It has always been interesting to me to see in what awe10 men of this type or profession are held by many in the more intellectual walks of life as well as by those whose respectful worship is less surprising,—those who revere11 strength, agility12, physical courage, so-called, brute13 or otherwise. There is a kind of retiring worshipfulness, especially in men and children of the lower walks, for this type, which must be flattering in the extreme.
However, in so far as Culhane was concerned at this time, the case was different. Whatever he had been in his youth he was not that now, or at least his earlier rawness had long since been glazed14 over by other experiences. Self-education, an acquired politeness among strangers and a knowledge of the manners and customs of the better-to-do, permitted him to associate with them and to accept if not copy their manners and to a certain extent their customs in his relations with them. Literally15, he owned hundreds of the best acres of the land about him, in one of the most fashionable residence sections of the East. He had already given away to some Sisters of Mercy a great estate in northern New York. His stables contained every type of fashionable vehicle and stalled and fed sixty or seventy of the worst horses, purposely so chosen, for the use of his "guests." Men of all professions visited his place, paid him gladly the six hundred dollars in advance which he asked for the course of six weeks' training, and brought, or attempted to, their own cars and retinues16, which they lodged17 in the vicinity but could not use. I myself was introduced or rather foisted18 upon him by my dear brother, whose friend if not crony—if such a thing could have been said to exist in his life—he was. I was taken to him in a very somber19 and depressed20 mood and left; he rarely if ever received guests in person or at once. On the way, and before I had been introduced, I was instructed by my good brother as to his moods, methods, airs and tricks, supposed or rumored21 to be so beneficial in so many cases. They were very rough—purposely so.
The day I arrived, and before I saw him, I was very much impressed with the simplicity22 yet distinction of the inn or sanitarium or "repair shop," as subsequently I learned he was accustomed to refer to it, perched upon a rise of ground and commanding a quite wonderful panorama24. It was spring and quite warm and bright. The cropped enclosure which surrounded it, a great square of green fenced with high, well-trimmed privet, was good to look upon, level and smooth. The house, standing25 in the center of this, was large and oblong and gray, with very simple French windows reaching to the floor and great wide balustraded balconies reaching out from the second floor, shaded with awnings26 and set with rockers. The land on which this inn stood sloped very gradually to the Sound, miles away to the southeast, and the spires27 of churches and the gables of villages rising in between, as well as various toy-like sails upon the water, were no small portion of its charm. To the west for a score of miles the green-covered earth rose and fell in undulating beauty, and here again the roofs and spires of nearby villages might in fair weather be seen nestling peacefully among the trees. Due south there was a suggestion of water and some peculiar29 configuration30, which by day seemed to have no significance other than that which attached to the vague outlines of a distant landscape. By night, however, the soft glow emanating31 from myriads32 of lights identified it as the body and length of the merry, night-reveling New York. Northward33 the green waves repeated themselves unendingly until they passed into a dim green-blue haze34.
Interiorly, as I learned later, this place was most cleverly and sensibly arranged for the purpose for which it was intended. It was airy and well-appointed, with, on the ground floor, a great gymnasium containing, outside of an alcove36 at one end where hung four or five punching bags, only medicine balls. At the other end was an office or receiving-room, baggage or store-room, and locker37 and dining-room. To the east at the center extended a wing containing a number of shower-baths, a lounging room and sun parlor38. On the second floor, on either side of a wide airy hall which ran from an immense library, billiard and smoking-room at one end to Culhane's private suite39 at the other, were two rows of bedrooms, perhaps a hundred all told, which gave in turn, each one, upon either side, on to the balconies previously40 mentioned. These rooms were arranged somewhat like the rooms of a passenger steamer, with its center aisle41 and its outer decks and doors opening upon it. In another wing on the ground floor were kitchens, servants' quarters, and what not else! Across the immense lawn or campus to the east, four-square to the sanitarium, stood a rather grandiose42 stable, almost as impressive as the main building. About the place, and always more or less in evidence, were servants, ostlers, waiting-maids and always a decidedly large company of men of practically all professions, ages, and one might almost say nationalities. That is as nationalities are represented in America, by first and second generations.
The day I arrived I did not see my prospective43 host or manager or trainer for an hour or two after I came, being allowed to wait about until the very peculiar temperament45 which he possessed46 would permit him to come and see me. When he did show up, a more savage47 and yet gentlemanly-looking animal in clothes de rigueur I have never seen. He was really very princely in build and manner, shapely and grand, like those portraits that have come down to us of Richelieu and the Duc de Guise—fawn-colored riding trousers, bright red waistcoat, black-and-white check riding coat, brown leather riding boots and leggings with the essential spurs, and a riding quirt. And yet really, at that moment he reminded me not so much of a man, in his supremely48 well-tailored riding costume, as of a tiger or a very ferocious49 and yet at times purring cat, beautifully dressed, as in our children's storybooks, a kind of tiger in collar and boots. He was so lithe50, silent, cat-like in his tread. In his hard, clear, gray animal eyes was that swift, incisive51, restless, searching glance which sometimes troubles us in the presence of animals. It was hard to believe that he was all of sixty, as I had been told. He looked the very well-preserved man of fifty or less. The short trimmed mustache and goatee which he wore were gray and added to his grand air. His hair, cut a close pompadour, the ends of his heavy eyebrow52 hairs turned upward, gave him a still more distinguished53 air. He looked very virile54, very intelligent, very indifferent, intolerant and even threatening.
"Well," he exclaimed on sight, "you wish to see me?"
I gave him my name.
"Yes, that's so. Your brother spoke55 to me about you. Well, take a seat. You will be looked after."
He walked off, and after an hour or so I was still waiting, for what I scarcely knew—a room, something to eat possibly, some one to speak a friendly word to me, but no one did.
While I was waiting in this rather nondescript antechamber, hung with hats, caps, riding whips and gauntlets, I had an opportunity to study some of the men with whom presumably I was to live for a number of weeks. It was between two and three in the afternoon, and many of them were idling about in pairs or threes, talking, reading, all in rather commonplace athletic59 costumes—soft woolen60 shirts, knee trousers, stockings and running or walking shoes. They were in the main evidently of the so-called learned professions or the arts—doctors, lawyers, preachers, actors, writers, with a goodly sprinkling of merchants, manufacturers and young and aged62" target="_blank">middle-aged61 society men, as well as politicians and monied idlers, generally a little the worse for their pleasures or weaknesses. A distinguished judge of one of the superior courts of New York and an actor known everywhere in the English-speaking world were instantly recognized by me. Others, as I was subsequently informed, were related by birth or achievement to some one fact or another of public significance. The reason for the presence of so many people rather above than under the average in intellect lay, as I came to believe later, in their ability or that of some one connected with them to sincerely appreciate or to at least be amused and benefited by the somewhat different theory of physical repair which the lord of the manor63 had invented, or for which at least he had become famous.
I have remarked that I was not inclined to be impressed. Sanitariums with their isms and theories did not appeal to me. However, as I was waiting here an incident occurred which stuck in my mind. A smart conveyance64 drove up, occupied by a singularly lean and haughty-looking individual, who, after looking about him, expecting some one to come out to him no doubt, clambered cautiously out, and after seeing that his various grips and one trunk were properly deposited on the gravel65 square outside, paid and feed his driver, then walked in and remarked:
"Ah—where is Mr. Culhane?"
"I don't know, sir," I replied, being the only one present. "He was here, but he's gone. I presume some one will show up presently."
He walked up and down a little while, and then added: "Um—rather peculiar method of receiving one, isn't it? I wired him I'd be here." He walked restlessly and almost waspishly to and fro, looking out of the window at times, at others commenting on the rather casual character of it all. I agreed.
Thus, some fifteen minutes having gone by without any one approaching us, and occasional servants or "guests" passing through the room or being seen in the offing without even so much as vouchsafing67 a word or appearing to be interested in us, the new arrival grew excited.
"This is very unusual," he fumed68, walking up and down. "I wired him only three hours ago. I've been here now fully28 three-quarters of an hour! A most unheard-of method of doing business, I should say!"
Presently our stern, steely-eyed host returned. He seemed to be going somewhere, to be nowise interested in us. Yet into our presence, probably into the consciousness of this new "guest," he carried that air of savage strength and indifference69, eyeing the stranger quite sharply and making no effort to apologize for our long wait.
"You wish to see me?" he inquired brusquely once more.
Like a wasp66, the stranger was vibrant70 with rage. Plainly he felt himself insulted or terribly underrated.
"Are you Mr. Culhane?" he asked crisply.
"Yes."
"I am Mr. Squiers," he exclaimed. "I wired you from Buffalo71 and ordered a room," this last with an irritated wave of the hand.
"Oh, no, you didn't order any room," replied the host sourly and with an obvious desire to show his indifference and contempt even. "You wired to know if you could engage a room."
He paused. The temperature seemed to drop perceptibly. The prospective guest seemed to realize that he had made a mistake somewhere, had been misinformed as to conditions here.
"Oh! Um—ah! Yes! Well, have you a room?"
"I don't know. I doubt it. We don't take every one." His eyes seemed to bore into the interior of his would-be guest.
"Well, but I was told—my friend, Mr. X——," the stranger began a rapid, semi-irritated, semi-apologetic explanation of how he came to be here.
"I don't know anything about your friend or what he told you. If he told you you could order a room by telegraph, he's mistaken. Anyhow, you're not dealing72 with him, but with me. Now that you're here, though, if you want to sit down and rest yourself a little I'll see what I can do for you. I can't decide now whether I can let you stay. You'll have to wait a while." He turned and walked off.
The other stared. "Well," he commented to me after a time, walking and twisting, "if a man wants to come here I suppose he has to put up with such things, but it's certainly unusual, isn't it?" He sat down, wilted73, and waited.
Later a clerk in charge of the registry book took us in hand, and then I heard him explaining that his lungs were not in good shape. He had come a long way—Denver, I believe. He had heard that all one needed to do was to wire, especially one in his circumstances.
"Some people think that way," solemnly commented the clerk, "but they don't know Mr. Culhane. He does about as he pleases in these matters. He doesn't do this any more to make money but rather to amuse himself, I think. He always has more applicants74 than he accepts."
I began to see a light. Perhaps there was something to this place after all. I did not even partially sense the drift of the situation, though, until bedtime when, after having been served a very frugal75 meal and shown to my very simple room, a kind of cell, promptly76 at nine o'clock lights were turned off. I lit a small candle and was looking over some things which I had placed in a grip, when I heard a voice in the hall outside: "Candles out, please! Candles out! All guests in bed!" Then it came to me that a very rigorous régime was being enforced here.
The next morning as I was still soundly sleeping at five-thirty a loud rap sounded at my door. The night before I had noticed above my bed a framed sign which read: "Guests must be dressed in running trunks, shoes and sweater, and appear in the gymnasium by six sharp." "Gymnasium at six! Gymnasium at six!" a voice echoed down the hall. I bounced out of bed. Something about the very air of the place made me feel that it was dangerous to attempt to trifle with the routine here. The tiger-like eyes of my host did not appeal to me as retaining any softer ray in them for me than for others. I had paid my six hundred ... I had better earn it. I was down in the great room in my trunks, sweater, dressing-gown, running shoes in less than five minutes.
