o-o!” aloud, as if he himself were a part of the fresh, violent disturbance132 of the night. Imogene was gone, washed out like the day’s dust on the sidewalk. Her beauty would come back into his mind in brighter weather, but here in the storm he was alone with himself. A sense of extraordinary power welled up in him, until to leave the ground permanently133 with one of his wild leaps would not have surprised him. He was a lone44 wolf, secret and untamed; a night prowler, demoniac and free. Only when he reached his own house did his emotion begin to turn, speculatively134 and almost without passion, against Hubert Blair.
He changed his clothes, and putting on pajamas135 and dressing-gown descended to the kitchen, where he happened upon a new chocolate cake. He ate a fourth of it and most of a bottle of milk. His elation3 somewhat diminished, he called up Riply Buckner on the phone.
“I’ve got a scheme,” he said.
‘What about?”
“How to do something to H. B. with the S. D.”
Riply understood immediately what he meant. Hubert had been so indiscreet as to fascinate other girls besides Miss Bissel that evening.
“We’ll have to take in Bill Kampf,” Basil said.
“All right.”
“See you at recess136 tomorrow. . . . Good night!”
IV
Four days later, when Mr. and Mrs. George P. Blair were finishing dinner, Hubert was called to the telephone. Mrs. Blair took advantage of his absence to speak to her husband of what had been on her mind all day.
“George, those boys, or whatever they are, came again last night.”
He frowned.
“Did you see them?”
“Hilda did. She almost caught one of them. You see, I told her about the note they left last Tuesday, the one that said, ‘First warning, S. D.,’ so she was ready for them. They rang the back-door bell this time and she answered it straight from the dishes. If her hands hadn’t been soapy she could have caught one, because she grabbed him when he handed her a note, but her hands were soapy so he slipped away.”
“What did he look like?”
“She said he might have been a very little man, but she thought he was a boy in a false face. He dodged137 like a boy, she said, and she thought he had short pants on. The note was like the other. It said ‘Second warning, S. D.’”
“If you’ve got it, I’d like to see it after dinner.”
Hubert came back from the phone. “It was Imogene Bissel,” he said. “She wants me to come over to her house. A bunch are going over there tonight.”
“Hubert,” asked his father, “do you know any boy with the initials S. D.?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you thought?”
“Yeah, I thought. I knew a boy named Sam Davis, but I haven’t seen him for a year.”
“Who was he?”
“Oh, a sort of tough. He was at Number 44 School when I went there.”
“Did he have it in for you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Who do you think could be doing this? Has anybody got it in for you that you know about?”
“I don’t know, papa; I don’t think so.”
“I don’t like the looks of this thing,” said Mr. Blair thoughtfully. “Of course it may be only some boys, but it may be —”
He was silent. Later, he studied the note. It was in red ink and there was a skull138 and crossbones in the corner, but being printed, it told him nothing at all.
Meanwhile Hubert kissed his mother, set his cap jauntily139 on the side of his head, and passing through the kitchen stepped out on the back stoop, intending to take the usual short cut along the alley. It was a bright moonlit night and he paused for a moment on the stoop to tie his shoe. If he had but known that the telephone call just received had been a decoy, that it had not come from Imogene Bissel’s house, had not indeed been a girl’s voice at all, and that shadowy and grotesque140 forms were skulking141 in the alley just outside the gate, he would not have sprung so gracefully and lithely142 down the steps with his hands in his pockets or whistled the first bar of the Grizzly143 Bear into the apparently friendly night.
His whistle aroused varying emotions in the alley. Basil had given his daring and successful falsetto imitation over the telephone a little too soon, and though the Scandal Detectives had hurried, their preparations were not quite in order. They had become separated. Basil, got up like a Southern planter of the old persuasion, was just outside the Blairs’ gate; Bill Kampf, with a long Balkan mustache attached by a wire to the lower cartilage of his nose, was approaching in the shadow of the fence; but Riply Buckner, in a full rabbinical beard, was impeded144 by a length of rope he was trying to coil and was still a hundred feet away. The rope was an essential part of their plan; for, after much cogitation145, they had decided what they were going to do to Hubert Blair. They were going to tie him up, gag him and put him in his own garbage can.
