And Saxon, talking little but studying Billy Roberts very intently, was satisfied that there would be an utter difference in the way he would do such things... if ever he would do them. Anyway, he'd never paw a girl as Bert and lots of the other fellows did. She measured the breadth of Billy's heavy shoulders.
“Why do they call you 'Big' Bill?” she asked. “You're not so very tall.”
“Nope,” he agreed. “I'm only five feet eight an' three-quarters. I guess it must be my weight.”
“He fights at a hundred an' eighty,” Bert interjected.
“Oh, cut it,” Billy said quickly, a cloud-rift of displeasure showing in his eyes. “I ain't a fighter. I ain't fought in six months. I've quit it. It don't pay.”
“Yon got two hundred the night you put the Frisco Slasher to the bad,” Bert urged proudly.
“Cut it. Cut it now.—Say, Saxon, you ain't so big yourself, are you? But you're built just right if anybody should ask you. You're round an' slender at the same time. I bet I can guess your weight.”
“Everybody guesses over it,” she warned, while inwardly she was puzzled that she should at the same time be glad and regretful that he did not fight any more.
“Not me,” he was saying. “I'm a wooz at weight-guessin'. Just you watch me.” He regarded her critically, and it was patent that warm approval played its little rivalry6 with the judgment7 of his gaze. “Wait a minute.”
He reached over to her and felt her arm at the biceps. The pressure of the encircling fingers was firm and honest, and Saxon thrilled to it. There was magic in this man-boy. She would have known only irritation8 had Bert or any other man felt her arm. But this man! IS HE THE MAN? she was questioning, when he voiced his conclusion.
“Your clothes don't weigh more'n seven pounds. And seven from—hum—say one hundred an' twenty-three—one hundred an' sixteen is your stripped weight.”
“Why, Billy Roberts, people don't talk about such things.”
He looked at her with slow-growing, uncomprehending surprise.
“What things?” he demanded finally.
“There you go again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Look! You've got Saxon blushing!”
“I am not,” Saxon denied indignantly.
“An' if you keep on, Mary, you'll have me blushing,” Billy growled10. “I guess I know what's right an' what ain't. It ain't what a guy says, but what he thinks. An' I'm thinkin' right, an' Saxon knows it. An' she an' I ain't thinkin' what you're thinkin' at all.”
“Oh! Oh!” Mary cried. “You're gettin' worse an' worse. I never think such things.”
“Whoa, Mary! Back up!” Bert checked her peremptorily11. “You're in the wrong stall. Billy never makes mistakes like that.”
“But he needn't be so raw,” she persisted.
“Come on, Mary, an' be good, an' cut that stuff,” was Billy's dismissal of her, as he turned to Saxon. “How near did I come to it?”
“One hundred and twenty-two,” she answered, looking deliberately12 at Mary. “One twenty two with my clothes.”
“I don't care,” Mary protested, “You're terrible, both of you—an' you, too, Saxon. I'd never a-thought it of you.”
“Listen to me, kid,” Bert began soothingly14, as his arm slipped around her waist.
But in the false excitement she had worked herself into, Mary rudely repulsed15 the arm, and then, fearing that she had wounded her lover's feelings, she took advantage of the teasing and banter16 to recover her good humor. His arm was permitted to return, and with heads bent17 together, they talked in whispers.
Billy discreetly18 began to make conversation with Saxon.
“Say, you know, your name is a funny one. I never heard it tagged on anybody before. But it's all right. I like it.”
“My mother gave it to me. She was educated, and knew all kinds of words. She was always reading books, almost until she died. And she wrote lots and lots. I've got some of her poetry published in a San Jose newspaper long ago. The Saxons were a race of people—she told me all about them when I was a little girl. They were wild, like Indians, only they were white. And they had blue eyes, and yellow hair, and they were awful fighters.”
“Never heard of them,” he confessed. “Did they live anywhere around here?”
She laughed.
“No. They lived in England. They were the first English, and you know the Americans came from the English. We're Saxons, you an' me, an' Mary, an' Bert, and all the Americans that are real Americans, you know, and not Dagoes and Japs and such.”
“My folks lived in America a long time,” Billy said slowly, digesting the information she had given and relating himself to it. “Anyway, my mother's folks did. They crossed to Maine hundreds of years ago.”
“My father was 'State of Maine,” she broke in, with a little gurgle of joy. “And my mother was born in Ohio, or where Ohio is now. She used to call it the Great Western Reserve. What was your father?”
“Don't know.” Billy shrugged20 his shoulders. “He didn't know himself. Nobody ever knew, though he was American, all right, all right.”
“His name's regular old American,” Saxon suggested. “There's a big English general right now whose name is Roberts. I've read it in the papers.”
“But Roberts wasn't my father's name. He never knew what his name was. Roberts was the name of a gold-miner who adopted him. You see, it was this way. When they was Indian-fightin' up there with the Modoc Indians, a lot of the miners an' settlers took a hand. Roberts was captain of one outfit21, and once, after a fight, they took a lot of prisoners—squaws, an' kids an' babies. An' one of the kids was my father. They figured he was about five years old. He didn't know nothin' but Indian.”
Saxon clapped her hands, and her eyes sparkled: “He'd been captured on an Indian raid!”
“That's the way they figured it,” Billy nodded. “They recollected22 a wagon23-train of Oregon settlers that'd been killed by the Modocs four years before. Roberts adopted him, and that's why I don't know his real name. But you can bank on it, he crossed the plains just the same.”
