He was in his library when these reflections were passing through his brain, and his attention was attracted by children’s voices somewhere outside raised to a high pitch of anger. Stepping to a window, he looked out toward the house of his neighbor, Congressman28 Weston. He was just in time to see Weston’s son, Grover, climb over the low paling fence, and, with a loud and abusive threat, approach Lionel, who was shorter by a head.
“You said I shouldn’t say it again,” he cried, “but I do! She is not fit for anybody to go with. My mother wouldn’t notice her, and no other nice lady would. People don’t—they don’t go near her!”
Galt’s blood was shocked to stillness in his veins29, and then, as if by reactionary30 process, it began to boil. He saw the erect31 figure of his son stand as if stunned32 for an instant, and then, like a young tiger, Lionel sprang at the other boy, his little hands balled. Galt heard the blows as they fell on young Weston’s fat cheeks, and he chuckled33 and ground his teeth in blended satisfaction and rage. He sprang through the open window to the grass, and hurriedly skirted a clump34 of boxwood just in time to see Grover Weston recovering from the unexpected onslaught and beginning to rain blow after blow upon Lionel’s white face. The contest was close, despite the inequality in ages and sizes; but the nameless scion35 of the Gaits, unconscious of his heritage of bravery, was unconquerable. He was there to fight, justly roused as he was, to his last breath. For one instant Grover tore himself from Lionel’s bear-like clutch, and stood glowering36 in sheer astonishment37 from his battered38 and bruised39 face.
“You little bastard40, I’ll—” And he suddenly hurled41 his fist into Lionel’s face with all his force. It was a staggering blow, but Lionel met it without a whimper or the loss of a breath. He sprang again at his assailant, and, catching42 him around the neck with his strong left arm, he battered the other boy’s face with blow after blow.
“Hit him—that’s right, hit him, Lionel!” Galt cried out, in utter forgetfulness of his own incongruous position. “Beat his nasty face to a pulp43 while you’ve got him! If you don’t do it now, he’ll down you when he gets free. Give him his medicine, and give him a full dose. That’s the thing—trip him up!”
Without sparing an instant to look, but having recognized Galt’s voice, Lionel bent44 his wiry body toward accomplishing the trick advised. The two combatants swung back and forth45, still bound together by Lionel’s clutch, till finally they went down side by side. And then ensued another struggle as to which should get on top.
“Throw your leg over!” Galt cried out. “Ah, that’s a beauty! Now, beat him till he takes it back!” Lionel needed no such advice. His little fists moved like the spokes46 of a turning wheel. A shrill47 howl of defeat rose from the conquered bully48, and he uttered a prolonged scream of genuine alarm. Then emerged from a side door of the Weston house no less a personage than the Congressman himself, and he ran across the grass, taking flower-pots and beds of roses at long leaps.
Reaching the fighters, he grasped Lionel by the collar of his blouse and drew him off of his cowering49 son. And as he held him, squirming like a cat, he turned on Galt. “Damn it, man!” he cried, in breathless fury, “what do you mean by standing50 here and encouraging this brat51 to fight my boy?”
“Why, I only wanted to see fair play, that’s all,” Galt replied, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I happened to hear your big bully of a son dare the little one to fight him, and he brought it on by insulting the little fellow’s mother. God bless him, he didn’t need my advice. He could whip two such whelps as yours, and never half try! He hasn’t a cowardly bone in his body! He was all there!”
“Well, it seems to me, you are in a pretty business!” Weston retorted, white with rage.
“I might be even more active than I am, Weston,” Galt said, with cold significance, “and if you are not satisfied with the part I have taken, you only have to say the word. You know that well enough.”
The Congressman was taken aback. There was something in the unruffled tone and meaning stare of his neighbor’s eyes that perplexed52 and quelled53 him. He now turned upon his sniffling offspring.
“You go in the house!” he said, angrily. “You are always picking at some child under your size. I have noticed it.” Weston was a politician before anything else, and the thought of turning against him a man who controlled as many votes as did the president of the greatest railway in the State was not particularly inviting54.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Galt,” he said, as his boy limped away, still mopping his eyes with his fists. “I reckon I got hot because it was my own flesh and blood. Of course, it was natural for you to sympathize with the smaller of the two.”
“That’s the way I felt about it, Weston,” Galt said, staring coldly at the speaker. “I have nothing at all to apologize for.”