The idea at first horrified146 them — it would ruin his suit, it was awfully147 dirty and he might smother148. In fact the garbage can, symbol of all that was repulsive149, won the day only because it made every other idea seem tame. They disposed of the objections — his suit could be cleaned, it was where he ought to be anyhow, and if they left the lid off he couldn’t smother. To be sure of this they had paid a visit of inspection to the Buckners’ garbage can and stared into it, fascinated, envisaging150 Hubert among the rinds and eggshells. Then two of them, at last, resolutely151 put that part out of their minds and concentrated upon the luring73 of him into the alley and the overwhelming of him there.
Hubert’s cheerful whistle caught them off guard and each of the three stood stock-still, unable to communicate with the others. It flashed through Basil’s mind that if he grabbed Hubert without Riply at hand to apply the gag as had been arranged, Hubert’s cries might alarm the gigantic cook in the kitchen who had almost taken him the night before. The thought threw him into a state of indecision. At that precise moment Hubert opened the gate and came out into the alley.
The two stood five feet apart, staring at each other, and all at once Basil made a startling discovery. He discovered he liked Hubert Blair — liked him well as any boy he knew. He had absolutely no wish to lay hands on Hubert Blair and stuff him into a garbage can, jaunty cap and all. He would have fought to prevent that contingency152. As his mind, unstrung by his situation, gave pasture to this inconvenient153 thought, he turned and dashed out of the alley and up the street.
For a moment the apparition154 had startled Hubert, but when it turned and made off he was heartened and gave chase. Out-distanced, he decided after fifty yards to let well enough alone; and returning to the alley, started rather precipitously down toward the other end — and came face to face with another small and hairy stranger.
Bill Kampf, being more simply organized than Basil, had no scruples155 of any kind. It had been decided to put Hubert into a garbage can, and though he had nothing at all against Hubert, the idea had made a pattern on his brain which he intended to follow. He was a natural man — that is to say, a hunter — and once a creature took on the aspect of a quarry156, he would pursue it without qualms157 until it stopped struggling.
But he had been witness to Basil’s inexplicable158 flight, and supposing that Hubert’s father had appeared and was now directly behind him, he, too, faced about and made off down the alley. Presently he met Riply Buckner, who, without waiting to inquire the cause of his flight, enthusiastically joined him. Again Hubert was surprised into pursuing a little way. Then, deciding once and for all to let well enough alone, he returned on a dead run to his house.
Meanwhile Basil had discovered that he was not pursued, and keeping in the shadows, made his way back to the alley. He was not frightened — he had simply been incapable of action. The alley was empty; neither Bill nor Riply was in sight. He saw Mr. Blair come to the back gate, open it, look up and down and go back into the house. He came closer. There was a great chatter159 in the kitchen — Hubert’s voice, loud and boastful, and Mrs. Blair’s, frightened, and the two Swedish domestics contributing bursts of hilarious160 laughter. Then through an open window he heard Mr. Blair’s voice at the telephone:
“I want to speak to the chief of police. . . . Chief, this is George P. Blair. . . . Chief, there’s a gang of toughs around here who —”
Basil was off like a flash, tearing at his Confederate whiskers as he ran.
V
Imogene Bissel, having just turned thirteen, was not accustomed to having callers at night. She was spending a bored and solitary evening inspecting the month’s bills which were scattered161 over her mother’s desk, when she heard Hubert Blair and his father admitted into the front hall.
“I just thought I’d bring him over myself,” Mr. Blair was saying to her mother. “There seems to be a gang of toughs hanging around our alley tonight.”
Mrs. Bissel had not called upon Mrs. Blair and she was considerably162 taken aback by this unexpected visit. She even entertained the uncharitable thought that this was a crude overture163, undertaken by Mr. Blair on behalf of his wife.