And that room! By that time as odd a company of people as I have ever seen in a gymnasium had already begun to assemble. The leanness! the osseosity! the grandiloquent77 whiskers parted in the middle! the mustachios! the goatees! the fat, Hoti-like stomachs! the protuberant78 knees! the thin arms! the bald or semi-bald pates79! the spectacles or horn glasses or pince-nezes!—laid aside a few moments later, as the exercises began. Youth and strength in the pink of condition, when clad only in trunks, a sweater and running shoes, are none too acceptable—but middle age! And out in the world, I reflected rather sadly, they all wore the best of clothes, had their cars, servants, city and country houses perhaps, their factories, employees, institutions. Ridiculous! Pitiful! As lymphatic and flabby as oysters81 without their shells, myself included. It was really painful.
Even as I meditated82, however, I was advised, by many who saw that I was a stranger, to choose a partner, any partner, for medicine ball practice, for it might save me being taken or called by him. I hastened so to do. Even as we were assembling or beginning to practice, keeping two or three light medicine balls going between each pair, our host entered—that iron man, that mount of brawn83. In his cowled dressing-gown he looked more like some great monk84 or fighting abbot of the medieval years than a trainer. He walked to the center, hung up his cowl and revealed himself lithe and lion-like and costumed like ourselves. But how much more attractive as he strode about, his legs lean and sturdy, his chest full, his arms powerful and graceful85! At once he seized a large leather-covered medicine ball, as had all the others, and calling a name to which responded a lean whiskerando with a semi-bald pate80, thin legs and arms, and very much caricatured, I presume, by the wearing of trunks and sweater. Taking his place opposite the host, he was immediately made the recipient87 of a volley of balls and brow-beating epithets88.
"Hurry up now! Faster! Ah, come on! Put the ball back to me! Put the ball back! Do you want to keep it all day? Great God! What are you standing there for? What are you standing there for? What do you think you're doing—drinking tea? Come on! I haven't all morning for you alone. Move! Move, you ham! You call yourself an editor! Why, you couldn't edit a handbill! You can't even throw a ball straight! Throw it straight! Throw it straight! For Christ's sake where do you think I am—out in the office? Throw it straight! Hell!" and all the time one and another ball, grabbed from anywhere, for the floor was always littered with them, would be thrown in the victim's direction, and before he could well appreciate what was happening to him he was being struck, once in the neck and again on the chest by the rapidly delivered six ounce air-filled balls, two of which at least he and the host were supposed to keep in constant motion between them. Later, a ball striking him in the stomach, he emitted a weak "Ooph!" and laying his hands over the affected89 part ceased all effort. At this the master of the situation only smirked90 on him leoninely and holding up a ball as if to throw it continued, "What's the matter with you now? Come on! What do you want to stop for? What do you want to stand there for? You're not hurt. How do you expect to get anywhere if you can't keep two silly little balls like these going between us?" (There had probably been six or eight.) "Here I am sixty and you're forty, and you can't even keep up with me. And you pretend to give the general public advice on life! Well, go on; God pity the public, is all I say," and he dismissed him, calling out another name.
Now came a fat, bald soul, with dewlaps and a protruding92 stomach, who later I learned was a manufacturer of clothing—six hundred employees under him—down in health and nerves, really all "shot to pieces" physically93. Plainly nervous at the sound of his name, he puffed94 quickly into position, grabbing wildly after the purposely eccentric throws which his host made and which kept him running to left and right in an all but panicky mood.
"Move! Move!" insisted our host as before, and, if anything, more irritably95. "Say, you work like a crab96! What a motion! If you had more head and less guts97 you could do this better. A fine specimen98 you are! This is what comes of riding about in taxis and eating midnight suppers instead of exercising. Wake up! Wake up! A belt would have kept your stomach in long ago. A little less food and less sleep, and you wouldn't have any fat cheeks. Even your hair might stay on! Wake up! Wake up! What do you want to do—die?" and as he talked he pitched the balls so quickly that his victim looked at times as though he were about to weep. His physical deficiencies were all too plain in every way. He was generally obese99 and looked as though he might drop, his face a flaming red, his hands trembling and missing, when a "Well, go on," sounded and a third victim was called. This time it was a well-known actor who responded, a star, rather spry and well set up, but still nervous, for he realized quite well what was before him. He had been here for weeks and was in pretty fair trim, but still he was plainly on edge. He ran and began receiving and tossing as swiftly as he could, but as with the others so it was his turn now to be given such a grilling100 and tongue-lashing as falls to few of us in this world, let alone among the successful in the realm of the footlights. "Say, you're not an actor—you're a woman! You're a stewed101 onion! Move! Move! Come on! Come on! Look at those motions now, will you? Look at that one arm up! Where do you suppose the ball is? On the ceiling? It's not a lamp! Come on! Come on! It's a wonder when you're killed as Hamlet that you don't stay dead. You are. You're really dead now, you know. Move! Move!" and so it would go until finally the poor thespian102, no match for his master and beset103 by flying balls, landing upon his neck, ear, stomach, finally gave up and cried:
"Well, I can't go any faster than I can, can I? I can't do any more than I can!"
"Ah, go on! Go back into the chorus!" called his host, who now abandoned him. "Get somebody from the baby class to play marbles with you," and he called another.
By now, as may well be imagined, I was fairly stirred up as to the probabilities of the situation. He might call me! The man who was playing opposite me—a small, decayed person who chose me, I think, because he knew I was new, innocuous and probably awkward—seemed to realize my thoughts as well as his own. By lively exercise with me he was doing his utmost to create an impression of great and valuable effort here. "Come on, let's play fast so he won't notice us," he said most pathetically at one point. You would have thought I had known him all my life.
But he didn't call us—not this morning at any rate. Whether owing to our efforts or the fact that I at least was too insignificant104, too obscure, we escaped. He did reach me, however, on the fourth or fifth day, and no spindling failure could have done worse. I was struck and tripped and pounded until I all but fell prone105 upon the floor, half convinced that I was being killed, but I was not. I was merely sent stumbling and drooping107 back to the sidelines to recover while he tortured some one else. But the names he called me! The comments on my none too smoothly108 articulated bones—and my alleged109 mind! As in my schooldays when, a laggard110 in the fierce and seemingly malevolent111 atmosphere in which I was taught my ABC's, I crept shamefacedly and beaten from the scene.
It was in the adjoining bathroom, where the host daily personally superintended the ablutions of his guests, that even more of his remarkable112 method was revealed. Here a goodly portion of the force of his method was his skill in removing any sense of ability, agility, authority or worth from those with whom he dealt. Apparently113 to him, in his strength and energy, they were all children, weaklings, failures, numbskulls, no matter what they might be in the world outside. They had no understanding of the most important of their possessions, their bodies. And here again, even more than in the gymnasium, they were at the disadvantage of feeling themselves spectacles, for here they were naked. However grand an osseous, leathery lawyer or judge or doctor or politician or society man may look out in the world addressing a jury or a crowd or walking in some favorite place, glistening114 in his raiment, here, whiskered, thin of legs, arms and neck, with bulging115 brow and stripped not only of his gown but everything else this side of his skin—well, draw your own conclusion. For after performing certain additional exercises—one hundred times up on your toes, one hundred times (if you could) squatting116 to your knees, one hundred times throwing your arms out straight before you from your chest or up from your shoulders or out at right angles, right and left from your body and back to your hips58 until your fingers touched and the sweat once more ran—you were then ready to be told (for once in your life) how to swiftly and agilely117 take a bath.
"Well, now, you're ready, are you?" this to a noble jurist who, like myself perhaps, had arrived only the day before. "Come on, now. Now you have just ten seconds in which to jump under the water and get yourself wet all over, twenty seconds in which to jump out and soap yourself thoroughly118, ten seconds in which to get back in again and rinse119 off all the soap, and twenty seconds in which to rub and dry your skin thoroughly—now start!"
The distinguished jurist began, but instead of following the advice given him for rapid action huddled120 himself in a shivering position under the water and stood all but inert121 despite the previous explanation of the host that the sole method of escaping the weakening influence of cold water was by counteracting122 it with activity, when it would prove beneficial.
He was such a noble, stalky, bony affair, his gold eyeglasses laid aside for the time being, his tweeds and carefully laundered124 linen125 all dispensed126 with during his stay here. As he came, meticulously127 and gingerly and quite undone128 by his efforts, from under the water, where he had been most roughly urged by Culhane, I hoped that he and not I would continue to be seized upon by this savage who seemed to take infinite delight in disturbing the social and intellectual poise129 of us all.
"Soap yourself!" exclaimed the latter most harshly now that the bather was out in the room once more. "Soap your chest! Soap your stomach! Soap your arms, damn it! Soap your arms! And don't rub them all day either! Now soap your legs, damn it! Soap your legs! Don't you know how to soap your legs! Don't stand there all day! Soap your legs! Now turn round and soap your back—soap your back! For Christ's sake, soap your back! Do it quick—quick! Now come back under the water again and see if you can get it off. Don't act as though you were cold molasses! Move! Move! Lord, you act as though you had all day—as though you had never taken a bath in your life! I never saw such an old poke56. You come up here and expect me to do some things for you, and then you stand around as though you were made of bone! Quick now, move!"
The noble jurist did as demanded—that is, as quickly as he could—only the mental inadequacy130 and feebleness which he displayed before all the others, of course, was the worst of his cruel treatment here, and in this as in many instances it cut deep. So often it was the shock to one's dignity more than anything else which hurt so, to be called an old poke when one was perhaps a grave and reverent131 senior, or to be told that one was made of bone when one was a famous doctor or merchant. Once under the water this particular specimen had begun by nervously132 rubbing his hands and face in order to get the soap off, and when shouted at and abused for that had then turned his attention to one other spot—the back of his left forearm.
Mine host seemed enraged133. "Well, well!" he exclaimed irascibly, watching him as might a hawk134. "Are you going to spend all day rubbing that one spot? For God's sake, don't you know enough to rub your whole body and get out from under the water? Move! Move! Rub your chest! Rub your belly135! Hell, rub your back! Rub your toes and get out!"
When routed from the ludicrous effort of vigorously rubbing one spot he was continually being driven on to some other, as though his body were some vast complex machine which he had never rightly understood before. He was very much flustered136 of course and seemed wholly unable to grasp how it was done, let alone please his exacting137 host.
"Come on!" insisted the latter finally and wearily. "Get out from under the water. A lot you know about washing yourself! For a man who has been on the bench for fifteen years you're the dullest person I ever met. If you bathe like that at home, how do you keep clean? Come on out and dry yourself!"
The distinguished victim, drying himself rather ruefully on an exceedingly rough towel, looked a little weary and disgusted. "Such language!" some one afterwards said he said to some one else. "He's not used to dealing with gentlemen, that's plain. The man talks like a blackguard. And to think we pay for such things! Well, well! I'll not stand it, I'm afraid. I've had about enough. It's positively139 revolting, positively revolting!" But he stayed on, just the same—second thoughts, a good breakfast, his own physical needs. At any rate weeks later he was still there and in much better shape physically if not mentally.
About the second or third day I witnessed another such spectacle, which made me laugh—only not in my host's presence—nay, verily! For into this same chamber57 had come another distinguished personage, a lawyer or society man, I couldn't tell which, who was washing himself rather leisurely140, as was not the prescribed way, when suddenly he was spied by mine host, who was invariably instructing some one in this swift one-minute or less system. Now he eyed the operation narrowly for a few seconds, then came over and exclaimed:
"Wash your toes, can't you? Wash your toes! Can't you wash your toes?"
