Mr. Carrington, in his shirt sleeves, and white linen4 sun-hat crammed5 down over his eyes, stood under the acacia-tree at his garden gate, chatting to the Reverend Peter Burt, Curate of Cossington, who had tramped three miles to visit some of the sick people on the farm. Mr. Burt was rather a shy little man, very much in earnest, and very much convinced of the responsibility of his position.
“All this must have been a great worry to you,” said the clergyman, with a comprehensive sweep of an oak stick.
“Worry—don’t talk of it, sir. What with the heat, and the Medical Officer of Health, and the Sanitary6 Inspector7, I’ve been pretty near crazy. I don’t know what I should have done, Mr. Burt, but for Murchison and his good lady.”
“Mrs. Murchison seems to have been a local Florence Nightingale.”
Mr. Carrington stared.
“I don’t happen to know the woman’s name,” he said; “but she must have been a good ’un, Mr. Burt, to be showed in the same class as the doctor’s lady. Why—” and the farmer withdrew his hands from his pockets and tapped his left palm with his right forefinger8—“why, d’you know what she did when she’d been over here and seen how we were fixed9?”
Mr. Carrington paused expressively10, and looked the young clergyman in the face, as though defying him to conceive the nature of this unique woman’s genius.
“No, I have not heard.”
“Well, Mr. Burt, there’s religion and there’s religion; some of us wear black coats on a Sunday and put silver in the plate; some of us aren’t so regular and respectable, but we play the game, and that’s more than many of your sitting pew-hens do. Excuse me, sir, I’m rather rough in the tongue. Well, Mrs. Murchison, she doesn’t strike you as a district visiting sort of lady to look at; she’s got a fine face and a head of hair, like the Countess of Camber, who gave the prizes away at our Agricultural Show last season. Well, Mr. Burt, she came over here, and saw what sort of a fix we were in, two grumbling11 nurses, and not much more than straw and sacking. Well, what does she do but take one of my wagons13 and my men and go off to Roxton all on her own.”
Mr. Carrington paused for breath, took off his sun-hat and wiped his forehead with it, his eyes remaining fixed emphatically on the Curate’s face.
“And what d’you think, sir? Back came that wagon12 of mine loaded up with linen, and basins, and crockery, a bed or two, and God knows what. She’d ransacked14 her own house, sir, and gone round to all the neighbors begging like a papist. Get the stuff? She did that. Not easy to say no to a woman with a face and a voice like hers. Carmagee joined in, and Canon Stensly, and a good score more. And dang my soul, Mr. Burt, she’d been working with her husband here, day in, day out; and that’s the sort of thing, sir, that I call religion.”
The Curate began to look vaguely15 uncomfortable under the farmer’s concentrated methods of address. It took much to move Mr. Carrington to words, but when once moved, the result resembled the eruption16 of a long quiescent17 volcano, the vigor18 of the eruption corresponding roughly to the length of the period of quiescence19.
“I quite agree with you, Mr. Carrington,” he said, with a certain boyish stiffness, as though he considered it superfluous20 for the farmer to condemn21 his soul to perdition.
“You must excuse my language, Mr. Burt; when I get worked up over a subject I must let fly. And it’s these dirty lies that have been flying abroad about this good lady’s husband that have made me hot, sir, to see justice done.”
Mr. Burt appeared interested by the windows of the house that glimmered22 from amid a mass of creepers like water shining through the foliage23 of trees.
“One hears very curious rumors,” he acknowledged, with a discreet25 frown.
“I suppose you’ve heard them over at Cossington?”
“Well, I have heard reports.”
“About our doctor here and the drink?”
Mr. Burt nodded.
“But I don’t think anyone believed them,” he confessed.
The farmer’s right forefinger began to tap his left palm again.
“Look here, sir, I ought to know something about Dr. Murchison’s character, I imagine. The man’s been here nearly a month, living in my house, and working like a Trojan. We’ve had nearly sixty cases, what with the pickers and our own people. You haven’t seen what the doctor’s been through in this little epidemic26 of ours, Mr. Burt, and I have. You get to the bottom of a man’s nature when he’s working eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, doing the nurse’s jobs as well as his own, and feeding some of the kids with his own hands. I’ve seen him come into my parlor27, sir, at night, and go slap off to sleep on the sofa, he was that done. And never, not on one single blessed occasion, have I seen that man show the white feather or touch a drop of drink!”
Mr. Burt appeared to become more and more embarrassed by being stared at vehemently28 in the face, as the farmer’s right fist smacked30 the points of his argument into his left palm. He had to return Mr. Carrington’s stare, eye to eye, as a pledge of sincerity31. He began to fidget, to scan the horizon, and to fumble32 with his watch-chain.
“Your evidence sounds conclusive,” he said; “I think it is time I—”
Mr. Carrington ignored the little man’s restiveness33, and came and stood outside the gate.