“Really!” she exclaimed. “Imogene will be delighted to see Hubert, I’m sure. . . . Imogene!”
“These toughs were evidently lying in wait for Hubert,” continued Mr. Blair. “But he’s a pretty spunky boy and he managed to drive them away. However, I didn’t want him to come down here alone.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. But she was unable to imagine why Hubert should have come at all. He was a nice enough boy, but surely Imogene had seen enough of him the last three afternoons. In fact, Mrs. Bissel was annoyed, and there was a minimum of warmth in her voice when she asked Mr. Blair to come in.
They were still in the hall, and Mr. Blair was just beginning to perceive that all was not as it should be, when there was another ring at the bell. Upon the door being opened, Basil Lee, red-faced and breathless, stood on the threshold.
“How do you do, Mrs. Bissel? Hello, Imogene!” he cried in an unnecessarily hearty164 voice. “Where’s the party?”
The salutation might have sounded to a dispassionate observer somewhat harsh and unnatural165, but it fell upon the ears of an already disconcerted group.
“There isn’t any party,” said Imogene wonderingly.
“What?” Basil’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated horror, his voice trembled slightly. “You mean to say you didn’t call me up and tell me to come over here to a party?”
“Why, of course not, Basil!”
Imogene was excited by Hubert’s unexpected arrival and it occurred to her that Basil had invented this excuse to spoil it. Alone of those present, she was close to the truth; but she underestimated the urgency of Basil’s motive166, which was not jealousy but mortal fear.
“You called me up, didn’t you, Imogene?” demanded Hubert confidently.
“Why, no, Hubert! I didn’t call up anybody.”
Amid a chorus of bewildered protestations, there was another ring at the doorbell and the pregnant night yielded up Riply Buckner, Jr., and William S. Kampf. Like Basil, they were somewhat rumpled167 and breathless, and they no less rudely and peremptorily168 demanded the whereabouts of the party, insisting with curious vehemence169 that Imogene had just now invited them over the phone.
Hubert laughed, the others began to laugh and the tensity relaxed. Imogene, because she believed Hubert, now began to believe them all. Unable to restrain himself any longer in the presence of this unhoped-for audience, Hubert burst out with his amazing adventure.
“I guess there’s a gang laying for us all!” he exclaimed. “There were some guys laying for me in our alley when I went out. There was a big fellow with gray whiskers, but when he saw me he ran away. Then I went along the alley and there was a bunch more, sort of foreigners or something, and I started after’m and they ran. I tried to catchem, but I guess they were good and scared, because they ran too fast for me.”
So interested were Hubert and his father in the story that they failed to perceive that three of his listeners were growing purple in the face or to mark the uproarious laughter that greeted Mr. Bissel’s polite proposal that they have a party, after all.
“Tell about the warnings, Hubert,” prompted Mr. Blair. “You see, Hubert had received these warnings. Did you boys get any warnings?”
“I did,” said Basil suddenly. “I got a sort of warning on a piece of paper about a week ago.”
For a moment, as Mr. Blair’s worried eye fell upon Basil, a strong sense not precisely170 of suspicion but rather of obscure misgiving171 passed over him. Possibly that odd aspect of Basil’s eyebrows172, where wisps of crêpe hair still lingered, connected itself in his subconscious173 mind with what was bizarre in the events of the evening. He shook his head somewhat puzzled. Then his thoughts glided174 back restfully to Hubert’s courage and presence of mind.
Hubert, meanwhile, having exhausted175 his facts, was making tentative leaps into the realms of imagination.
“I said, ‘So you’re the guy that’s been sending these warnings,’ and he swung his left at me, and I dodged and swung my right back at him. I guess I must have landed, because he gave a yell and ran. Gosh, he could run! You’d ought to of seen him, Bill — he could run as fast as you.”
“Was he big?” asked Basil, blowing his nose noisily.
“Sure! About as big as father.”
“Were the other ones big too?”
