So it was with all of them: in their friendship they seemed to say, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no further"; their homes, their private sorrows and eager hopes, the real lives that they lived, in fact, were left behind them with the closing of their house-door, and they came to the office different beings.
Those matters that touched their innermost lives were never discussed. Occasionally, the birth of a baby in the home of a reporter or a sub-editor would bring a queer suggestion of humanity and ordinary life into their affairs: sometimes, the news would filter through of a wife seriously ill in some home at Herne Hill or Wimbledon, and there were solicitous3 inquiries4 (Ferrol would send down the greatest specialist in one of those deep, generous moods of his), for the rest they displayed no interest in each other's private affairs.
As a matter of fact, it was assumed, by the law of the Street, that they had no private lives of their own. It is impossible to imagine Humphrey saying: "If you[266] please, I am engaged to be married, may I have the evening off," if at seven in the evening anything from a fire at the docks to the kidnapping of a baby occurred.
Therefore he told no one of the new wonder that had come into his life, not even Tommy Pride, who, by the way, had of late taken to sending out for a glass of whisky and soda6, and doing his work with the glass before him on the table. They looked at each other in the reporters' room, and sighed, "Poor old Tommy."
Least of all would he tell Ferrol. He would have liked to have gone to Ferrol, and told him, but he remembered Ferrol's outburst. He was older now, and he could not trust himself to listen calmly to the old arguments. And he felt that it would be a slur7 on Elizabeth if he were forced to plead the cause of his marriage....
So the days followed each other, and he was happy with that mixed happiness which is, perhaps, the most perfect. After the first great moment when he had declared his love, their relations had fallen back to their original groove8. It was safer thus: one could not live always on the exalted9 plane of that moment.
His love-affair with Elizabeth Carr was of a different calibre from that with Lilian. It was truer, and rested on a firmer basis of friendship, but it lacked the ardour, and the passionate10 moments and kisses of the days when love held the ascendancy11 over his work....
Once, when he was moved with most eager desire during one of their lonely meetings, he caught her to him, and kissed her, and he was conscious of an unspoken reproach in her lips and eyes, that took from him, for the moment, all the savour of his love.
It seemed to him that he was most successful when he was not playing the lover, when they met just as if they were rather exceptional friends instead of betrothed13, and this irked him from time to time. He wanted to[267] love, and be loved, he wanted to give all and take all. But when, in those rare moods, she answered his kisses recklessly, she was splendidly beautiful and magnificent, atoning14 lavishly15 for all that she had withheld16 from him.
In one thing this wooing ran parallel with the wooing of Lilian: there were the same interruptions and postponement17 of plans; Fleet Street for ever intruded18, and always there was the remorseless, inexorable conflict between his love and his career.
After an unfortunate week of shattered plans for spending an evening together, she sighed impatiently. "I wish you would give up Fleet Street," she said. "You could do better work."
"Oh!" he said, light-heartedly, "one day I will. I'll sit down and write my book. But it's too soon yet."
She looked at him with doubt in her eyes. She seemed to be feeling her way through the dark corridors of his mind.
"But surely you don't like the work," she said.
He laughed. "Some days I don't, and some days I do. Some days I think it loathsome19, and some days I think it glorious.... We're all like that."
A day came when he thought it glorious, when Fleet Street gave him of its best, a swift reward for his allegiance.
He was in the reporters' room one evening, talking the latest office gossip with Jamieson and Willoughby, which concerned the marriage of The Day's Miss Minger, with young Hartopp of The Gazette. It was an event in Fleet Street, marking, in its way, the end of the epoch20 of the woman reporter.
"I don't think a reporters' room is a fit place for a woman," Willoughby said. "They're all right for their special work—cooking and dress and weddings, and all[268] that—but hard, right-down chasing after stories is man's work."
"I didn't mind Miss Minger," remarked Humphrey. "She was a jolly good sport, but women have us at a disadvantage. Remember that time when we all fell down on the gun-running story at Harwich, and Miss Minger sailed in, smiled her prettiest, and squeezed a scoop21 out of them."