The skilled gentleman, realizing that he was now living under very different conditions from those to which presumably he was accustomed, reached down and began to rub the tops of his toes but without any desire apparently to widen the operation.
"Here!" called the host, this time much more sharply, "I said wash your toes, not the outside of them! Soap them! Don't you know how to wash your toes yet? You're old enough, God knows! Wash between 'em! Wash under 'em!"
"Certainly I know how to wash my toes," replied the other irritably and straightening up, "and what's more, I'd like you to know that I am a gentleman."
"Well, then, if you're a gentleman," retorted the other, "you ought to know how to wash your toes. Wash 'em—and don't talk back!"
"Pah!" exclaimed the bather now, looking twice as ridiculous as before. "I'm not used to having such language addressed to me."
"I can't help that," said Culhane. "If you knew how to wash your toes perhaps you wouldn't have to have such language addressed to you."
"Oh, hell!" fumed the other. "This is positively outrageous141! I'll leave the place, by George!"
"Very well," rejoined the other, "only before you go you'll have to wash your toes!"
And he did, the host standing by and calmly watching the performance until it was finally completed.
It was just this atmosphere which made the place the most astonishing in which I have ever been. It seemed to be drawing the celebrated142 and the successful as a magnet might iron, and yet it offered conditions which one might presume they would be most opposed to. No one here was really any one, however much he might be outside. Our host was all. He had a great blazing personality which dominated everybody, and he did not hesitate to show before one and all that he did so do.
Breakfast here consisted of a cereal, a chop and coffee—plentiful but very plain, I thought. After breakfast, between eight-thirty and eleven, we were free to do as we chose: write letters, pack our bags if we were leaving, do up our laundry to be sent out, read, or merely sit about. At eleven, or ten-thirty, according to the nature of the exercise, one had to join a group, either one that was to do the long or short block, as they were known here, or one that was to ride horseback, all exercises being so timed that by proper execution one would arrive at the bathroom door in time to bathe, dress and take ten minutes' rest before luncheon143. These exercises were simple enough in themselves, consisting, as they did in the case of the long and the short blocks (the long block seven, the short four miles in length), of our walking, or walking and running betimes, about or over courses laid up hill and down dale, over or through unpaved mudroads in many instances, along dry or wet beds of brooks144 or streams, and across stony145 or weedy fields, often still damp with dew or the spring rains. But in most cases, when people had not taken any regular exercise for a long time, this was by no means easy. The first day I thought I should never make it, and I was by no means a poor walker. Others, the new ones especially, often gave out and had to be sent for, or came in an hour late to be most severely146 and irritatingly ragged147 by the host. He seemed to all but despise weakness and had apparently a thousand disagreeable ways of showing it.
"If you want to see what poor bags of mush some people can become," he once said in regard to some poor specimen who had seemingly had great difficulty in doing the short block, "look at this. Here comes a man sent out to do four measly country miles in fifty minutes, and look at him. You'd think he was going to die. He probably thinks so himself. In New York he'd do seventeen miles in a night running from barroom to barroom or one lobster148 palace to another—that's a good name for them, by the way—and never say a word. But out here in the country, with plenty of fresh air and a night's rest and a good breakfast, he can't even do four miles in fifty minutes! Think of it! And he probably thinks of himself as a man—boasts before his friends, or his wife, anyhow. Lord!"
A day or two later there arrived here a certain major of the United States Army, a large, broad-chested, rather pompous149 person of about forty-eight or-nine, who from taking his ease in one sinecure150 and another had finally reached the place where he was unable to endure certain tests (or he thought so) which were about to be made with a view to retiring certain officers grown fat in the service. As he explained to Culhane, and the latter was always open and ribald afterward138 in his comments on those who offered explanations of any kind, his plan was to take the course here in order to be able to make the difficult tests later.
Culhane resented this, I think. He resented people using him or his methods to get anywhere, do anything more in life than he could do, and yet he received them. He felt, and I think in the main that he was right, that they looked down on him because of his lowly birth and purely151 material and mechanical career, and yet having attained some distinction by it he could not forego this work which raised him, in a way, to a position of dominance over these people. Now the sight of presumably so efficient a person in need of aid or exercise, to be built up, was all that was required to spur him on to the most waspish or wolfish attitude imaginable. In part at least he argued, I think (for in the last analysis he was really too wise and experienced to take any such petty view, although there is a subconscious152 "past-lack" motivating impulse in all our views), that here he was, an ex-policeman, ex-wrestler, ex-prize fighter, ex-private, ex-waiter, beef-carrier, bouncer, trainer; and here was this grand major, trained at West Point, who actually didn't know any more about life or how to take care of his body than to be compelled to come here, broken down at forty-eight, whereas he, because of his stamina153 and Spartan154 energy, had been able to survive in perfect condition until sixty and was now in a position to rebuild all these men and wastrels155 and to control this great institution. And to a certain extent he was right, although he seemed to forget or not to know that he was not the creator of his own great strength, by any means, impulses and tendencies over which he had no control having arranged for that.
However that may be, here was the major a suppliant156 for his services, and here was he, Culhane, and although the major was paying well for his minute room and his probably greatly decreased diet, still Culhane could not resist the temptation to make a show of him, to picture him as the more or less pathetic example that he was, in order perhaps that he, Culhane, might shine by contrast. Thus on the first day, having sent him around the short block with the others, it was found at twelve, when the "joggers" were expected to return, and again at twelve-thirty when they were supposed to take their places at the luncheon table, that the heavy major had not arrived. He had been seen and passed by all, of course. After the first mile or two probably he had given out and was making his way as best he might up hill and down dale, or along some more direct road, to the "shop," or maybe he had dropped out entirely158, as some did, via a kindly159 truck or farmer's wagon160, and was on his way to the nearest railway station.
At any rate, as Culhane sat down at his very small private table, which stood in the center of the dining-room and far apart from the others (a vantage point, as it were), he looked about and, not seeing the new guest, inquired, "Has any one seen that alleged army officer who arrived here this morning?"
No one could say anything more than that they had left him two or three miles back.
"I thought so," he said tersely161. "There you have a fine example of the desk general and major—we had 'em in the army—men who sit in a swivel chair all day, wear a braided uniform and issue orders to other people. You'd think a man like that who had been trained at West Point and seen service in the Philippines would have sense enough to keep himself in condition. Not at all. As soon as they get a little way up in their profession they want to sit around hotel grills162 or society ballrooms163 and show off, tell how wonderful they are. Here's a man, an army officer, in such rotten shape that if I sent a good horse after him now it's ten to one he couldn't get on him. I'll have to send a truck or some such thing."
He subsided164. About an hour later the major did appear, much the worse for wear. A groom165 with a horse had been sent out after him, and, as the latter confided166 to some one afterward, he "had to help the major on." From that time on, on the short block and the long, as well as on those horseback tours which every second or third morning we were supposed to take, the major was his especial target. He loved to pick on him, to tell him that he was "nearly all guts"—a phrase which literally sickened me at that time—to ask him how he expected to stay in the army if he couldn't do this or that, what good was he to the army, how could any soldier respect a thing like him, and so on ad infinitum until, while at first I pitied the major, later on I admired his pluck. Culhane foisted upon him his sorriest and boniest nag44, the meanest animal he could find, yet he never complained; and although he forced on him all the foods he knew the major could not like, still there was no complaint; he insisted that he should be out and around of an afternoon when most of us lay about, allowed him no drinks whatever, although he was accustomed to them. The major, as I learned afterwards, stayed not six but twelve weeks and passed the tests which permitted him to remain in the army.
But to return to Culhane himself. The latter's method always contained this element of nag and pester167 which, along with his brazen168 reliance on and pride in his brute strength at sixty, made all these others look so puny169 and ineffectual. They might have brains and skill but here they were in his institution, more or less undone nervously and physically, and here he was, cold, contemptuous, not caring much whether they came, stayed or went, and laughing at them even as they raged. Now and then it was rumored that he found some single individual in whom he would take an interest, but not often. In the main I think he despised them one and all for the puny machines they were. He even despised life and the pleasures and dissipations or swinish indolence which, in his judgment170, characterized most men. I recall once, for instance, his telling us how as a private in the United States Army when the division of which he was a unit was shut up in winter quarters, huddled about stoves, smoking (as he characterized them) "filthy171 pipes" or chewing tobacco and spitting, actually lousy, and never changing their clothes for weeks on end—how he, revolting at all this and the disease and fevers ensuing, had kept out of doors as much as possible, even in the coldest weather, and finding no other way of keeping clean the single shift of underwear and the one uniform he possessed he had, every other day or so, washed all, uniform and underwear, with or without soap as conditions might compel, in a nearby stream, often breaking the ice to get to the water, and dancing about naked in the cold, running and jumping, while they dried on bushes or the branch of a tree.
"Those poor rats," he added most contemptuously, "used to sit inside and wonder at me or laugh and jeer172, hovering173 over their stoves, but a lot of them died that very winter, and here I am today."
And well we knew it. I used to study the faces of many of the puffy, gelatinous souls, so long confined to their comfortable offices, restaurants and homes that two hours on horseback all but wore them out, and wonder how this appealed to them. I think that in the main they took it as an illustration of either one of two things: insanity174, or giant and therefore not-to-be-imitated strength.
But in regard to them Culhane was by no means so tolerant. One day, as I recall, there arrived at the sanitarium a stout175 and mushy-looking Hebrew, with a semi-bald pate, protruding paunch and fat arms and legs, who applied176 to Culhane for admission. And, as much to irritate his other guests, I think, as to torture this particular specimen into some semblance177 of vitality178, he admitted him. And thereafter, from the hour he entered until he left about the time I did, Culhane seemed to follow him with a wolfish and savage idea. He gave him a most damnable and savage horse, one that kicked and bit, and at mounting time would place Mr. Itzky (I think his name was) up near the front of the procession where he could watch him. Always at mount-time, when we were permitted to ride, there was inside the great stable a kind of preliminary military inspection179 of all our accouterments, seeing that we had to saddle and bridle180 and bring forth181 our own steeds. This particular person could not saddle a horse very well nor put on his bit and bridle. The animal was inclined to rear and plunge182 when he came near, to fix him with an evil eye and bite at him.
And above all things Culhane seemed to value strain of this kind. If he could just make his guests feel the pressure of necessity in connection with their work he was happy. To this end he would employ the most contemptuous and grilling comment. Thus to Mr. Itzky he was most unkind. He would look over all most cynically183, examining the saddles and bridles185, and then say, "Oh, I see you haven't learned how to tighten186 a belly-band yet," or "I do believe you have your saddle hind-side to. You would if you could, that's one thing sure. How do you expect a horse to be sensible or quiet when he knows that he isn't saddled right? Any horse knows that much, and whether he has an ass7 for a rider. I'd kick and bite too if I were some of these horses, having a lot of damned fools and wasters to pack all over the country. Loosen that belt and fasten it right" (there might be nothing wrong with it) "and move your saddle up. Do you want to sit over the horse's rump?"
Then would come the fateful moment of mounting. There was of course the accepted and perfect way—his way: left foot in stirrup, an easy balanced spring and light descent into the seat. One should be able to slip the right foot into the right stirrup with the same motion of mounting. But imagine fifty, sixty, seventy men, all sizes, weights and differing conditions of health and mood. A number of these people had never ridden a horse before coming here and were as nervous and frightened as children. Such mounts! Such fumbling187 around, once they were in their saddles, for the right stirrup! And all the while Culhane would be sitting out front like an army captain on the only decent steed in the place, eyeing us with a look of infinite and weary contempt that served to increase our troubles a thousandfold.