“Sure! They were pretty big. I didn’t wait to see, I just yelled, ‘You get out of here, you bunch of toughs, or I’ll show you!’ They started a sort of fight, but I swung my right at one of them and they didn’t wait for any more.”
“Hubert says he thinks they were Italians,” interrupted Mr. Blair. “Didn’t you, Hubert?”
“They were sort of funny-looking,” Hubert said. “One fellow looked like an Italian.”
Mrs. Bissel led the way to the dining room, where she had caused a cake and grape juice supper to be spread. Imogene took a chair by Hubert’s side.
“Now tell me all about it, Hubert,” she said, attentively176 folding her hands.
Hubert ran over the adventure once more. A knife now made its appearance in the belt of one conspirator177; Hubert’s parleys178 with them lengthened179 and grew in volume and virulence180. He had told them just what they might expect if they fooled with him. They had started to draw knives, but had thought better of it and taken to flight.
In the middle of this recital181 there was a curious snorting sound from across the table, but when Imogene looked over, Basil was spreading jelly on a piece of coffee cake and his eyes were brightly innocent. A minute later, however, the sound was repeated, and this time she intercepted182 a specifically malicious183 expression upon his face.
“I wonder what you’d have done, Basil,” she said cuttingly. “I’ll bet you’d be running yet!”
Basil put the piece of coffee cake in his mouth and immediately choked on it — an accident which Bill Kampf and Riply Buckner found hilariously184 amusing. Their amusement at various casual incidents at table seemed to increase as Hubert’s story continued. The alley now swarmed185 with malefactors, and as Hubert struggled on against overwhelming odds186, Imogene found herself growing restless — without in the least realizing that the tale was boring her. On the contrary, each time Hubert recollected187 new incidents and began again, she looked spitefully over at Basil, and her dislike for him grew.
When they moved into the library, Imogene went to the piano, where she sat alone while the boys gathered around Hubert on the couch. To her chagrin188, they seemed quite content to listen indefinitely. Odd little noises squeaked189 out of them from time to time, but whenever the narrative190 slackened they would beg for more.
“Go on, Hubert. Which one did you say could run as fast as Bill Kampf?”
She was glad when, after half an hour, they all got up to go.
“It’s a strange affair from beginning to end,” Mr. Blair was saying. “Idon’t like it. I’m going to have a detective look into the matter tomorrow. What did they want of Hubert? What were they going to do to him?”
No one offered a suggestion. Even Hubert was silent, contemplating191 his possible fate with certain respectful awe12. During breaks in his narration192 the talk had turned to such collateral193 matters as murders and ghosts, and all the boys had talked themselves into a state of considerable panic. In fact each had come to believe, in varying degrees, that a band of kidnappers194 infested195 the vicinity.
“I don’t like it,” repeated Mr. Blair. “In fact I’m going to see all of you boys to your own homes.”
Basil greeted this offer with relief. The evening had been a mad success, but furies once aroused sometimes get out of hand. He did not feel like walking the streets alone tonight.
In the hall, Imogene, taking advantage of her mother’s somewhat fatigued196 farewell to Mr. Blair, beckoned197 Hubert back into the library. Instantly attuned198 to adversity, Basil listened. There was a whisper and a short scuffle, followed by an indiscreet but unmistakable sound. With the corners of his mouth falling, Basil went out the door. He had stacked the cards dexterously199, but Life had played a trump200 from its sleeve at the last.
A moment later they all started off, clinging together in a group, turning corners with cautious glances behind and ahead. What Basil and Riply and Bill expected to see as they peered warily201 into the sinister202 mouths of alleys203 and around great dark trees and behind concealing204 fences they did not know — in all probability the same hairy and grotesque desperadoes who had lain in wait for Hubert Blair that night.
VI
A week later Basil and Riply heard that Hubert and his mother had gone to the seashore for the summer. Basil was sorry. He had wanted to learn from Hubert some of the graceful92 mannerisms that his contemporaries found so dazzling and that might come in so handy next fall when he went away to school. In tribute to Hubert’s passing, he practised leaning against a tree and missing it and rolling a skate down his arm, and he wore his cap in Hubert’s manner, set jauntily on the side of his head.