“Well, I’ll see that Grover behaves himself better in future,” the Congressman said, still with his political eye open to advantages. “Of course, it would be natural for a child like mine to pick up remarks floating about among older people in regard to the mother of—”
“We’ll let that drop, too, Weston!” Galt snarled55. His lip quivered ominously56 as he glanced significantly at Lionel, who was listening attentively57, the blood from a bruised nose trickling58 down to his chin and neck.
“All right, I understand,” the Congressman said; and he moved awkwardly away, wondering what manner of man the frigid59 and reticent60 Galt was, after all.
“I suppose I’ve got myself in a pretty mess,” Lionel remarked, ruefully, when Weston had left him and his father together. “My mother has made me promise time after time not to fight; but, you see, I did.”
“Yes, I see you did,” Galt responded, a lump of queer approval in his throat.
“I couldn’t help it—I really couldn’t,” Lionel said, with a rueful look at his hands, which were covered with the blood of his antagonist61. “I must be a bad boy; but oh, I couldn’t let him say my beautiful mother—my sweet mo—” He choked up. “I couldn’t—I simply couldn’t! She is so sweet and good! I couldn’t help it!”
“Of course not, but don’t worry about it,” Galt said, sunken to depths of shame he had never reached before. “You must try to forget it—forget the whole thing.”
“I am afraid my mother will find out about it, and, you know, she mustn’t,” the child said, his great eyes filled with concern. “She would ask what the boy said, and Granny says she must never be told nasty things children say to me. Such things make her sad and keep her from painting. She must not find out about this—this fight.”
“Well, she really need not know,” Galt said, as the heat of his shame mantled62 his face and brow.
“But she will,” Lionel insisted, gloomily, “for she is sure to see this blood on me. It is on my neck, and running down under my collar. Do you suppose I could get it off without soiling my waist?”
Galt unbuttoned the broad white collar, and drew it away from the child’s neck.
“It hasn’t touched it yet,” he said. “Wait a moment!” And he adroitly63, and yet with oddly quivering fingers, inserted his own handkerchief between the collar and the trickling blood. “Now come into the house, and I’ll fix you up. Your clothes are a little rumpled64, but when I have washed the blood off no one need know about your fight.”
“Oh, that would be a fine idea!” Lionel exclaimed, joyfully65. He put his little hand into his father’s, and together they went into the house. “She won’t know, will she?”
“No, she need not know,” Galt said aloud; but in his thought he added: “Lionel, you are a little gentleman. You are a living proof that blood will tell.”
The lonely man’s heart was warmed by an inward glow of pride which was quickly succeeded by an icy breath of despair that seemed to blow over him. This, he reflected, was only the introductory part of the vast soul tragedy he himself had put on the stage of existence. The trials he had encountered through young manhood were naught66 to those foreshadowed in the unsuspecting and trusting face at his side.
“Here is the bath,” he said, as they reached the white-tiled room on the second floor. “Now go in, and be careful to take off your blouse without getting it bloody67. If we are going to work this thing we must work it right. Perhaps you’d better strip and bathe all over. It will make you feel good anyway, after that fierce round of yours. Let me fill the tub.”
“I think I’d better, maybe,” acquiesced68 Lionel. “Well, be careful,” Galt warned him, as he turned on the two streams of water and tested the blending temperature.
“I really can’t unbutton this collar behind,” Lionel said, with a touch of manly69 shame over the confession70. “My mother always does it. She has never let me learn. I am big enough, gracious knows!”
“Wait, let me undress you!” the father said, as he hastily dried his hands.
“I wish you would, if you’ll be so kind,” Lionel said, in a tone of reliance, which somehow reached an hitherto untouched fount of feeling in the breast of his companion.
As the child stood before him, Galt, with throbbing71 pulse and reverent73 fingers, found himself doing the duties of a mother to his offspring. The flowing necktie and collar were removed; next the blouse and underbody. Then a vision of inexplicable74 and awe-inspiring beauty greeted the senses of the beholder75, as the symetrical form, a veritable poem in flesh and blood, stood bared to his sight. He laid the still unsoiled garments on a chair, and lifted the boy in his arms to put him into the water. The warm, smooth cheek touched his own; a tingling76 throb72 of paternity—of starving, yearning77 fatherhood—shot through him as he held the boy across his arms like a baby and lowered him slowly to the water.
“Look out, I’ll duck you!” he said, jestingly, and the boy replied with a ringing laugh which held no hint of fear.
In the water the child lay with his face smilingly upturned.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, “it feels good. This tub is big enough to swim in—a little bit, anyway. Will you show me how to swim some day?”
“Yes, my son—yes, Lionel, some day, perhaps.”