"Well, you're all on, are you? You all do it so gracefully188 I like to sit here and admire you. Hulbert there throws his leg over his horse's back so artistically189 that he almost kicks his teeth out. And Effingham does his best to fall off on the other side. And where's Itzky? I don't even see him. Oh, yes, there he is. Well" (this to Itzky, frantically190 endeavoring to get one fat foot in a stirrup and pull himself up), "what about you? Can't you get your leg that high? Here's a man who for twenty-five years has been running a cloak-and-suit business and employing five hundred people, but he can't get on a horse! Imagine! Five hundred people dependent on that for their living!" (At this point, say, Itzky succeeds in mounting.) "Well, he's actually on! Now see if you can stick while we ride a block or two. You'll find the right stirrup, Itzky, just a little forward of your horse's belly on the right side—see? A fine bunch this is to lead out through a gentleman's country! Hell, no wonder I've got a bad reputation throughout this section! Well, forward, and see if you can keep from falling off."
Then we were out through the stable-door and the privet gate at a smart trot191, only to burst into a headlong gallop192 a little farther on down the road. To the seasoned riders it was all well enough, but to beginners, those nervous about horses, fearful about themselves! The first day, not having ridden in years and being uncertain as to my skill, I could scarcely stay on. Several days later, I by then having become a reasonably seasoned rider, it was Mr. Itzky who appeared on the scene, and after him various others. On this particular trip I am thinking of, Mr. Itzky fell or rolled off and could not again mount. He was miles from the repair shop and Culhane, discovering his plight193, was by no means sympathetic. We had a short ride back to where he sat lamely194 by the roadside viewing disconsolately195 the cavalcade196 and the country in general.
"Well, what's the matter with you now?" It was Culhane, eyeing him most severely.
"I hef hurt my foot. I kent stay on."
"You mean you'd rather walk, do you, and lead your horse?"
"Vell, I kent ride."
"All right, then, you lead your horse back to the stable if you want any lunch, and hereafter you run with the baby-class on the short block until you think you can ride without falling off. What's the good of my keeping a stable of first-class horses at the service of a lot of mush-heads who don't even know how to use 'em? All they do is ruin 'em. In a week or two, after a good horse is put in the stable, he's not fit for a gentleman to ride. They pull and haul and kick and beat, when as a matter of fact the horse has a damned sight more sense than they have."
We rode off, leaving Itzky alone. The men on either side of me—we were riding three abreast197—scoffed198 under their breath at the statement that we were furnished decent horses. "The nerve! This nag!" "This bag of bones!" "To think a thing like this should be called a horse!" But there were no outward murmurs199 and no particular sympathy for Mr. Itzky. He was a fat stuff, a sweat-shop manufacturer, they would bet; let him walk and sweat.
So much for sympathy in this gay realm where all were seeking to restore their own little bodies, whatever happened.
So many of these men varied200 so greatly in their looks, capacities and troubles that they were always amusing. Thus I recall one lean iron manufacturer, the millionaire president of a great "frog and switch" company, who had come on from Kansas City, troubled with anæmia, neurasthenia, "nervous derangement201 of the heart" and various other things. He was over fifty, very much concerned about himself, his family, his business, his friends; anxious to obtain the benefits of this celebrated course of which he had heard so much. Walking or running near me on his first day, he took occasion to make inquiries202 in regard to Culhane, the life here, and later on confidences as to his own condition. It appeared that his chief trouble was his heart, a kind of phantom203 disturbance204 which made him fear that he was about to drop dead and which came and went, leaving him uncertain as to whether he had it or not. On entering he had confided to Culhane the mysteries of his case, and the latter had examined him, pronouncing him ("Rather roughly," as he explained to me), quite fit to do "all the silly work he would have to do here."
Nevertheless while we were out on the short block his heart was hurting him. At the same time it had been made rather clear to him that if he wished to stay here he would have to fulfill205 all the obligations imposed. After a mile or two or three of quick walking and jogging he was saying to me, "You know, I'm not really sure that I can do this. It's very severe, more so than I thought. My heart is not doing very well. It feels very fluttery."
"But," I said, "if he told you you could stand it, you can, I'm sure. It's not very likely he'd say you could if you couldn't. He examined you, didn't he? I don't believe he'd deliberately206 put a strain on any one who couldn't stand it."
"Yes," he admitted doubtfully, "that's true perhaps."
Still he continued to complain and complain and to grow more and more worried, until finally he slowed up and was lost in the background.
Reaching the gymnasium at the proper time I bathed and dressed myself quickly and waited on the balcony over the bathroom to see what would happen in this case. As a rule Culhane stood in or near the door at this time, having just returned from some route or "block" himself, to see how the others were faring. And he was there when the iron manufacturer came limping up, fifteen minutes late, one hand over his heart, the other to his mouth, and exclaiming as he drew near, "I do believe, Mr. Culhane, that I can't stand this. I'm afraid there is something the matter with my heart. It's fluttering so."
"To hell with your heart! Didn't I tell you there was nothing the matter with it? Get into the bath!"
The troubled manufacturer, overawed or reassured207 as the case might be, entered the bath and ten minutes later might have been seen entering the dining-room, as comfortable apparently as any one. Afterwards he confessed to me on one of our jogs that there was something about Culhane which gave him confidence and made him believe that there wasn't anything wrong with his heart—which there wasn't, I presume.
The intensely interesting thing about Culhane was this different, very original and forthright208 if at times brutal209 point of view. It was a blazing material world of which he was the center, the sun, and yet always I had the sense of very great life. With no knowledge of or interest in the superior mental sciences or arts or philosophies, still he seemed to suggest and even live them. He was in his way an exemplification of that ancient Greek regimen and stark210 thought which brought back the ten thousand from Cunaxa. He seemed even to suggest in his rough way historical perspective and balance. He knew men, and apparently he sensed how at best and at bottom life was to be lived, with not too much emotional or appetitive swaying in any one direction, and not too little either.
Yet in "trapseing" about this particular realm each day with ministers, lawyers, doctors, actors, manufacturers, papa's or mamma's young hopefuls and petted heirs, young scapegraces and so-called "society men" of the extreme "upper crust," stuffed and plethoric211 with money and as innocent of sound knowledge or necessary energy in some instances as any one might well be, one could not help speculating as to how it was that such a man, as indifferent and all but discourteous212 as this one, could attract them (and so many) to him. They came from all parts of America—the Pacific, the Gulf214, the Atlantic and Canada—and yet, although they did not relish215, him or his treatment of them, once here they stayed. Walking or running or idling about with them one could always hear from one or another that Culhane was too harsh, a "bounder," an "upstart," a "cheap pugilist" or "wrestler" at best (I myself thought so at times when I was angry), yet here they were, and here I was, and staying. He was low, vulgar—yet here we were. And yet, meditating216 on him, I began to think that he was really one of the most remarkable men I had ever known, for these people he dealt with were of all the most difficult to deal with. In the main they were of that order or condition of mind which springs from (1), too much wealth too easily acquired or inherited; or (2), from a blazing material success, the cause of which was their own savage self-interested viewpoint. Hence a colder and in some respects a more critical group of men I have never known. Most of them had already seen so much of life in a libertine217 way that there was little left to enjoy. They sniffed218 at almost everything, Culhane included, and yet they were obviously drawn219 to him. I tried to explain this to myself on the ground that there is some iron power in some people which literally compels this, whether one will or no; or that they were in the main so tired of life and so truly selfish and egotistic that it required some such different iron or caviar mood plus such a threatening regimen to make them really take an interest. Sick as they were, he was about the only thing left on which they could sharpen their teeth with any result.
As I have said, a part of Culhane's general scheme was to arrange the starting time for the walks and jogs about the long and short blocks so that if one moved along briskly he reached the sanitarium at twelve-thirty and had a few minutes in which to bathe and cool off and change his clothes before entering the dining-room, where, if not at the bathroom door beforehand, Culhane would be waiting, seated at his little table, ready to keep watch on the time and condition of all those due. Thus one day, a group of us having done the long block in less time than we should have devoted220 to it, came in panting and rejoicing that we had cut the record by seven minutes. We did not know that he was around. But in the dining-room as we entered he scoffed at our achievement.
"You think you're smart, don't you?" he said sourly and without any preliminary statement as to how he knew we had done it in less time. "You come out here and pay me one hundred a week and then you want to be cute and play tricks with your own money and health. I want you to remember just one thing: my reputation is just as much involved with the results here as your money. I don't need anybody's money, and I do need my orders obeyed. Now you all have watches. You just time yourselves and do that block in the time required. If you can't do it, that's one thing; I can forgive a man too weak or sick to do it. But I haven't any use for a mere106 smart aleck, and I don't want any more of it, see?"
That luncheon was very sad.
Another thing in connection with these luncheons221 and dinners, which were sharply timed to the minute, were these crisp table speeches, often made in re some particular offender222 or his offense223, at other times mere sarcastic224 comments on life in general and the innate225 cussedness of human nature, which amused at the same time that they were certain to irritate some. For who is it that is not interested in hearing the peccadilloes226 of his neighbor aired?
Thus while I was there, there was a New York society man by the name of Blake, who unfortunately was given to severe periods of alcoholism, the results of which were, after a time, nervous disorders227 which sent him here. In many ways he was as amiable228 and courteous213 and considerate a soul as one could meet anywhere. He had that smooth, gracious something about him—good nature, for one thing, a kind of understanding and sympathy for various forms of life—which left him highly noncensorious, if genially229 examining at times. But his love of drink, or rather his mild attempts here to arrange some method by which in this droughty world he could obtain a little, aroused in Culhane not so much opposition230 as an amused contempt, for at bottom I think he really liked the man. Blake was so orderly, so sincere in his attempts to fulfill conditions, only about once every week or so he would suggest that he be allowed to go to White Plains or Rye, or even New York, on some errand or other—most of which requests were promptly and nearly always publicly refused. For although Culhane had his private suite at one end of the great building, where one might suppose one might go to make a private plea, still one could never find him there. He refused to receive complaints or requests or visits of any kind there. If you wanted to speak to him you had to do it when he was with the group in its entirety—a commonsense231 enough policy. But just the same there were those who had reasonable requests or complaints, and these, by a fine intuition as to who was who in this institution and what might be expected of each one, he managed to hear very softly, withdrawing slowly as they talked or inviting232 them into the office. In the main however the requests were very much like those of Blake—men who wanted to get off somewhere for a day or two, feeling, as they did after a week or two or three, especially fit and beginning to think no doubt of the various comforts and pleasures which the city offered.
But to all these he was more or less adamant233. By hook or by crook234, by special arrangements with friends or agents in nearby towns and the principal showy resorts of New York, he managed to know, providing they did leave the grounds, either with or without his consent, about where they were and what they had done, and in case any of his rules or their agreements were broken their privileges were thereafter cut off or they were promptly ejected, their trunks being set out on the roadway in front of the estate and they being left to make their way to shelter elsewhere as best they might.
On one occasion, however, Blake had been allowed to go to New York over Saturday and Sunday to attend to some urgent business, as he said, he on his honor having promised to avoid the white lights. Nevertheless he did not manage so to do but instead, in some comfortable section of that region, was seen drinking enough to last him until perhaps he should have another opportunity to return to the city.