"Ah, well," Jamieson said. "They're all the same ... marriage, you know, and a happy home, with jolly children. They soon find out that it's better to let hubby do the reporting.... Hullo, young man Trinder, what do you want?" he said, breaking off as the pink-faced secretary stood in the doorway22.
"You're wanted," Trinder said, nodding to Humphrey.
"Me!" said Humphrey. "What's up?"
"Ferrol wants you."
"My word!" said Willoughby. "Are you going to be sacked, or is your salary to be raised?"
"Our blessings23 on you," cried Jamieson, as he followed Trinder out of the room, upstairs, and along the corridor to Ferrol's door.
Ferrol stood with his hat and coat on waiting for him.
"Oh, Quain," he said, shortly. "Get your things and come along. I want to talk to you."
Humphrey paused, bewildered. "Hurry up," said Ferrol. He took his watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and clicked its case hurriedly. "I've got to be back here at ten."
"Very well, sir," said Humphrey. He ran back to the reporters' room, and gathered together his hat and his coat and his stick.
"What's up?" chorused Jamieson and Willoughby.
"Lord knows!" he gasped24. "He wants me to go somewhere or the other with him."
"Most certainly you are either going to be sacked[269] or have your salary raised," remarked Willoughby. "But if you are going to be made editor, be kind to us when you are all-powerful."
"Ass5!" laughed Humphrey, in reply.
He went back. Ferrol made a noise of satisfaction, and led the way out of his room, carefully switching off the lights. Down the stairs they went, side by side, Humphrey walking beside the mighty25 Ferrol, just as he did in his dreams. Down the stairs they went, and the men coming up—his colleagues—raised their hats to Ferrol, for they always gave him respect, and the heart of him throbbed26 with the strangeness of it all.
The commissionaire saluted27 stiffly, and gazed at Humphrey with a new esteem28. A small boy in uniform darted29 with haste before them, and opened the door of a limousine30 car, reflecting the lights of the night in its lacquered brilliance31. The chauffeur32 touched the polished peak of his hat. It seemed that everybody paid homage33 to Ferrol, greatest of all men in the eyes of Humphrey Quain.
For this man was the symbol, the personification of the Street and the paper for which he had worked with all his heart, with all his might, and with all his soul.
He stood aside to let Ferrol step into the car first, but Ferrol, with a smile, urged him into the lighted interior. He received an impression of superlative comfort and riches in that small, blue-lined room with its little electric lamp overhead. There were rugs of deliciously soft camel-hair, and, as he settled in the yielding cushions, his outstretched feet struck something hard, that gave warmth instantly, even through the leather of his boots. A silver cone-shaped holder34, filled with red roses, confronted him; their very scent35 suggested ease and luxury. There were touches of silver everywhere: an ash-tray at his right hand, a whistle attached to a speaking tube, and a row of books in a[270] silver case—an A B C Railway Guide, a diary, an address book, and a postal36 guide. They gave the Ferrol touch of concentrated energy, even in these surroundings of comfortable, upholstered rest.
The car sped along with a soft movement, almost noiseless, except for the low purring of its engines. Through the windows, past the strong face of Ferrol, he caught glimpses of a wet world with people walking upon their own reflections in the glistening37 pavements, of ragged38 beggars slouching along with hunched-up shoulders, of streaming crowds passing and repassing, ignoring entirely39 the passage of this splendid, immaculate room on wheels, never questioning the right of those people within it to the shelter which was denied to them.
And he felt extraordinarily40 remote from all these people: an odd thrill of contempt for them moved him to think: "What fools they are not to get cars for themselves." It was as if he had been suddenly translated to another world: a world inhabited by a superior race of men and women, almost god-like in the power of their possessions, who looked down on other struggling mortals from their exalted plane, with a vision blurred41 by warmth and security.
The silence enchanted42 him. If Ferrol had spoken, the spell of that journey would have been snapped. The silence enabled him to enjoy to the full the extraordinary sensation of being whirled along in the darkness by the side of Ferrol towards some unknown destiny. The discipline had made him always regard Ferrol with awe43; but now, as he sat wrapped in the warm rugs of the motor-car, the social barriers dropped. He wondered why Ferrol was doing this.