“In deep water—in a really-really stream that fish swim in?”
“Yes, Lionel.”
“Oh, that would be so nice! Couldn’t we catch fish, too?”
“I think so—yes, of course, some day, perhaps.”
But would those delights, conceived for the first time to-day, ever be realized? Galt asked himself, as keen pangs78 from some unknown source darted79 through him. Sick unto death of the vapid80 adulation of narrow men and women, would he ever experience the transcendental joy of intimate and daily companionship with this human wonder, such as other fathers enjoyed with their sons?
No, the question was already answered. The bliss81—the queer, Heaven-tending bliss of the present moment—was merely stolen. Was it likely that any son at all would ever come to him—a son which he could father in the broadest, holiest sense? No; and he started and fell to quivering superstitiously82. Even if he were married and another son was given to him in lawful83 wedlock84, could he dare—in the face of Infinite Justice—dare to put that child forward, acknowledge that child as his own, while deserting, ignoring, denying Lionel?
“Great God!” his quaking soul cried out in sheer anguish85. “Lionel, my son; my boy, made in the image of her and me, he who trusts and so innocently loves me! And yet it must be. Fate has ordained86 it. I have his faith and love now, but later he may turn on me like an avenging87 angel.”
“My mother soaps me all over before I get out. Must I do it?” the child asked, as his merry, haunting eyes smiled up through their long, wet lashes88.
“It won’t be necessary this time,” Galt said. “The blood is entirely89 washed off. Get out and let me dry you with this big towel.”
“Ugh! it is cold.” The boy shuddered, as he stood out on the rug and allowed himself to be enveloped90 from head to foot in the big Turkish towel. He was soon dry, and as he stood, his soft skin flushed as delicately pink as the inside of a sea-shell, Galt, making many an awkward mistake, proceeded to dress him.
“Now let me brush your hair; at least, I know how to do that, young man,” the father said, “but I think it ought to be wet more.”
“Oh no; it is too wet now!” the child declared, as he shook his locks, the ends of which had been under water. “My mother combs it dry.”
“There, how will that do, Miss Particular?” Galt asked as he led the child to a large mirror.
“I don’t know; it looks funny, somehow”—Lionel made a grimace91 at his image in the glass—“but it will have to do. I’d better hurry home. They might miss me, and find out about the fight. I like you for that.”
“For what?” Galt followed him to the door, and as they started across the grass toward the cottage he felt Lionel timidly reaching out for his hand. He had evidently not heard Galt’s half-whispered question.
“What was it you said you liked me for?” his father repeated, taking the little hand and holding it tenderly.
“Oh, because you wanted me to whip him. He’s rich and has everything, and Granny says his father is a great man. I suppose if you liked Grover the best you would have told him how to fight.”
“You are smaller than he,” Galt said, lamely92.
“Then it wasn’t because you like me?” Galt felt the little hand stiffen93, as if some impulse of dormant94 confidence in the tiny palm had forsaken95 it.
“Yes, it was because I like you,” Galt said, warmly, and, obeying a desire he refused to combat, he raised the boy in his arms and held him tight against his breast. “If he had hurt you, Lionel, I don’t know what I should have done.”
“Then I’m glad I made him bellow,” the boy said, with a little laugh, as he got down to the ground. “Something had to be done, you know, after he said that about my mother.”
Yes, something had to be done, Kenneth Galt told his tortured inner self, as he stood and watched the boy trip lightly homeward—some one had to fight and struggle and smart as a consequence of the wrong that had been done, and the duty had fallen on a little child. Through the slow, weary years of perhaps a long life the fight just beginning would go on, and the chief cause of it must shirk it all. Galt groaned96, and clinched97 his hands, and turned back to his desolate98 home. He had contended that there was no such thing as spirit, and yet this remorse99 raging like a tempest within him certainly had naught to do with matter. He had argued that man, bom of the flesh, could gratify all animal desires and suffer no ill effects except those excited by physical fear; but there was nothing to fear in this case. Dora’s lips were sealed; no one else knew the truth, or ever would know, and yet the very skies above seemed turning to adamant100 and closing in around him.
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1
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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frailty
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| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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49
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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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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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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53
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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55
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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58
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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mantled
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| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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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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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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66
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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71
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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73
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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75
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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76
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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77
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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80
vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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81
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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82
superstitiously
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| 被邪教所支配 | |
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83
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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84
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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85
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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86
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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87
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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88
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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89
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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90
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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93
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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96
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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97
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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98
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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99
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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100
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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