On his return to the "shop" on Monday morning or late Sunday night, Culhane pretended not to see him until noonday lunch, when, his jog over the long block done with and his bath taken, he came dapperly into the dining-room, wishing to look as innocent and fit as possible. But Culhane was there before him at his little table in the center of the room, and patting the head of one of the two pure-blooded collies that always followed him about on the grounds or in the house, began as follows:
"A dog," he said very distinctly and in his most cynical184 tone and apparently apropos235 of nothing, which usually augured236 that the lightning of his criticism was about to strike somewhere, "is so much better than the average man that it's an insult to the dog to compare them. The dog's really decent. He has no sloppy237 vices157. You set a plate of food before a regularly-fed, blooded dog, and he won't think of gorging238 himself sick or silly. He eats what he needs, and then stops. So does a cat" (which is of course by no means true, but still—). "A dog doesn't get a red nose from drinking too much." By now all eyes were turning in the direction of Blake, whose nose was faintly tinged239. "He doesn't get gonorrhea or syphilis." The united glances veered240 in the direction of three or four young scapegraces of wealth, all of whom were suspected of these diseases. "He doesn't hang around hotel bars and swill241 and get his tongue thick and talk about how rich he is or how old his family is." (This augured that Blake did such things, which I doubt, but once more all eyes were shifted to him.) "He doesn't break his word. Within the limits of his poor little brain he's faithful. He does what he thinks he's called upon to do.
"But you take a man—more especially a gentleman—one of these fellows who is always very pointed35 in emphasizing that he is a gentleman" (which Blake never did). "Let him inherit eight or ten millions, give him a college education, let him be socially well connected, and what does he do? Not a damned thing if he can help it except contract vices—run from one saloon to another, one gambling242 house to another, one girl to another, one meal to another. He doesn't need to know anything necessarily. He may be the lowest dog physically and in every other way, and still he's a gentleman—because he has money, wears spats243 and a high hat. Why I've seen fifty poor boob prize fighters in my time who could put it all over most of the so-called gentlemen I have ever seen. They kept their word. They tried to be physically fit. They tried to stand up in the world and earn their own living and be somebody." (He was probably thinking of himself.) "But a gentleman wants to boast of his past and his family, to tell you that he must go to the city on business—his lawyers or some directors want to see him. Then he swills244 around at hotel bars, stays with some of his lady whores, and then comes back here and expects me to pull him into shape again, to make his nose a little less red. He thinks he can use my place to fall back on when he can't go any longer, to fix him up to do some more swilling245 later on.
"Well, I want to serve notice on all so-called gentlemen here, and one gentleman in particular" (and he heavily and sardonically246 emphasized the words), "that it won't do. This isn't a hospital attached to a whorehouse or a saloon. And as for the trashy little six hundred paid here, I don't need it. I've turned away more men who have been here once or twice and have shown me that they were just using this place and me as something to help them go on with their lousy drinking and carousing247, than would fill this building. Sensible men know it. They don't try to use me. It's only the wastrels, or their mothers or fathers who bring their boys and husbands and cry, who try to use me, and I take 'em once or twice, but not oftener. When a man goes out of here cured, I know he is cured. I never want to see him again. I want him to go out in the world and stand up. I don't want him to come back here in six months sniveling to be put in shape again. He disgusts me. He makes me sick. I feel like ordering him off the place, and I do, and that's the end of him. Let him go and bamboozle248 somebody else. I've shown him all I know. There's no mystery. He can do as much for himself, once he's been here, as I can. If he won't, well and good. And I'm saying one thing more: There's one man here to whom this particularly applies today. This is his last call. He's been here twice. When he goes out this time he can't come back. Now see if some of you can remember some of the things I've been telling you."
Another day while I was there he began as follows:
"If there's one class of men that needs to be improved in this country, it's lawyers. I don't know why it is, but there's something in the very nature of the work of a lawyer which appears to make him cynical and to want to wear a know-it-all look. Most lawyers are little more than sharper crooks250 than the crooks they have to deal with. They're always trying to get in on some case or other where they have to outwit the law, save some one from getting what he justly deserves, and then they are supposed to be honest and high-minded! Think of it! To judge by some of the specimens251 I get up here," and then some lawyer in the place would turn a shrewd inquiring glance in his direction or steadfastly252 gaze at his plate or out the window, while the others stared at him, "you would think they were the salt of the earth or that they were following a really noble profession or that they were above or better than other men in their abilities. Well, if being conniving253 and tricky254 are fine traits, I suppose they are, but personally I can't see it. Generally speaking, they're physically the poorest fish I get here. They're slow and meditative255 and sallow, mostly because they get too little exercise, I presume. And they're never direct and enthusiastic in an argument. A lawyer always wants to stick in an 'if' or a 'but,' to get around you in some way. He's never willing to answer you quickly or directly. I've watched 'em now for nearly fifteen years, and they're all more or less alike. They think they're very individual and different, but they're not. Most of them don't know nearly as much about life as a good, all-around business or society man," this in the absence of any desire to discuss these two breeds for the time being. "For the life of me I could never see why a really attractive woman would ever want to marry a lawyer"—and so he would talk on, revealing one little unsatisfactory trait after another in connection with the tribe, sand-papering their raw places as it were, until you would about conclude, supposing you had never heard him talk concerning any other profession, that lawyers were the most ignoble256, the pettiest, the most inefficient257 physically and mentally, of all the men he had ever encountered; and in his noble savage state there would not be one to disagree with him, for he had such an animal, tiger-like mien258 that you had the feeling that instead of an argument you would get a physical rip which would leave you bleeding for days.
The next day, or a day or two or four or six later—according to his mood—it would be doctors or merchants or society men or politicians he would discourse259 about—and, kind heaven, what a drubbing they would get! He seemed always to be meditating on the vulnerable points of his victims, anxious (and yet presumably not) to show them what poor, fallible, shabby, petty and all but drooling creatures they were. Thus in regard to merchants:
"The average man who has a little business of some kind, a factory or a wholesale260 or brokerage house or a hotel or a restaurant, usually has a distinctly middle-class mind." At this all the merchants and manufacturers were likely to give a very sharp ear. "As a rule, you'll find that they know just the one little line with which they're connected, and nothing more. One man knows all about cloaks and suits" (this may have been a slap at poor Itzky) "or he knows a little something about leather goods or shoes or lamps or furniture, and that's all he knows. If he's an American he'll buckle261 down to that little business and work night and day, sweat blood and make every one else connected with him sweat it, underpay his employees, swindle his friends, half-starve himself and his family, in order to get a few thousand dollars and seem as good as some one else who has a few thousand. And yet he doesn't want to be different from—he wants to be just like—the other fellow. If some one in his line has a house up on the Hudson or on Riverside Drive, when he gets his money he wants to go there and live. If the fellow in his line, or some other that he knows something about, belongs to a certain club, he has to belong to it even if the club doesn't want him or he wouldn't look well in it. He wants to have the same tailor, the same grocer, smoke the same brand of cigars and go to the same summer resort as the other fellow. They even want to look alike. God! And then when they're just like every one else, they think they're somebody. They haven't a single idea outside their line, and yet because they've made money they want to tell other people how to live and think. Imagine a rich butcher or cloak-maker, or any one else, presuming to tell me how to think or live!"
He stared about him as though he saw many exemplifications of his picture present. And it was always interesting to see how those whom his description really did fit look as though he could not possibly be referring to them.
Of all types or professions that came here, I think he disliked doctors most. The reason was of course that the work they did or were about to do in the world bordered on that which he was trying to accomplish, and the chances were that they sniffed at or at least critically examined what he was doing with an eye to finding its weak spots. In many cases no doubt he fancied that they were there to study and copy his methods and ideas, without having the decency262 later on to attribute their knowledge to him. It was short shrift for any one of them with ideas or "notions" unfriendly to him advanced in his presence. For a little while during my stay there was a smooth-faced, rather solid physically and decidedly self-opinionated mentally, doctor who ate at the same small table as I and who was never tired of airing his views, medical and otherwise. He confided to me rather loftily that there was, to be sure, something to Culhane's views and methods but that they were "over-emphasized here, over-emphasized." Still, one could over-emphasize the value of drugs too. As for himself he had decided9 to achieve a happy medium if possible, and for this reason (for one) he had come here to study Culhane.
As for Culhane, in spite of the young doctor's condescension263 and understanding, or perhaps better yet because of it, he thoroughly disliked, barely tolerated, him, and was never tired of commenting on little dancing medics with their "pill cases" and easily acquired book knowledge, boasting of their supposed learning "which somebody else had paid for," as he once said—their fathers, of course. And when they were sick, some of them at least, they had to come out here to him, or they came to steal his theory and start a shabby grafting264 sanitarium of their own. He knew them.
One noon we were at lunch. Occasionally before seating himself at his small central table he would walk or glance about and, having good eyes, would spy some little defect or delinquency somewhere and of course immediately act upon it. One of the rules of the repair shop was that you were to eat what was put before you, especially when it differed from what your table companion received. Thus a fat man at a table with a lean one might receive a small portion of lean meat, no potatoes and no bread or one little roll, whereas his lean acquaintance opposite would be receiving a large portion of fat meat, a baked or boiled potato, plenty of bread and butter, and possibly a side dish of some kind. Now it might well be, as indeed was often the case, that each would be dissatisfied with his apportionment and would attempt to change plates.
But this was the one thing that Culhane would not endure. So upon one occasion, passing near the table at which sat myself and the above-mentioned doctor, table-mates for the time being, he noticed that he was not eating his carrots, a dish which had been especially prepared for him, I imagine—for if one unconsciously ignored certain things the first day or two of his stay, those very things would be all but rammed265 down his throat during the remainder of his stay; a thing concerning which one guest and another occasionally cautioned newcomers. However this may have been in this particular case, he noticed the uneaten carrots and, pausing a moment, observed:
"What's the matter? Aren't you eating your carrots?" We had almost finished eating.
"Who, me?" replied the medic, looking up. "Oh, no, I never eat carrots, you know. I don't like them."
"Oh, don't you?" said Culhane sweetly. "You don't like them, and so you don't eat them! Well, suppose you eat them here. They may do you a little good just as a change."
"But I never eat carrots," retorted the medic tersely and with a slight show of resentment266 or opposition, scenting267 perhaps a new order.
"No, not outside perhaps, but here you do. You eat carrots here, see?"
"Yes, but why should I eat them if I don't like them? They don't agree with me. Must I eat something that doesn't agree with me just because it's a rule or to please you?"
"To please me, or the carrots, or any damned thing you please—but eat 'em."
The doctor subsided. For a day or two he went about commenting on what a farce268 the whole thing was, how ridiculous to make any one eat what was not suited to him, but just the same while he was there he ate them.
As for myself, I was very fond of large boiled potatoes and substantial orders of fat and lean meat, and in consequence, having been so foolish as to show this preference, I received but the weakest, most contemptible269 and puling little spuds and pale orders of meat—with, it is true, plenty of other "side dishes"; whereas a later table-mate of mine, a distressed270 and neurasthenic society man, was receiving—I soon learned he especially abhorred271 them—potatoes as big as my two fists.
"Now look at that! Now look at that!" he often said peevishly272 and with a kind of sickly whine273 in his voice when he saw one being put before him. "He knows I don't like potatoes, and see what I get! And look at the little bit of a thing he gives you! It's a shame, the way he nags274 people, especially over this food question. I don't think there's a thing to it. I don't think eating a big potato does me a bit of good, or you the little one, and yet I have to eat the blank-blank things or get out. And I need to get on my feet just now."
