Fulton carried a tennis racket and an old geography with the leaves torn out which served him as a portfolio6. These encumbrances[155] seemed in nowise related to each other, a fact which called for a gibe7.
“I telephoned down to the office last night and arranged to take my vacation now,” Fulton explained. “In two weeks I can do some new poems to relieve the prose of my story and round it out. The lake’s my scene, you know; I planned it all last September—and a lot of things will occur to me here that I’d never get hold of in town.”
“There’s something in that,” the Poet agreed; “and by putting aside the pen for the racket occasionally you can observe Marian in her golden sandals at short range. And then,” he deliberated, “if she doesn’t prove to be quite up to the mark; if you find that she isn’t as enchanting8 as you imagined when you admired her at a distance, you can substitute another girl. There are always plenty of girls.”
Fulton met the Poet’s eyes squarely and grinned.
[156]“So far my only trouble is my own general incompetence9. The scenery and the girl are all right. By the way, you got me into a nice box showing her my verses! I suffered, I can tell you, when I followed your advice and paddled up in my little canoe and found her with those things!”
The Poet discounted his indignation heavily, as Fulton clearly meant that he should.
“Formal introductions bore me, and in your case I thought we’d do something a little different. From the fact that you’re going off now with your scribble-book and racket to find her I judge that my way of bringing you to each other’s attention has been highly successful. Pray don’t let me detain you!” he ended with faint irony10.
“I wanted to tell you,” said Fulton, “that I’ve decided11 not to accept Redfield’s offer; I’ve just written to him.”
The Poet expressed no surprise. He merely[157] nodded and began searching for a knot in the cord attached to his eye-glasses.
“We can usually trust June with our confidences and rely on her judgments,” he remarked pensively12. “January is first-rate, too; February and March are tricky13 and unreliable. April, on the other hand, is much safer than she gets credit for being. But it was lucky that we thought of June as an arbiter14 in your case. If we would all get out under a June sky like this with our troubles we’d be a good deal happier. It was a bad day for the human race when it moved indoors.”
The Poet, absorbed in the passage of a launch across the lake, had not applauded Fulton’s determination not to ally himself with Redfield, as the young man had expected. Fulton felt that the subject required something more.
“I mean to stick to the newspaper and use every minute I have outside for study and writing,” he persisted earnestly. “I’ve decided[158] to keep trying for five years, whether I ever make a killing15 or not.”
“That’s good,” said the Poet heartily16. “I’m glad you’ve concluded to do that. Your determination carries you halfway17 to the goal; and I’m glad you see it that way. I didn’t want to influence you about Redfield; but I wanted you to take time to think.”
“Well, I’m sure I should always have regretted it, if I’d gone with him. And now that I’ve met Mrs. Redfield, I’m fully18 convinced that I’m making no mistake. It doesn’t seem possible—”
He checked himself, and waited for a sign from the Poet before concluding. The Poet drew out and replaced in the ballads the slim ivory paper-cutter he used as a bookmark.
“No, it doesn’t seem possible,” he replied quietly. “It was just as well for you to see her before making up your mind about going in with Redfield.” (His own part in making it possible[159] for Fulton to meet Mrs. Redfield at this juncture19 was not, he satisfied his conscience, a matter for confession20!) “Of course their affairs will straighten out—not because you or I may want them to, but because they really need each other; or if they don’t know it now they will. I’m inclined to think Marian will help a little. Even you and I may be inconspicuous figures in the drama—just walking on and off, saying a word here and there! None of us lives all to himself. All of us who write must keep that in mind;—our responsibility. When I was a schoolboy I found a misspelled word in a book I was reading and I kept misspelling that word for twenty years. We must be careful what we put into print; we never can tell who’s going to be influenced by what we write. Don’t let anybody fool you into thinking that the virile21 book has to be a nasty one. There’s too much of that sort of thing. They talk about warning the innocent; but there’s not much[160] sense in handing a child the hot end of a poker22 just to make it dread23 the fire. There are writers who seem to find a great joy in making mankind out as bad as possible, and that doesn’t help particularly, does it? It doesn’t help you or me any to find that some man we have known and admired has landed with a bump at the bottom of the toboggan. But,” he ended, “when we hear the bump it’s our job to get the arnica bottle and see what we can do for him. By the way, I’m leaving this afternoon.”
“Not going—not to-day!” cried Fulton with unfeigned surprise and disappointment.
“As I never had the slightest intention of coming, it’s time I was moving along. And besides, I’ve accomplished24 all the objects of my visit. If I remained any longer I might make a muddle25 of them. I’m a believer in the inevitable26 hour and the inevitable word. ‘Skip’ was the first word that popped into my[161] head when I woke up this morning. At first I thought Providence27 was kindly28 indicating the passing of a prancing29 buccaneer who began pounding carpets under my window at 5 A.M.; but that was too good to be true. I decided that it was in the stars that I should be the skipper. Unless the innkeeper is an exalted30 liar31 my train leaves at four, and I shall be occupied with balladry until the hour arrives. We must cultivate repose32 and guard against fretfulness. There’s no use in trying to hasten the inevitable hour by moving the dial closer to the sun. If you’re not too busy you might bring Marjorie and Marian over to see me off. It would be a pleasant attention; and besides, I should be much less likely to miss the train.”
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1
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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2
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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3
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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4
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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5
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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6
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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7
gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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8
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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9
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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10
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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11
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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12
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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13
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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14
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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15
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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16
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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17
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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18
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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19
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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20
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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21
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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22
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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23
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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24
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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25
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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26
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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27
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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28
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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29
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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30
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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31
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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32
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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