This was only for a while. He perceived eventually that though boys and girls would always listen to him while he talked, their mouths literally205 moving in response to his, they would never look at him as they had looked at Hubert. So he abandoned the loud chuckle206 that so annoyed his mother and set his cap straight upon his head once more.
But the change in him went deeper than that. He was no longer sure that he wanted to be a gentleman burglar, though he still read of their exploits with breathless admiration207. Outside of Hubert’s gate, he had for a moment felt morally alone; and he realized that whatever combinations he might make of the materials of life would have to be safely within the law. And after another week he found that he no longer grieved over losing Imogene. Meeting her, he saw only the familiar little girl he had always known. The ecstatic moment of that afternoon had been a premature208 birth, an emotion left over from an already fleeting209 spring.
He did not know that he had frightened Mrs. Blair out of town and that because of him a special policeman walked a placid210 beat for many a night. All he knew was that the vague and restless yearnings of three long spring months were somehow satisfied. They reached combustion211 in that last week — flared212 up, exploded and burned out. His face was turned without regret toward the boundless213 possibilities of summer.
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1
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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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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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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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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deviations
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| 背离，偏离( deviation的名词复数 )； 离经叛道的行为 | |
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embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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21
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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25
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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27
protagonists
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| n.（戏剧的）主角( protagonist的名词复数 )；（故事的）主人公；现实事件（尤指冲突和争端的）主要参与者；领导者 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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32
decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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34
bandanna
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| n.大手帕 | |
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35
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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crochet
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| n.钩针织物；v.用钩针编制 | |
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38
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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40
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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41
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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45
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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46
parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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47
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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48
seesaw
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| n.跷跷板 | |
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49
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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50
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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51
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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52
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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53
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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54
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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55
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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56
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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58
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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59
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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60
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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61
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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62
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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63
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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64
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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65
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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66
dissecting
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| v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的现在分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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67
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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68
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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69
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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70
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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71
chronologically
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| ad. 按年代的 | |
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72
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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73
luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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74
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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75
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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76
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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77
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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78
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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79
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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80
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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81
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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82
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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85
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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86
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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87
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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88
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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89
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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90
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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91
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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92
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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93
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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94
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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95
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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96
maneuvering
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| v.移动，用策略( maneuver的现在分词 )；操纵 | |
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97
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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99
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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100
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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101
juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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102
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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103
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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104
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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105
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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106
chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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107
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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108
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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109
virtuosic
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| adj.艺术名家的，艺术品收藏家的；乐器演奏能手的 | |
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110
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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111
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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112
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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113
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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114
stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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116
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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117
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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118
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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119
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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120
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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121
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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122
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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123
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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124
maneuvered
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| v.移动，用策略( maneuver的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵 | |
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125
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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126
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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127
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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129
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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130
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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131
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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132
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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133
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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134
speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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135
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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136
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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137
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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138
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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139
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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140
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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141
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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142
lithely
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| adv.柔软地，易变地 | |
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143
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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144
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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146
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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147
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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148
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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149
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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150
envisaging
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| 想像，设想( envisage的现在分词 ) | |
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151
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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152
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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153
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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154
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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155
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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156
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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157
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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158
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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159
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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160
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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161
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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162
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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163
overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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164
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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165
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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166
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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167
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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169
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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170
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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171
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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172
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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173
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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174
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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175
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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176
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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177
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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178
parleys
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| n.和谈，谈判( parley的名词复数 ) | |
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179
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180
virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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181
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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182
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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183
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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184
hilariously
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185
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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186
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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187
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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188
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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189
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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190
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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191
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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192
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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193
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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194
kidnappers
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| n.拐子，绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
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195
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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196
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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197
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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199
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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200
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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201
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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202
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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203
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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204
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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205
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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206
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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207
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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208
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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209
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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210
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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211
combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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212
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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213
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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