"Well, cheer up," I said sympathetically and with an eye on the large potato perhaps. "He isn't always looking, and we can fix it. You mash275 up your big potato and put butter and salt on it, and I'll do the same with my little one. Then when he's not looking we'll shift."
"Oh, that's all right," he commented, "but we'd better look out. If he sees us he'll be as sore as the devil."
This system worked well enough for a time, and for days I was getting all the potato I wanted and congratulating myself on my skill, when one day as I was slyly forking potatoes out of his dish, moved helpfully in my direction, I saw Culhane approaching and feared that our trick had been discovered. It had. Perhaps some snaky waitress has told on us, or he had seen us, even from his table.
"Now I know what's going on here at this table," he growled276 savagely277, "and I want you two to cut it out. This big boob here" (he was referring to my esteemed278 self) "who hasn't strength of will or character enough to keep himself in good health and has to be brought up here by his brother, hasn't brains enough to see that when I plan a thing for his benefit it is for his benefit, and not mine. Like most of the other damned fools that come up here and waste their money and my time, he thinks I'm playing some cute game with him—tag or something that will let him show how much cuter he is than I am. And he's supposed to be a writer and have a little horse-sense! His brother claims it, anyhow. And as for this other simp here," and now he was addressing the assembled diners while nodding toward my friend, "it hasn't been three weeks since he was begging to know what I could do for him. And now look at him—entering into a petty little game of potato-cheating!
"I swear," he went on savagely, talking to the room in general, "sometimes I don't know what to do with such damned fools. The right thing would be to set these two, and about fifty others in this place, out on the main road with their trunks and let them go to hell. They don't deserve the attention of a conscientious279 man. I prohibit gambling—what happens? A lot of nincompoops and mental lightweights with more money than brains sneak280 off into a field of an afternoon on the excuse that they are going for a walk, and then sit down and lose or win a bucket of money just to show off what hells of fellows they are, what sports, what big 'I ams.' I prohibit cigarette-smoking, not because I think it's literally going to kill anybody but because I think it looks bad here, sets a bad example to a lot of young wasters who come here and who ought to be broken of the vice91, and besides, because I don't like cigarette-smoking here—don't want it and won't have it. What happens? A lot of sissies and mamma's boys and pet heirs, whose fathers haven't got enough brains to cut 'em off and make 'em get out and work, come up here, sneak in cigarettes or get the servants to, and then hide out behind the barn or a tree down in the lot and sneak and smoke like a lot of cheap schoolboys. God, it makes me sick! What's the use of a man working out a fact during a lifetime and letting other people have the benefit of it—not because he needs their money, but that they need his help—if all the time he is going to have such cattle to deal with? Not one out of twenty or forty men that come here really wants me to help him or to help himself. What he wants is to have some one drive him in the way he ought to go, kick him into it, instead of his buckling281 down and helping282 himself. What's the good of bothering with such damned fools? A man ought to take the whole pack and run 'em off the place with a dog-whip." He waved his hand in the air. "It's sickening. It's impossible.
"As for you two," he added, turning to us, but suddenly stopped. "Hell, what's the use! Why should I bother with you? Do as you damned well please, and stay sick or die!"
He turned on his heel and walked out of the dining-room, leaving us to sit there. I was so dumbfounded by the harangue283 our pseudo-cleverness had released that I could scarcely speak. My appetite was gone and I felt wretched. To think of having been the cause of this unnecessary tongue-lashing to the others! And I felt that we were, and justly, the target for their rather censorious eyes.
"My God!" moaned my companion most dolefully. "That's always the way with me. Nothing that I ever do comes out right. All my life I've been unlucky. My mother died when I was seven, and my father's never had any use for me. I started in three or four businesses four or five years ago, but none of them ever came out right. My yacht burned last summer, and I've had neurasthenia for two years." He catalogued a list of ills that would have done honor to Job himself, and he was worth nine millions, so I heard!
Two or three additional and amusing incidents, and I am done.
One of the most outré things in connection with our rides about the countryside was Culhane's attitude toward life and the natives and passing strangers as representing life. Thus one day, as I recall very well, we were riding along a backwoods country road, very shadowy and branch-covered, a great company of us four abreast, when suddenly and after his very military fashion there came a "Halt! Right by fours! Right dress! Face!" and presently we were all lined up in a row facing a greensward which had suddenly been revealed to the left and on which, and before a small plumber284's stove standing outside some gentleman's stable, was stretched a plumber and his helper. The former, a man of perhaps thirty-five, the latter a lad of, say, fourteen or fifteen, were both very grimy and dirty, but taking their ease in the morning sun, a little pot of lead on the stove being waited for, I presume, that it might boil.
Culhane, leaving his place at the head of the column, returned to the center nearest the plumber and his helper and pointing at them and addressing us in a very clear voice, said:
"There you have it. There's American labor285 for you, at its best—union labor, the poor, downtrodden workingman. Look at him." We all looked. "This poor hard-working plumber here," and at that the latter stirred and sat up, scarcely even now grasping what it was all about, so suddenly had we descended286 upon him, "earns or demands sixty cents an hour, and this poor sweating little helper here has to have forty. They're working now. They're waiting for that little bit of lead to boil, at a dollar an hour between them. They can't do a thing, either of 'em, until it does, and lead has to be well done, you know, before it can be used.
"Well, now, these two here," he continued, suddenly shifting his tone from one of light sarcasm287 to a kind of savage contempt, "imagine they are getting along, making life a lot better for themselves, when they lie about this way and swindle another man out of his honest due in connection with the work he is paying for. He can't help himself. He can't know everything. If he did he'd probably find what's wrong in there and fix it himself in three minutes. But if he did that and the union heard of it they'd boycott288 him. They'd come around and blackmail289 him, blow up his barn, or make him pay for the work he did himself. I know 'em. I have to deal with 'em. They fix my pipes in the same way that these two are fixing his—lying on the grass at a dollar an hour. And they want five dollars a pound for every bit of lead they use. If they forget anything and have to go back to town for it, you pay for it, at a dollar an hour. They get on the job at nine and quit at four, in the country. If you say anything, they quit altogether—they're union laborers—and they won't let any one else do it, either. Once they're on the job they have to rest every few minutes, like these two. Something has to boil, or they have to wait for something. Isn't it wonderful! Isn't it beautiful! And all of us of course are made free and equal! They're just as good as we are! If you work and make money and have any plumbing290 to do you have to support 'em—Right by fours! Guide right! Forward!" and off we trotted291, breaking into a headlong gallop a little farther on as if he wished to outrun the mood which was holding him at the moment.
The plumber and his assistant, fully awake now to the import of what had occurred, stared after us. The journeyman plumber, who was short and fat, sat and blinked. At last he recovered his wits sufficiently292 to cry, "Aw, go to hell, you ——————!" but by that time we were well along the road and I am not sure that Culhane even heard.
Another day as we were riding along a road which led into a nearby city of, say, twenty thousand, we encountered a beer truck of great size and on its seat so large and ruddy and obese a German as one might go a long way and still not see. It was very hot. The German was drowsy293 and taking his time in the matter of driving. As we drew near, Culhane suddenly called a halt and, lining294 us up as was his rule, called to the horses of the brewery295 wagon, who also obeyed his lusty "Whoa!" The driver, from his high perch23 above, stared down on us with mingled296 curiosity and wonder.
"Now, here's an illustration of what I mean," Culhane began, apropos of nothing at all, "when I say that the word man ought to be modified or changed in some way so that when we use it we would mean something more definite than we mean now. That thing you see sitting up on that wagon-seat there—call that a man? And then call me one? Or a man like Charles A. Dana? Or a man like General Grant? Hell! Look at him! Look at his shape! Look at that stomach! You think a thing like that—call it a man if you want to—has any brains or that he's really any better than a pig in a sty? If you turn a horse out to shift for himself he'll eat just enough to keep in condition; same way with a dog, a cat or a bird. But let one of these things, that some people call a man, come along, give him a job and enough money or a chance to stuff himself, and see what happens. A thing like that connects himself with one end of a beer hose and then he thinks he's all right. He gets enough guts to start a sausage factory, and then he blows up, I suppose, or rots. Think of it! And we call him a man—or some do!"
During this amazing and wholly unexpected harangue (I never saw him stop any one before), the heavy driver, who did not understand English very well, first gazed and then strained with his eyebrows297, not being able quite to make out what it was all about. From the chuckling298 and laughter that finally set up in one place and another he began dimly to comprehend that he was being made fun of, used as an unsatisfactory jest of some kind. Finally his face clouded for a storm and his eyes blazed, the while his fat red cheeks grew redder. "Donnervetter!" he began gutturally to roar. "Schweine hunde! Hunds knoche! Nach der polizei soll man reufen!"
I for one pulled my horse cautiously back, as he cracked a great whip, and, charging savagely through us, drove on. Culhane, having made his unkind comments, gave orders for our orderly formation once more and calmly led us away.
Perhaps the most amusing phase of him was his opposition to and contempt for inefficiency299 of any kind. If he asked you to do anything, no matter what, and you didn't at once leap to the task ready and willing and able so to do, he scarcely had words enough with which to express himself. On one occasion, as I recall all too well, he took us for a drive in his tally-ho—one or two or three that he possessed—a great lumbering300, highly lacquered, yellow-wheeled vehicle, to which he attached seven or eight or nine horses, I forget which. This tally-ho ride was a regular Sunday morning or afternoon affair unless it was raining, a call suddenly sounding from about the grounds somewhere at eleven or at two in the afternoon, "Tally-ho at eleven-thirty" (or two-thirty, as the case might be). "All aboard!" Gathering301 all the reins302 in his hands and perching himself in the high seat above, with perhaps one of his guests beside him, all the rest crowded willy-nilly on the seats within and on top, he would carry us off, careening about the countryside most madly, several of his hostlers acting123 as liveried footmen or outriders and one of them perched up behind on the little seat, the technical name of which I have forgotten, waving and blowing the long silver trumpet303, the regulation blasts on which had to be exactly as made and provided for such occasions. Often, having been given no warning as to just when it was to be, there would be a mad scramble304 to get into our de rigueur Sunday clothes, for Culhane would not endure any flaws in our appearance, and if we were not ready and waiting when one of his stablemen swung the vehicle up to the door at the appointed time he was absolutely furious.
On the particular occasion I have in mind we all clambered on in good time, all spick and span and in our very best, shaved, powdered, hands appropriately gloved, our whiskers curled and parted, our shoes shined, our hats brushed; and up in front was Culhane, gentleman de luxe for the occasion, his long-tailed whip looped exactly as it should be, no doubt, ready to be flicked305 out over the farthest horse's head, and up behind was the trumpeter—high hat, yellow-topped boots, a uniform of some grand color, I forget which.
But, as it turned out on this occasion, there had been a hitch306 at the last minute. The regular hostler or stableman who acted as footman extraordinary and trumpeter plenipotentiary, the one who could truly and ably blow this magnificent horn, was sick or his mother was dead. At any rate, there he wasn't. And in order not to irritate Culhane, a second hostler had been dressed and given his seat and horn—only he couldn't blow it. As we began to clamber in I heard him asking, "Can any of you gentleman blow the trumpet? Do any of you gentleman know the regular trumpet call?"