“So did my father,” Saxon said proudly.
“An' my mother, too,” Billy added, pride touching24 his own voice. “Anyway, she came pretty close to crossin' the plains, because she was born in a wagon on the River Platte on the way out.”
“My mother, too,” said Saxon. “She was eight years old, an' she walked most of the way after the oxen began to give out.”
Billy thrust out his hand.
“Put her there, kid,” he said. “We're just like old friends, what with the same kind of folks behind us.”
With shining eyes, Saxon extended her hand to his, and gravely they shook.
“Isn't it wonderful?” she murmured. “We're both old American stock. And if you aren't a Saxon there never was one—your hair, your eyes, your skin, everything. And you're a fighter, too.”
“I guess all our old folks was fighters when it comes to that. It come natural to 'em, an' dog-gone it, they just had to fight or they'd never come through.”
“What are you two talkin' about?” Mary broke in upon them.
“They're thicker'n mush in no time,” Bert girded. “You'd think they'd known each other a week already.”
“Oh, we knew each other longer than that,” Saxon returned. “Before ever we were born our folks were walkin' across the plains together.”
“When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all the Indians killed off before they dasted to start for California,” was Billy's way of proclaiming the new alliance. “We're the real goods, Saxon an' me, if anybody should ride up on a buzz-wagon an' ask you.”
“Oh, I don't know,” Mary boasted with quiet petulance25. “My father stayed behind to fight in the Civil War. He was a drummer-boy. That's why he didn't come to California until afterward26.”
“And my father went back to fight in the Civil War,” Saxon said.
“And mine, too,” said Billy.
They looked at each other gleefully. Again they had found a new contact.
“Well, they're all dead, ain't they?” was Bert's saturnine27 comment. “There ain't no difference dyin' in battle or in the poorhouse. The thing is they're deado. I wouldn't care a rap if my father'd been hanged. It's all the same in a thousand years. This braggin' about folks makes me tired. Besides, my father couldn't a-fought. He wasn't born till two years after the war. Just the same, two of my uncles were killed at Gettysburg. Guess we done our share.”
“Just like that,” Mary applauded.
Bert's arm went around her waist again.
“We're here, ain't we?” he said. “An' that's what counts. The dead are dead, an' you can bet your sweet life they just keep on stayin' dead.”
Mary put her hand over his mouth and began to chide28 him for his awfulness, whereupon he kissed the palm of her hand and put his head closer to hers.
The merry clatter29 of dishes was increasing as the dining-room filled up. Here and there voices were raised in snatches of song. There were shrill30 squeals31 and screams and bursts of heavier male laughter as the everlasting32 skirmishing between the young men and girls played on. Among some of the men the signs of drink were already manifest. At a near table girls were calling out to Billy. And Saxon, the sense of temporary possession already strong on her, noted with jealous eyes that he was a favorite and desired object to them.
“Ain't they awful?” Mary voiced her disapproval33. “They got a nerve. I know who they are. No respectable girl 'd have a thing to do with them. Listen to that!”
“Oh, you Bill, you,” one of them, a buxom34 young brunette, was calling. “Hope you ain't forgotten me, Bill.”
Saxon flattered herself that he showed vexation, and she conceived an immense dislike for the brunette.
“Goin' to dance?” the latter called.
“Mebbe,” he answered, and turned abruptly36 to Saxon. “Say, we old Americans oughta stick together, don't you think? They ain't many of us left. The country's fillin' up with all kinds of foreigners.”
He talked on steadily, in a low, confidential37 voice, head close to hers, as advertisement to the other girl that he was occupied.
From the next table on the opposite side, a young man had singled out Saxon. His dress was tough. His companions, male and female, were tough. His face was inflamed38, his eyes touched with wildness.
The girl beside him put her arm around his neck and tried to hush41 him, and through the mufflement of her embrace they could hear him gurgling:
“I tell you she's some goods. Watch me go across an' win her from them cheap skates.”
Saxon's eyes encountered the eyes of the girl, who glared hatred43 across at her. And in Billy's eyes she saw moody44 anger smouldering. The eyes were more sullen45, more handsome than ever, and clouds and veils and lights and shadows shifted and deepened in the blue of them until they gave her a sense of unfathomable depth. He had stopped talking, and he made no effort to talk.
“Don't start a rough house, Bill,” Bert cautioned. “They're from across the bay an' they don't know you, that's all.”
Bert stood up suddenly, stepped over to the other table, whispered briefly46, and came back. Every face at the table was turned on Billy. The offender47 arose brokenly, shook off the detaining hand of his girl, and came over. He was a large man, with a hard, malignant48 face and bitter eyes. Also, he was a subdued49 man.
“You're Big Bill Roberts,” he said thickly, clinging to the table as he reeled. “I take my hat off to you. I apologize. I admire your taste in skirts, an' take it from me that's a compliment; but I didn't know who you was. If I'd knowed you was Bill Roberts there wouldn't been a peep from my fly-trap. D'ye get me? I apologize. Will you shake hands?”
Gruffly, Billy said, “It's all right—forget it, sport;” and sullenly50 he shook hands and with a slow, massive movement thrust the other back toward his own table.
Saxon was glowing. Here was a man, a protector, something to lean against, of whom even the Butchertown toughs were afraid as soon as his name was mentioned.
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1
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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obliviousness
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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growled
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| 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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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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17
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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18
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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19
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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24
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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40
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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41
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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42
sniffed
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| 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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43
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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44
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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45
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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46
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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48
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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49
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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