“Now, I make it a rule in life, Mr. Burt, to take people just as I find ’em, and not to listen to what all the old women say. The rule of a practical man, you understand. Now—”
The Curate cast a flurried glance up the road, and pulled out his watch.
“You must really excuse me, Mr. Carrington.”
“In a hurry, are you? Well, I was only going to say that some of us people have come by a shrewd notion how all this chaff34 got chucked about in these parts. Murchison was a first-class man, and some people got jealous of him, and played a low-down game to get him out of the town. You take my meaning, Mr. Burt?”
“Yes, certainly. Good Heavens, it is nearly twelve. I must really say good-bye, Mr. Carrington; I hope—”
“One moment, sir. I won’t mention any name, but perhaps you are just as wise as I am. And what’s more, Mr. Burt, from what I’ve heard, that gentleman that we know of has just been treated as he tried to treat a better man than himself. It was his wife, they say—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Carrington, but some one is calling you, I think.”
“They can wait. Now—”
“To be frank with you, Mr. Carrington, I can’t.”
“Oh, well, sir, if you are in such a hurry, I’ll postpone35 my remarks. I was only going to say—”
But Mr. Burt gave him a wave of the hand, and fled.
A girl of seventeen came down the path from the house, between the standard roses, her black hair already gathered up tentatively at the back of a brown neck, and the smartness of her blouse and collar betraying the fact that she considered herself a mature and very eligible36 woman.
“Dad, are you deaf?”
Mr. Carrington turned with the leisurely37 composure of a father.
“What’s all this noise about, Nan?”
“I’ve been calling you for five minutes. They’re all there—in the fourteen-acre.”
“Who?”
“Why, Mrs. Murchison and the Canon, and old Lady Gillingham, and half a dozen more. Dr. Murchison sent one of the boys over for you.”
Mr. Carrington began to hustle38.
“Dang it, I expected them to-morrow!”
“What a man you are, dad!” and she stood like an armed angel of scorn in the middle of the path; “you can’t go and see them in your shirt-sleeves.”
“Bless my soul, Nan, where’s my coat?”
“On the fence. You were talking to Mr. Burt long enough to forget it. Why didn’t you bring him in?”
Mr. Carrington was struggling into his alpaca coat, his daughter watching his contortions39 with the superior serenity40 of seventeen.
“Bring who in?”
“Mr. Burt.”
“The little man’s as shy as a calf41.”
“Perhaps you talked him silly.”
“Look here, my dear, it’s too hot to argue. Is my tie proper?”
His daughter regarded him with critical candor42.
“It will do,” she answered, resignedly, as though her father’s ties were beyond all promise of salvation43.
The camp of the fruit-pickers in Mr. Carrington’s fourteen-acre stood out like a field-hospital under the August sun. There were half a dozen white tents pitched near the two sheds, and on an ingenious frame-work of poles an awning44 had been spread so that convalescents could be brought out to lie in the shade, and gain the maximum amount of air. The whole place looked trim and clean, and a faint perfume of some coal-tar disinfectant permeated45 the air.
Mr. Carrington, as he emerged from the orchard46 gate, saw quite a representative gathering47 moving through the camp. Several of the Roxton celebrities48 who had subscribed49 to the relief fund, had been invited by Porteus Carmagee, the treasurer50, to drive over and see how the money had been spent. The farmer recognized Lady Gillingham’s carriage and pair waiting in the roadway beyond the white field-gate. The Canon’s landau had drawn51 up deferentially52 behind it, while Mrs. Murchison’s pony53, that drew her governess car, was being held by one of the pickers who had lost two children but a week ago.
Lady Sophia appeared to be holding quite a state inspection54, for she had Murchison in his white linen jacket at one elbow, and the Canon in his black coat at the other. She was making considerable use of her lorgnette—a very affable, commonplace, and well-meaning great lady, who felt it to be a most Christian55 condescension56 on her part to drive out and examine this temporary hospital and its London poor. Catherine Murchison and Mrs. Stensly were talking to one of the women lying under the awning. The treasurer had remained judiciously57 in the background, and was snapping away to three Roxton ladies who appeared to be fascinated by some subject foreign to enteric fever and pickers of fruit.
Porteus Carmagee looked very much amused. A thin little lady in a hat far too big for her, giving her an indistinct resemblance to a mushroom, was attempting to draw more definite information from the lawyer by the feminine pretence58 of unbelief.
“But are you sure, Mr. Carmagee? It may only be a rumor24; one hears so many extraordinary things.”
“I am perfectly59 sure, madam. There are facts, however, that cannot well be discussed.”
The suggestion of mystery lent a double glamour60 to Porteus Carmagee’s information.
“Then he has left the town for good?”
“I think I may swear to that as a fact.”
“And alone?”
“Quite alone.”
“But surely his wife—?”
Mr. Carmagee tightened61 up his mouth and stared reflectively into space.
