“How do, Teddy?” Charlie greeted him. “I’ve just been in to see you at your shop.”
Edwin paused.
“Hello! The Sunday!” he said quietly. And he kept thinking, as his eyes noted6 details of Charlie’s raiment, “It’s a bit of luck I’ve got these clothes on.” And he was in fact rather sorry that Charlie probably paid no real attention to clothes. The new suit had caused Edwin to look at everybody’s clothes, had caused him to walk differently, and to put his shoulders back, and to change the style of his collars; had made a different man of Edwin.
“Come in, will you?” Edwin suggested.
They went into the shop together. Stifford smiled at them both, as if to felicitate them on the chance which had brought them together.
“Come in here,” said Edwin, indicating the small office.
He, as much as Edwin, was a little tongue-tied and nervous.
“Sit down, will you?” said Edwin, shutting the door. “No, take the arm-chair. I’ll absquatulate on the desk. I’d no idea you were down. When did you come?”
“Last night, last train. Just a freak, you know.”
Two.
They were within a foot of each other in the ebonised cubicle7. Edwin’s legs were swinging a few inches away from the arm-chair. His hat was at the back of his head, and Charlie’s hat was at the back of Charlie’s head. This was their sole point of resemblance. As Edwin surreptitiously examined the youth who had once been his intimate friend, he experienced the half-sneering awe8 of the provincial9 for the provincial who has become a Londoner. Charlie was changed; even his accent was changed. He and Edwin belonged to utterly10 different worlds now. They seldom saw the same scenes or thought the same things. But of course they were obliged by loyalty11 to the past to pretend that nothing was changed.
“You’ve not altered much,” said Edwin.
And indeed, when Charlie smiled, he was almost precisely12 the old Sunday, despite his metropolitan13 mannerisms. And there was nothing whatever in his figure or deportment to show that he had lived for several years in France and could chatter14 in a language whose verbs had four conjugations. After all, he was less formidable than Edwin might have anticipated.
“You have, anyhow,” said Charlie.
Edwin grinned self-consciously.
“I suppose you’ve got this place practically in your own hands now,” said Charlie. “I wish I was on my own, I can tell you that.”
An instinctive15 gesture from Edwin made Charlie lower his voice in the middle of a sentence. The cubicle had the appearance, but not the reality, of being private.
“Don’t you make any mistake,” Edwin murmured. He, who depended on his aunt’s generosity16 for clothes, the practical ruler of the place! Still he was glad that Charlie supposed that he ruled, even though the supposition might be mere17 small-talk. “You’re in that hospital, aren’t you?”
“Bart’s.”
“Bart’s, is it? Yes, I remember. I expect you aren’t thinking of settling down here?”
Charlie was about to reply in accents of disdain18: “Not me!” But his natural politeness stayed his tongue. “I hardly think so,” he said. “Too much competition here. So there is everywhere, for the matter of that.” The disillusions19 of the young doctor were already upon Charlie. And yet people may be found who will assert that in those days there was no competition, that competition has been invented during the past ten years.
“You needn’t worry about competition,” said Edwin.
“Why not?”
“Why not, man! Nothing could ever stop you from getting patients—with that smile! You’ll simply walk straight into anything you want.”
“You think so?” Charlie affected20 an ironic21 incredulity, but he was pleased. He had met the same theory in London.
“Well, you didn’t suppose degrees and things had anything to do with it, did you?” said Edwin, smiling a little superiorly. He felt, with pleasure, that he was still older than the Sunday; and it pleased him also to be able thus to utilise ideas which he had formed from observation but which by diffidence and lack of opportunity he had never expressed. “All a patient wants is to be smiled at in the right way,” he continued, growing bolder. “Just look at ’em!”
“Look at who?”
“The doctors here.” He dropped his voice further. “Do you know why the dad’s gone to Heve?”
“Gone to Heve, has he? Left old Who-is-it?”
“Yes. I don’t say Heve isn’t clever, but it’s his look that does the trick for him.”
“You seem to go about noticing things. Any charge?”
Edwin blushed and laughed. Their nervousness was dissipated. Each was reassured22 of the old basis of ‘decency’ in the other.
Three.
“Look here,” said Charlie. “I can’t stop now.”
“Hold on a bit.”
“I only called to tell you that you’ve simply got to come up to-night.”
“Come up where?”
“To our place. You’ve simply got to.”
The secret fact was that Edwin had once more been under discussion in the house of the Orgreaves. And Osmond Orgreave had lent Janet a shilling so that she might bet Charlie a shilling that he would not succeed in bringing Edwin to the house. The understanding was that if Janet won, her father was to take sixpence of the gain. Janet herself had failed to lure23 Edwin into the house. He was so easy to approach and so difficult to catch. Janet was slightly piqued24.
As for Edwin, he was postponing25 the execution of all his good resolutions until he should be installed in the new house. He could not achieve highly difficult tasks under conditions of expectancy26 and derangement27. The whole Clayhanger premises28 were in a suppressed state of being packed up. In a week the removal would occur. Until the removal was over and the new order was established Edwin felt that he could still conscientiously29 allow his timidity to govern him, and so he had remained in his shell. The sole herald30 of the new order was the new suit.