No one responded, although there was much discussion in a low key. Some could, or thought they could, but hesitated to assume so frightful307 a risk. At the same time Culhane, hearing the fuss and knowing perhaps that his substitute could not trumpet, turned grimly around and said, "Say, do you mean to say there isn't any one back there who knows how to blow that thing? What's the matter with you, Caswell?" he called to one, and getting only mumbled308 explanations from that quarter, called to another, "How about you, Drewberry? Or you, Crashaw?"
All three apologized briskly. They were terrified by the mere thought of trying. Indeed no one seemed eager to assume the responsibility, until finally he became so threatening and assured us so volubly that unless some immediate86 and cheerful response were made he would never again waste one blank minute on a lot of blank-blank this and thats, that one youth, a rash young society somebody from Rochester, volunteered more or less feebly that he "thought" that "maybe he could manage it." He took a seat directly under the pompously309 placed trumpeter, and we were off.
"Heigh-ho!" Out the gate and down the road and up a nearby slope at a smart clip, all of us gazing cheerfully and possibly vainly about, for it was a bright day and a gay country. Now the trumpeter, as is provided for on all such occasions, lifted the trumpet to his lips and began on the grandiose "ta-ra-ta-ta," but to our grief and pain, although he got through fairly successfully on his first attempt, there was one place where there was a slight hitch, a "false crack," as some one rowdyishly remarked. Culhane, although tucking up his lines and stiffening310 his back irritably at this flaw, said nothing. For after all a poor trumpeter was better than none at all. A little later, however, the trumpeter having hesitated to begin again, he called back, "Well, what about the horn? What about the horn? Can't you do something with it? Have you quit for the day?"
Up went the horn once more, and a most noble and encouraging "Ta-ra-ta-ta" was begun, but just at the critical point, and when we were all most prayerfully hoping against hope, as it were, that this time he would round the dangerous curves of it gracefully and come to a grand finish, there was a most disconcerting and disheartening squeak311. It was pathetic, ghastly. As one man we wilted. What would Culhane say to that? We were not long in doubt. "Great Christ!" he shouted, looking back and showing a countenance312 so black that it was positively terrifying. "Who did that? Throw him off! What do you think—that I want the whole country to know I'm airing a lot of lunatics? Somebody who can blow that thing, take it and blow it, for God's sake! I'm not going to drive around here without a trumpeter!"
For a few moments there was more or less painful gabbling in all the rows, pathetic whisperings and "go ons" or eager urgings of one and another to sacrifice himself upon the altar of necessity, insistences by the ex-trumpeter that he had blown trumpets313 in his day as good as any one—what the deuce had got into him anyhow? It must be the horn!
"Well," shouted Culhane finally, as a stop-gap to all this, "isn't any one going to blow that thing? Do you mean to tell me that I'm hauling all of you around, with not a man among you able to blow a dinky little horn? What's the use of my keeping a lot of fancy vehicles in my barn when all I have to deal with is a lot of shoe salesmen and floorwalkers? Hell! Any child can blow it. It's as easy as a fish-horn. If I hadn't these horses to attend to I'd blow it myself. Come on—come on! Kerrigan, what's the matter with you blowing it?"
"The truth is, Mr. Culhane," explained Mr. Kerrigan, the very dapper and polite heir of a Philadelphia starch314 millionaire, "I haven't had any chance to practice with one of those for several years. I'll try it if you want me to, but I can't guarantee—"
"Try!" insisted Culhane violently. "You can't do any worse than that other mutt, if you blow for a million years. Blow it! Blow it!"
Mr. Kerrigan turned back and being very cheerfully tendered the horn by the last failure, wetted and adjusted his lips, lifted it upward and backward—and—
"God!" shouted Culhane, pulling up the coach to a dead stop. "Stop that! Whoa! Whoa!!! Do you mean to say that that's the best you can do? Well, this finishes me! Whoa! What kind of a bunch of cattle have I got up here, anyhow? Whoa! And out in this country too where I'm known and where they know all about such things! God! Whoa! Here I spend thousands of dollars to get together an equipment that will make a pleasant afternoon for a crowd of gentlemen, and this is what I draw—hams! A lot of barflies who never saw a tally-ho! Well, I'm done! I'm through! I'll split the damned thing up for firewood before I ever take it out again! Get down! Get out, all of you! I'll not haul one of you back a step! Walk back or anywhere you please—to hell, for all I care! I'm through! Get out! I'm going to turn around and get back to the barn as quick as I can—up some alley316 if I can find one. To think of having such a bunch of hacks317 to deal with!"
Humbly318 and wearily we climbed down and, while he drove savagely on to some turning-place, stood about first in small groups, then by twos and threes began making our way—rather gingerly, I must confess, in our fine clothes—along the winding319 road back to the place on the hill. But such swearing! Such un-Sabbath-like comments! The number of times his sturdy Irish soul was wished into innermost and almost sacrosanct320 portions of Sheol! He was cursed from more angles and in more artistically and architecturally nobly constructed phrases and even paragraphs than any human being that I have ever heard of before or since, phrases so livid and glistening that they smoked.
You should have heard us on our way back!
And still we stayed.
Some two years later I was passing this place in company with some friends, when I asked my host, who also knew of the place, to turn in. During my stay it had been the privilege and custom among those who knew much of this institution to drive through the grounds and past the very doors of the "repair shop," even to stop if Culhane chanced to be visible and talking to or at least greeting him, in some cases. A custom of Culhane's was, in the summer time, to have erected322 on the lawn a large green-and-white striped marquee tent, a very handsome thing indeed, in which was placed a field-officer's table and several camp chairs, and some books and papers. Here of a hot day, when he was not busy with us, he would sit and read. And when he was in here or somewhere about, a little pennant323 was run up, possibly as guide to visiting guests or friends. At any rate, it was the presence of this pennant which caused me to know that he was about and to wish that I might have a look at him once more, great lion that he was. As "guests," none of us were ever allowed to come within more than ten feet of it, let alone in it. As passing visitors, however, we might, and many did, stop, remind him that we had once been his humble324 slaves, and ask leave to congratulate him on his health and sturdy years. At such times, if the visitors looked interesting enough, or he remembered them well, he would deign325 to come to the tent-fly and, standing there à la Napoleon at Lodi or Grant in the Wilderness326, be for the first time in his relations with them a bit civil.
Anyway, on this occasion, urged on by curiosity to see my liege once more and also to learn whether he would remember me at all, I had my present host roll his car up to the tent door, where Culhane was reading. Feeling that by this venturesome deed I had "let myself in for it" and had to "make a showing," I climbed briskly out and, approaching, recalled myself to him. With a semi-wry expression, half smile, half contemptuous curl of the corners of his mouth, he recalled me and took my extended hand; then seeing that possibly my friends if not myself looked interesting, he arose and came to the door. I introduced them—one a naval327 officer of distinction, the other the owner of a great estate some miles farther on. For the first time in my relations with him I had an opportunity to note how grandly gracious he could be. He accepted my friends' congratulations as to the view with a princely nod and suggested that on other days it was even better. He was soon to be busy now or he would have some one show my friends through the shop. Some Saturday afternoon, if they would telephone or stop in passing, he would oblige.
I noted328 at once that he had not aged in the least. He was sixty-two or-three now and as vigorous and trim as ever. And now he treated me as courteously329 and formally as though he had never browbeaten330 me in the least. "Good heavens," I said, "how much better to be a visitor than a guest!" After a moment or two we offered many thanks and sped on, but not without many a backward glance on my part, for the place fascinated me. That simply furnished institution! That severe regimen! This latter-day Stoic331 and Spartan in his tent! And, above all things, and the most astounding332 to me, so little could one know him, the book he had been reading and which he had laid upon his little table as I entered—I could not help noting the title for he laid it back up, open face down—was Lecky's "History of European Morals"!
Now!
Well!
Two years after this visit, in a serious attempt to set down what I really did think of him, I arranged the following thoughts with which I closed my sketch334 then and which I now append for what they may be worth. They represented my best thought concerning him then:
"Thomas Culhane belongs to that class of society which the preachers and the world's army of conventional merchants, lawyers, judges and reputable citizens generally are presumably, if one may judge by the moral and religious literature of the day, trying to reach and reform. Yet here at his sanitarium are gathered representatives of those same orders, the so-called better element. And here we see them suddenly dominated, mind and soul, by this being whom they, theoretically at least, look upon as a brand to be snatched from the burning.
"As the Church and society view Culhane, so they view all life outside their own immediate circles. Culhane is in fact a conspicuous335 figure among the semi-taboo. He has been referred to in many an argument and platform and pulpit and in the press as a type of man whose influence is supposed to be vitiating. Now a minister enters the sanitarium, broken down by his habits of life, and this same Culhane is able to penetrate336 him, to see that his dogmatic and dictatorial337 mental habits are the cause of his ailment338, and he has the moral courage to shock him, to drag him by apparently brutal processes out of his rut. He reads the man accurately339, he knows him better than he knows himself, and he effects a cure.
"This astonishing condition is certainly a new light for those seeking to labor among men. Those who are successful gamblers, pugilists, pickpockets340, saloon-keepers, book-makers, jockeys and the like are so by reason of their intelligence, their innate mental acumen341 and perception. It is a fact that in the sporting world and among the unconventional men-about-town you will often find as good if not better judges of human nature than elsewhere. Contact with a rough and ready and all-too-revealing world teaches them much. The world's customary pretensions342 and delusions343 are in the main ripped away. They are bruised344 by rough facts. Often the men gathered in some such café and whom preachers and moralists are most ready to condemn345 have a clearer perception of preachers, church organizations and reformers and their relative importance in the multitudinous life of the world than the preachers, church congregations and reformers have of those in the café or the world outside to which they belong.
"This is why, in my humble judgment, the Church and those associated with its aims make no more progress than they do. While they are consciously eager to better the world, they are so wrapped up in themselves and their theories, so hampered346 by their arbitrary and limited conceptions of good and evil, that the great majority of men move about them unseen, except in a far-away and superficial manner. Men are not influenced at arm's length. It would be interesting to know if some day a preacher or judge, who, offended by Mr. Culhane's profanity and brutality347, will be able to reach the gladiator and convert him to his views as readily as the gladiator is able to rid him of his ailment."
In justice to the preachers, moralists, et cetera, I should now like to add that it is probably not any of the virtues348 or perfections represented by a man like Culhane with which they are quarreling, but the vices of many who are in no wise like him and do not stand for the things he stands for. At the same time, the so-called "sports" might well reply that it is not with any of the really admirable qualities of the "unco guid" that they quarrel, but their too narrow interpretations350 of virtue349 and duty and their groundless generalization351 as to types and classes.
Be it so.
Here is meat for a thousand controversies352.