The speed of the car slackened gradually. He caught a glimpse of railings and the lights shining among the trees, bringing back to him the old memories of his first impression of the park. But they were on the[271] Kensington side, and the breadth of the park from Bayswater to Kensington made all the difference. Here there seemed to be a culture and dignity in the very houses themselves: they did not suggest the overbearing, self-made prosperity of that broad road that ran parallel with it on the other side of the trees and meadows.
A servant stood by the open door of the car. His face was implacably dignified44. His white shirt-front and tie were splendidly correct for his station, in that he wore three obvious bone studs and a black tie. He held the door of the house open, and Humphrey followed Ferrol inside.
He had been to many houses such as this as a reporter, when he had waited with a sense of social inferiority in halls hung with old masters, and furnished with rare old oak ... at those times the servants had treated him with a mixture of deference45 and contempt. But this was different: respectful, eager hands relieved him of his coat and hat; vaguely46 he knew he had to follow one of the owners of these hands up a broad staircase, along a soft carpeted passage, to a room which, suddenly flooded with light, showed its possession of a basin fitted with shining silver taps. He washed luxuriously47; the towels were warm to the touch. He felt at peace with the world.
Down the stairs again, with a portrait on the white panelled wall for each step, to the inner hall lined with tapestries48 and brocade, where a bronze statue held an electric torch aloft to light the way to the dining-room.
Ferrol was standing49 by the fire. "Chilly50 to-night," he said, as Humphrey came into the room. His voice echoed in the spacious51 loneliness of the room.
"Yes," said Humphrey, "it is." He hesitated a moment, and then added "sir." It seemed the correct thing to do, though Ferrol and he might have been, for all that had happened in the last half-hour, excellent personal friends, of equal status in the world.
[272]
"Come and warm yourself," said Ferrol, motioning him to a high-backed chair by the fire. Humphrey sat down, and put his hands to the fire. This room with its bright lights and its high ceiling filled him with a realization52 of his own comparative poverty. The walls, again, reflected the artistic53 in Ferrol.
His glance wandered to the table. Dishes of delicacies54 in aspic and mayonnaise gave colour to the white glitter of glass and silver. A bowl of great chrysanthemums55 rose out of the centre-piece of crystal, whose lower tiers were crowded with peaches, apricots, green figs56, grapes, and other exotic fruits....
A whimsical vision came to him of a sausage-shop in Fleet Street where, often, kept late on a job, without opportunity for dinner, he had sat on a high stool at the counter eating sausages and onions and potatoes as they came hot from the sizzling trays of fat in the window. The thought made him smile.
"What's the joke?" asked Ferrol, smiling too.
Humphrey went a diffident pink. After all, why shouldn't he tell Ferrol? He was quite right: the great man bubbled with laughter. He saw the ingenuousness57 of the thought. It endeared Humphrey to him.
"Ah, young man," he said, "I know that shop."
Humphrey's eyebrows58 raised.
"I've passed it many a time and seen the inviting59 sausages. By God!" he continued, bringing his fist down on the mantelpiece, "I'd give you everything on the table, every night of your life, if I could go in and sit at the counter and eat them." He laughed. "So don't you be in too much of a hurry to give up sausages."
A servant appeared, bearing a silver soup-tureen. Ferrol sat at the top of the table, and Humphrey took the seat at his right hand. The soup was clear and delicious, possessing a faint, elusive60 flavour of sherry. While he was eating, he became aware of the butler[273] pouring light-coloured wine into a high stemmed glass. He looked up and saw Ferrol regarding his wine glass.
"It's all I drink," said Ferrol. "A little hock with dinner. In my day, many a fellow was ruined with too much drink. Are they as bad now?" he asked.
It was a strange experience to have Ferrol question him on the doings of the Street.
"Oh no!" he said, hastily, "there's not much of that now. Perhaps a half dozen or so here and there, but nothing serious." (But he thought of the shaking hand of Tommy Pride as he spoke12.)
"None of my men drink, eh?" Ferrol said. It was more of an assertion than a query61. "Do you know we've got the finest staff in London—in England."