“Oh! I can’t come—not to-night.”
“Why not?”
“We’re so busy.”
“Bosh to that!”
“Some other night.”
“No. I’m going back to-morrow. Must. Now look here, old man, come on. I shall be very disappointed if you don’t.”
Edwin wondered why he could not accept and be done with it, instead of persisting in a sequence of insincere and even lying hesitations31. But he could not.
“That’s all right,” said Charlie, as if clinching32 the affair. Then he lowered his voice to a scarce audible confidential33 whisper. “Fine girl staying up there just now!” His eyes sparkled.
“Oh! At your place?” Edwin adopted the same cautious tone. Stifford, outside, strained his ears—in vain. The magic word ‘girl’ had in an instant thrown the shop into agitation34. The shop was no longer provincial; it became a part of the universal.
“Yes. Haven’t you seen her about?”
“No. Who is she?”
“Oh! Friend of Janet’s. Hilda Lessways, her name is. I don’t know much of her myself.”
“Bit of all right, is she?” Edwin tried in a whisper to be a man of vast experience and settled views. He tried to whisper as though he whispered about women every day of his life. He thought that these Londoners were terrific on the subject of women, and he did his best to reach their level. He succeeded so well that Charlie, who, as a man, knew more of London than of the provinces, thought that after all London was nothing in comparison to the seeming-quiet provinces. Charlie leaned back in his chair, drew down the corners of his mouth, nodded his head knowingly, and then quite spoiled the desired effect of doggishness by his delightfully35 candid36 smile. Neither of them had the least intention of disrespect towards the fine girl who was on their lips.
Four.
Edwin said to himself: “Is it possible that he has come down specially37 to see this Hilda?” He thought enviously38 of Charlie as a free bird of the air.
“What’s she like?” Edwin inquired.
“You come up and see,” Charlie retorted.
“You come to-night, or I perish in the attempt,” said Charlie, in his natural voice. This phrase from their school-days made them both laugh again. They were now apparently40 as intimate as ever they had been.
“All right,” said Edwin. “I’ll come.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Come for a sort of supper at eight.”
“Oh!” Edwin drew back. “Supper? I didn’t—Suppose I come after supper for a bit?”
“Suppose you don’t!” Charlie snorted, sticking his chin out. “I’m off now. Must.”
They stood a moment together at the door of the shop, in the declining warmth of the summer afternoon, mutually satisfied.
“So-long!”
“So-long!”
The Sunday elegantly departed. Edwin had given his word, and he felt as he might have felt had surgeons just tied him to the operating-table. Nevertheless he was not ill-pleased with his own demeanour in front of Charlie. And he liked Charlie as much as ever. He should rely on Charlie as a support during this adventure into the worldly regions peopled by fine girls. He pictured this Hilda as being more romantic and strange than Janet Orgreave; he pictured her as mysteriously superior. And he was afraid of his own image of her.
At tea in the dismantled41 sitting-room42, though he was going out to supper, he ate quite as much tea as usual, from sheer poltroonery43. He said as casually44 as he could—
“By the way, Charlie Orgreave called this afternoon.”
“Did he?” said Maggie.
“He’s off back to London to-morrow. He would have me slip up there to-night to see him.”
“And shall you?”
“I think so,” said Edwin, with an appearance of indecision. “I may as well.”
It was the first time that there had ever been question of him visiting a private house, except his aunt’s, at night. To him the moment marked an epoch45, the inception46 of freedom; but the phlegmatic47 Maggie showed no sign of excitement—(“Clara would have gone into a fit!” he reflected)—and his father only asked a casual question about Charlie.
点击收听单词发音
1 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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2 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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3 advertising | |
n.广告业;广告活动 a.广告的;广告业务的 | |
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4 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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5 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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6 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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7 cubicle | |
n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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8 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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9 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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10 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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11 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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12 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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13 metropolitan | |
adj.大城市的,大都会的 | |
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14 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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15 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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16 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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17 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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18 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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19 disillusions | |
使不再抱幻想,使理想破灭( disillusion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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20 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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21 ironic | |
adj.讽刺的,有讽刺意味的,出乎意料的 | |
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22 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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23 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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24 piqued | |
v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 );激起(好奇心) | |
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25 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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26 expectancy | |
n.期望,预期,(根据概率统计求得)预期数额 | |
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27 derangement | |
n.精神错乱 | |
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28 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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29 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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30 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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31 hesitations | |
n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 );踌躇;犹豫(之事或行为);口吃 | |
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32 clinching | |
v.(尤指两人)互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的现在分词 );解决(争端、交易),达成(协议) | |
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33 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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34 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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35 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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36 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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37 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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38 enviously | |
adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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39 fawn | |
n.未满周岁的小鹿;v.巴结,奉承 | |
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40 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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41 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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42 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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43 poltroonery | |
n.怯懦,胆小 | |
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44 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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45 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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46 inception | |
n.开端,开始,取得学位 | |
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47 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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