“Don’t ask me to unravel62 the complexities63 of other people’s households, Mrs. Blount.”
“But how extraordinary! Of course everyone knows that she is ill.”
“Every one knows a great deal more of one’s private affairs, madam, than one knows one’s self.”
The three ladies exchanged glances; they formed three spokes64 of curiosity, with Mr. Carmagee for the hub.
“And no one has seen Betty Steel for some weeks.”
“That is so.”
“And it is rumored—”
“Then you have heard that too?”
“What, my dear?”
“That it is an affection of the skin.”
The lawyer extricated65 himself from the group, and moved to where Catherine’s golden head shone Madonna-like over the face of a little child.
“Affection of tom-cats,” quoth he, under his breath; “it is curious the way these women play with a piece of scandal like a cat with a mouse. It mustn’t die, or half the zest66 of the game would be gone. Catherine, my friend, you are different from the rest.”
During these digressions Mr. Carrington had brought himself within the ken67 of Lady Gillingham’s lorgnette. It appeared to the farmer that the great lady’s eyes were fixed critically upon his tie. His right shoulder blushed as he remembered that there was a three-inch rent there in the seam of his alpaca coat. Such is the judgment68 that overtakes those who are mistaken as to dates.
“Good-morning, Mr.—Mr. Carrington. We are admiring how beautifully you have managed everything for these poor people. So clean, and so—so airy. I am sure you must have suffered a great deal of inconvenience and worry.”
Mr. Carrington blushed. Porteus Carmagee, who was watching the drama from a distance, felt for Mr. Carrington a species of ironical69 pity. The farmer’s boots described an angle of ninety degrees with one another, and the vehement29 smirk70 upon his face made the redness thereof seem dangerously sultry.
“We have all been so interested, Mr. Carrington—”
“Very good of your ladyship, I’m sure.”
“I sent you an iron bedstead, you may remember. I hope it has been of use.”
“Great use, your ladyship.”
“Ah, that is right; and is your family quite well, Mr. Carrington? I hope none of you have contracted the disease?”
“Only my youngest boy, your ladyship, but Dr. Murchison soon had him in hand.”
“Ah, quite so; good-day, Mr. Carrington,” and she relieved him from the splendor71 of her notice, and turned to Murchison, who was waiting at her elbow.
“What a noble profession, the physician’s, Dr. Murchison!”
The big, brown-faced man smiled, and his eyes wandered unconsciously in the direction of his wife.
“It has its responsibilities,” he said, “and also its compensations.”
Lady Sophia waved her lorgnette to and fro, and beamed to the extent of the five-guinea check she had contributed to the relief fund. She was wondering whether it was possible that this quiet, clear-eyed man could ever have been the victim of such a thing as drink. If so—then he was to be pitied, and not abused.
“It must be so gratifying, Dr. Murchison, to save the life of a fellow-being.”
“Yes, it is something to be grateful for.”
“How well your wife looks! I hear she has been working here, like any trained nurse.”
Catherine, dancing a doll before the thin little hands of a child of four, was serenely72 oblivious73 of the great lady’s praise. Porteus Carmagee was watching her, smiling, and rattling74 his keys in his pocket.
“Your wife is very fond of children, Dr. Murchison.”
He looked into the distance, and then at the laughing girl of four.
“She lost a child, and that means much to a woman.”
“Ah, of course, undoubtedly75. Poor little creature!” and her ladyship tended benignly76 in the direction of the awning.
Canon Stensly and Murchison were left alone together by one of the tents. A man was delirious77 within it, and they could hear the meaningless patter of fever flowing in one monotonous78 tone.
“A doctor’s life is no sinecure,” and he stroked his firm round chin.
“No, perhaps no. We walk daily at the edge of a precipice79. And yet it has great compensations.”
They were silent a moment, watching Lady Sophia trying to coquet with a rather overpowered child.
“You have heard about Steel?”
“Yes, my wife told me.”
“One of those strange fatalities80 we meet with in life. And yet I think there was something of the nature of a judgment in it.”
“Possibly. I am sorry for the woman.”
“Then you are magnanimous.”
“No, I have learned the true values of life. When one has suffered—”
“One loses the meaner impulses?”
“That is so.”
“And remains81 thankful for what one has?”
“For what one has.”
And Murchison’s eyes were smiling towards his wife.
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收听单词发音
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1
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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5
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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6
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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7
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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8
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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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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10
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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11
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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12
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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13
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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14
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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15
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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17
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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18
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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20
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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21
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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24
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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25
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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27
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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30
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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32
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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restiveness
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| n.倔强，难以驾御 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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40
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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41
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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42
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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44
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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45
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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46
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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47
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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48
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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49
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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50
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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51
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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52
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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53
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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54
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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55
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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56
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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57
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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58
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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59
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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60
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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61
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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62
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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63
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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64
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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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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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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fatalities
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| n.恶性事故( fatality的名词复数 )；死亡；致命性；命运 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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