During the whole of that delightful62 dinner Humphrey listened to Ferrol talking about the men with whom he worked. He knew them all: knew all that they had done, and all that they were capable of doing. He asked Humphrey's opinion on this man and that man, and listened attentively63 to the reply. Sometimes Humphrey made a joke, and Ferrol laughed.
And, as the dinner progressed, and the clear, cold wine invigorated his mind and warmed his perceptions, he conceived a greater liking64 for this man, who was so human at the core of him. In the office one saw him with the distorted, disciplined view, as an unapproachable demi-god, surrounded by people who sacrificed his name to their own advancement65. Ah! if one could always be on these terms of privileged intimacy66 with him, what a difference it would make in the work. If one dared tell Ferrol of the obstacles and the petty humiliations that obscured the path to good work for the sake of the paper....
"Tell me," said Ferrol, suddenly, pushing bunches of black grapes towards him—"tell me about Easterham, and your life there."
[274]
Now, what could there be in Easterham and its monotonous67 life to interest Ferrol, thought Humphrey.
Nevertheless, he told him of Easterham, and the Easterham Gazette on which he had worked. That amused Ferrol vastly. And he had to answer oddly insistent68 questions—to describe the Market Square, and the Cathedral close, with its rooks and ivy69. It astonished him to find how interested Ferrol was in these little things, and almost before he was aware of it, he found himself speaking of personal matters, of things that touched his own inner, private life, of his aunt (with her stern gospel of "Getting On"), of the mother whom he did not remember, and of Daniel Quain, his father.
And as he talked on, he saw suddenly that Ferrol was listening in a detached manner, and it occurred to him that he had rather overstepped the limits of a reply to a polite inquiry70. He became confused and shy. His reminiscences withered71 within him. Ferrol tried to urge him along the old track.
"He's only doing it out of politeness," thought Humphrey. "I shan't tell him any more. He's making fun of me."
He cracked walnuts72 in silence and sipped73 at the port. (Ferrol touched neither nuts nor wine.) He did not interpret that air of detached interest with which Ferrol had listened to him as meaning anything else but boredom74.
He did not know that, as he was speaking, the old years came back again to Ferrol, bringing with them once again the vision of Margaret and those secret walks outwards75 from Easterham, under the white moon of romance and love and supple76 youth that could be his never more.
Ferrol sighed.
"You ought to be very happy," he said. "I think[275] the happiest time of my life was when I was reporting."
"Were you ever a reporter?" asked Humphrey.
"Oh yes! I didn't buy The Day at once."
He rose and went to a cabinet to fetch silver and enamelled boxes of cigars and cigarettes. The cigarettes were oval and fat.
"I don't think you've had enough scope," said Ferrol, handing him a lighted match. "You've done well ... not as well as I hoped ... but perhaps you'd do better elsewhere."
A peculiar77 sensation attacked Humphrey in the regions of his throat and heart. ("Most certainly you are to have your salary raised or be sacked.") He waited tensely.
The butler came into the room, apologetically.
"Half-past nine, sir," he said; "the car's waiting, sir."
"Oh—yes. I forgot. I've got to be back at the office.... All right, Wilson.
"Let me see—what was I saying.... Oh yes, broader scope. Can you speak French?" he asked abruptly78.
"Just what I learnt at school.... I can read the papers."
"You'll easily pick it up.... Look here, I'll give you a lift back to Fleet Street. Do you want to go there?"
"Yes," said Humphrey, and then, suddenly, for some odd reason, he thought of Elizabeth. He was not very sure of his geography, but the street in which she lived could not be far from here. "I think I'd rather walk, if you don't mind.... I've got a call to make." He wanted to tell Elizabeth how splendid Ferrol had been to him.
"Oh well! It doesn't matter. Come and see me[276] at twelve to-morrow. I'm going to send you to Paris."
"Paris!" echoed Humphrey, as if Ferrol had promised him Paradise.
"Paris," repeated Ferrol. "We're changing our correspondent."
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1
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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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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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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7
slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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9
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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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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13
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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14
atoning
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的现在分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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withheld
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postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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28
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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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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30
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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31
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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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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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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41
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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42
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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43
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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44
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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46
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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47
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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48
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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49
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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50
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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51
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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52
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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53
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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54
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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ingenuousness
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| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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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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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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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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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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