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1 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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2 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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3 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
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4 wrestler | |
n.摔角选手,扭 | |
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5 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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6 slinger | |
投石者,吊物工人; 吊索 | |
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7 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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8 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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9 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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10 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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11 revere | |
vt.尊崇,崇敬,敬畏 | |
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12 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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13 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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14 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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15 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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16 retinues | |
n.一批随员( retinue的名词复数 ) | |
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17 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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18 foisted | |
强迫接受,把…强加于( foist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 somber | |
adj.昏暗的,阴天的,阴森的,忧郁的 | |
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20 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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21 rumored | |
adj.传说的,谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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22 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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23 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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24 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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25 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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26 awnings | |
篷帐布 | |
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27 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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28 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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29 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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30 configuration | |
n.结构,布局,形态,(计算机)配置 | |
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31 emanating | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的现在分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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32 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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33 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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34 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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35 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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36 alcove | |
n.凹室 | |
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37 locker | |
n.更衣箱,储物柜,冷藏室,上锁的人 | |
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38 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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39 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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40 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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41 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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42 grandiose | |
adj.宏伟的,宏大的,堂皇的,铺张的 | |
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43 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
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44 nag | |
v.(对…)不停地唠叨;n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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45 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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46 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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47 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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48 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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49 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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50 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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51 incisive | |
adj.敏锐的,机敏的,锋利的,切入的 | |
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52 eyebrow | |
n.眉毛,眉 | |
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53 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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54 virile | |
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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55 spoke | |
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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56 poke | |
n.刺,戳,袋;vt.拨开,刺,戳;vi.戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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57 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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58 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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59 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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60 woolen | |
adj.羊毛(制)的;毛纺的 | |
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61 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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62 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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63 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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64 conveyance | |
n.(不动产等的)转让,让与;转让证书;传送;运送;表达;(正)运输工具 | |
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65 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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66 wasp | |
n.黄蜂,蚂蜂 | |
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67 vouchsafing | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的现在分词 );允诺 | |
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68 fumed | |
愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 ); 大怒; 发怒; 冒烟 | |
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69 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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70 vibrant | |
adj.震颤的,响亮的,充满活力的,精力充沛的,(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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71 buffalo | |
n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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72 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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73 wilted | |
(使)凋谢,枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74 applicants | |
申请人,求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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75 frugal | |
adj.节俭的,节约的,少量的,微量的 | |
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76 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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77 grandiloquent | |
adj.夸张的 | |
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78 protuberant | |
adj.突出的,隆起的 | |
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79 pates | |
n.头顶,(尤指)秃顶,光顶( pate的名词复数 ) | |
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80 pate | |
n.头顶;光顶 | |
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81 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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82 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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83 brawn | |
n.体力 | |
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84 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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85 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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86 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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87 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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88 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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89 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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90 smirked | |
v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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91 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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92 protruding | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
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93 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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94 puffed | |
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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95 irritably | |
ad.易生气地 | |
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96 crab | |
n.螃蟹,偏航,脾气乖戾的人,酸苹果;vi.捕蟹,偏航,发牢骚;vt.使偏航,发脾气 | |
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97 guts | |
v.狼吞虎咽,贪婪地吃,飞碟游戏(比赛双方每组5人,相距15码,互相掷接飞碟);毁坏(建筑物等)的内部( gut的第三人称单数 );取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 );内脏;消化道的下段;肠 | |
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98 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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99 obese | |
adj.过度肥胖的,肥大的 | |
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100 grilling | |
v.烧烤( grill的现在分词 );拷问,盘问 | |
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101 stewed | |
adj.焦虑不安的,烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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102 thespian | |
adj.戏曲的;n.演员;悲剧演员 | |
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103 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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104 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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105 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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106 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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107 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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108 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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109 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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110 laggard | |
n.落后者;adj.缓慢的,落后的 | |
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111 malevolent | |
adj.有恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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112 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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113 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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114 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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115 bulging | |
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
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116 squatting | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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117 agilely | |
adv.敏捷地 | |
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118 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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119 rinse | |
v.用清水漂洗,用清水冲洗 | |
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120 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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121 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
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122 counteracting | |
对抗,抵消( counteract的现在分词 ) | |
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123 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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124 laundered | |
v.洗(衣服等),洗烫(衣服等)( launder的过去式和过去分词 );洗(黑钱)(把非法收入改头换面,变为貌似合法的收入) | |
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125 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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126 dispensed | |
v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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127 meticulously | |
adv.过细地,异常细致地;无微不至;精心 | |
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128 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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129 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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130 inadequacy | |
n.无法胜任,信心不足 | |
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131 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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132 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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133 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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134 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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135 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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136 flustered | |
adj.慌张的;激动不安的v.使慌乱,使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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137 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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138 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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139 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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140 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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141 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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142 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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143 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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144 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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145 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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146 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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147 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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148 lobster | |
n.龙虾,龙虾肉 | |
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149 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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150 sinecure | |
n.闲差事,挂名职务 | |
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151 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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152 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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153 stamina | |
n.体力;精力;耐力 | |
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154 spartan | |
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人 | |
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155 wastrels | |
n.无用的人,废物( wastrel的名词复数 );浪子 | |
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156 suppliant | |
adj.哀恳的;n.恳求者,哀求者 | |
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157 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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158 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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159 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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160 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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161 tersely | |
adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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162 grills | |
n.烤架( grill的名词复数 );(一盘)烤肉;格板;烧烤餐馆v.烧烤( grill的第三人称单数 );拷问,盘问 | |
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163 ballrooms | |
n.舞厅( ballroom的名词复数 ) | |
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164 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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165 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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166 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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167 pester | |
v.纠缠,强求 | |
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168 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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169 puny | |
adj.微不足道的,弱小的 | |
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170 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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171 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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172 jeer | |
vi.嘲弄,揶揄;vt.奚落;n.嘲笑,讥评 | |
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173 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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174 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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176 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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177 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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178 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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179 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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180 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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181 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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182 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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183 cynically | |
adv.爱嘲笑地,冷笑地 | |
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184 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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185 bridles | |
约束( bridle的名词复数 ); 限动器; 马笼头; 系带 | |
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186 tighten | |
v.(使)变紧;(使)绷紧 | |
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187 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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188 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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189 artistically | |
adv.艺术性地 | |
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190 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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191 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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192 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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193 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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194 lamely | |
一瘸一拐地,不完全地 | |
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195 disconsolately | |
adv.悲伤地,愁闷地;哭丧着脸 | |
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196 cavalcade | |
n.车队等的行列 | |
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197 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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198 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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200 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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201 derangement | |
n.精神错乱 | |
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202 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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203 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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204 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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205 fulfill | |
vt.履行,实现,完成;满足,使满意 | |
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206 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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207 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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208 forthright | |
adj.直率的,直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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209 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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210 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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211 plethoric | |
adj.过多的,多血症的 | |
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212 discourteous | |
adj.不恭的,不敬的 | |
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213 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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214 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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215 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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216 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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217 libertine | |
n.淫荡者;adj.放荡的,自由思想的 | |
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218 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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219 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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220 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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221 luncheons | |
n.午餐,午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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222 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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223 offense | |
n.犯规,违法行为;冒犯,得罪 | |
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224 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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225 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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226 peccadilloes | |
n.轻罪,小过失( peccadillo的名词复数 ) | |
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227 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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228 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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229 genially | |
adv.亲切地,和蔼地;快活地 | |
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230 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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231 commonsense | |
adj.有常识的;明白事理的;注重实际的 | |
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232 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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233 adamant | |
adj.坚硬的,固执的 | |
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234 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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235 apropos | |
adv.恰好地;adj.恰当的;关于 | |
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236 augured | |
v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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237 sloppy | |
adj.邋遢的,不整洁的 | |
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238 gorging | |
v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的现在分词 );作呕 | |
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239 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240 veered | |
v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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241 swill | |
v.冲洗;痛饮;n.泔脚饲料;猪食;(谈话或写作中的)无意义的话 | |
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242 gambling | |
n.赌博;投机 | |
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243 spats | |
n.口角( spat的名词复数 );小争吵;鞋罩;鞋套v.spit的过去式和过去分词( spat的第三人称单数 );口角;小争吵;鞋罩 | |
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244 swills | |
v.冲洗( swill的第三人称单数 );猛喝;大口喝;(使)液体流动 | |
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245 swilling | |
v.冲洗( swill的现在分词 );猛喝;大口喝;(使)液体流动 | |
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246 sardonically | |
adv.讽刺地,冷嘲地 | |
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247 carousing | |
v.痛饮,闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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248 bamboozle | |
v.欺骗,隐瞒 | |
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249 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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250 crooks | |
n.骗子( crook的名词复数 );罪犯;弯曲部分;(牧羊人或主教用的)弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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251 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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252 steadfastly | |
adv.踏实地,不变地;岿然;坚定不渝 | |
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253 conniving | |
v.密谋 ( connive的现在分词 );搞阴谋;默许;纵容 | |
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254 tricky | |
adj.狡猾的,奸诈的;(工作等)棘手的,微妙的 | |
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255 meditative | |
adj.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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256 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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257 inefficient | |
adj.效率低的,无效的 | |
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258 mien | |
n.风采;态度 | |
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259 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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260 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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261 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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262 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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263 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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264 grafting | |
嫁接法,移植法 | |
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265 rammed | |
v.夯实(土等)( ram的过去式和过去分词 );猛撞;猛压;反复灌输 | |
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266 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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267 scenting | |
vt.闻到(scent的现在分词形式) | |
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268 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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269 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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270 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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271 abhorred | |
v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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272 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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273 whine | |
v.哀号,号哭;n.哀鸣 | |
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274 nags | |
n.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的名词复数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的第三人称单数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责 | |
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275 mash | |
n.麦芽浆,糊状物,土豆泥;v.把…捣成糊状,挑逗,调情 | |
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276 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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277 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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278 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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279 conscientious | |
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的 | |
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280 sneak | |
vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝);偷偷摸摸做;n.潜行;adj.暗中进行 | |
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281 buckling | |
扣住 | |
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282 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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283 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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284 plumber | |
n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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285 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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286 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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287 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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288 boycott | |
n./v.(联合)抵制,拒绝参与 | |
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289 blackmail | |
n.讹诈,敲诈,勒索,胁迫,恫吓 | |
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290 plumbing | |
n.水管装置;水暖工的工作;管道工程v.用铅锤测量(plumb的现在分词);探究 | |
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291 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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292 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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293 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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294 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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295 brewery | |
n.啤酒厂 | |
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296 mingled | |
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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297 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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298 chuckling | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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299 inefficiency | |
n.无效率,无能;无效率事例 | |
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300 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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301 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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302 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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303 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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304 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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305 flicked | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
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306 hitch | |
v.免费搭(车旅行);系住;急提;n.故障;急拉 | |
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307 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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308 mumbled | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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309 pompously | |
adv.傲慢地,盛大壮观地;大模大样 | |
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310 stiffening | |
n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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311 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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312 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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313 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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314 starch | |
n.淀粉;vt.给...上浆 | |
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315 wheezing | |
v.喘息,发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 );哮鸣 | |
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316 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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317 hacks | |
黑客 | |
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318 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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319 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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320 sacrosanct | |
adj.神圣不可侵犯的 | |
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321 mosaics | |
n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 );镶嵌;镶嵌工艺;镶嵌图案 | |
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322 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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323 pennant | |
n.三角旗;锦标旗 | |
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324 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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325 deign | |
v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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326 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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327 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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328 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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329 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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330 browbeaten | |
v.(以言辞或表情)威逼,恫吓( browbeat的过去分词 ) | |
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331 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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332 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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333 retrospect | |
n.回顾,追溯;v.回顾,回想,追溯 | |
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334 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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335 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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336 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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337 dictatorial | |
adj. 独裁的,专断的 | |
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338 ailment | |
n.疾病,小病 | |
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339 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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340 pickpockets | |
n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
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341 acumen | |
n.敏锐,聪明 | |
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342 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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343 delusions | |
n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 );谬见;错觉;妄想 | |
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344 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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345 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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346 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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347 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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348 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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349 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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350 interpretations | |
n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 );表演;演绎;理解 | |
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351 generalization | |
n.普遍性,一般性,概括 | |
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352 controversies | |
争论 | |
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