It was dark, but the night winds had not yet commenced, and Lukin sweltered with a heat more unbearable7 than full noon.
It was nothing to Ben Connor, however, for he was fresh from the choking summer nights of Manhattan, and in Lukin, no matter how hot it became, the eye could always find a cool prospect8. It had been unpleasant enough when the light was burning, for the room was done in a hot, orange-colored paper, but when he blew out the lamp and sat down before the window he forgot the room and let his glance go out among the mountains. A young moon drifted across the corner of his window, a sickle9 of light with a dim, phosphorescent line around the rest of the circle. It was bright enough to throw the peaks into strong relief, and dull enough to let the stars live.
His upward vision had as a rule been limited by the higher stories of some skyscraper11, and now his eye wandered with a pleasant sense of freedom over the snow summits where he could imagine a cold wind blowing through reach after reach of the blue-gray sky. It pleased and troubled Ben Connor very much as one is pleased and troubled by the first study of a foreign language, with new prospects12 opening, strange turns of thought, and great unknown names like stars. But after a time Ben Connor relaxed. The first cool puff13 moved across his forehead and carried him halfway14 to a dreamless sleep.
Here a chorus of mirth burst up at him from the street, men's voices pitched high and wild, the almost hysterical15 laughter of people who are much alone. In Manhattan only drunken men laughed like this. Among the mountains it did not irritate Ben Connor; in tune16 with the rest, it was full of freedom. He looked down to the street, and seeing half a dozen bearded fellows frolic in the shaft17 of light from a window, he decided18 that people kept their youth longer in Lukin.
All things seemed in order to Connor, this night. He rolled his sleeves higher to let all the air that stirred get at his bulky forearms, and then lighted a cigar. It was a dark, oily Havana—it had cost him a great deal in money and nerves to acquire that habit—and he breathed the scent10 deep while he waited for the steady wind which Jack Townsend had promised. There was just enough noise to give the silence that waiting quality which cannot be described; below him voices murmured, and lifted now and then, rhythmically19. Ben Connor thought the sounds strangely musical, and he began to brim with the same good nature which puffed20 the cheeks of Jack Townsend. There was a substantial basis for that content in the broiled21 trout22 which he had had for dinner. It was while his thoughts drifted back to those browned fish that the first wind struck him. Dust with an acrid23 scent whirled up from the street—then a steady stream of air swept his face and arms.
It was almost as if another personality had stepped into the room. The sounds from the street fell away, and there was the rustling24 of cloth somewhere, the cool lifting of hair from his forehead, and an odd sense of motion—as if the wind were blowing through him. But something else came with the breeze, and though he noted25 it at first with only a subconscious26 discontent, it beat gradually into his mind, a light ticking, very rapid, and faint, and sounding in an irregular rhythm. He wanted to straighten out that rhythm and make the flutter of tapping regular. Then it began to take on a meaning; it framed words.
"Philip Lord, jailed for embezzlement27."
"Hell!" burst out Ben Connor. "The telegraph!"
He started up from his chair, feeling betrayed, for that light, irregular tapping was the voice of the world from which he had fled. A hard, cool mind worked behind the gray eyes of Ben Connor, but as he fingered the cigar his brain was fumbling28 at a large idea. Forty-Second and Broadway was calling him back.
When he looked out the window, now, the mountains were flat shapes against a flat sky, with no more meaning than a picture.
The sounder was chattering29: "Kid Lane wins title in eighth round. Lucky punch dethrones lightweight champion." Ben Connor swallowed hard and found that his throat was dry. He was afraid of himself—afraid that he would go back. He was recalled from his ugly musing30 by the odor of the cigar, which had burned out and was filling the room with a rank smell; he tossed the crumbled31 remnants through the window, crushed his hat upon his head, and went down, collarless, coatless, to get on the street in the sound of men's voices. If he had been in Manhattan he would have called up a pal32; they would have planned an evening together; but in Lukin—
At the door below he glared up and down the street. There was nothing to see but a light buggy which rolled noiselessly through the dust. A dog detached itself from behind the vehicle and came to bark furiously at his feet. The kicking muscles in Connor's leg began to twitch33, but a voice shouted and the mongrel trotted34 away, growling35 a challenge over its shoulder. The silence fell once more. He turned and strode back to the desk of the hotel, behind which Jack Townsend sat tilted36 back in his chair reading a newspaper.
"What's doing in this town of yours to-night?" he asked.
The proprietor37 moistened a fat thumb to turn the page and looked over his glasses at Connor.
"Appears to me there ain't much stirrin' about," he said. "Except for the movies down the street. You see, everybody's there."
What his eyes fell on was a picture of an old, old man on the wall, and the rusted39 stove which stood in the center of the room with a pipe zigzagging40 uncertainly toward the ceiling. Everything was out of order, broken down—like himself.
"Looks to me like you're kind of off your feet," said Jack Townsend, and he laid down his paper and looked wistfully at his guest. He made up his mind. "If you're kind of dry for a drink," he said, "I might rustle41 you a flask42 of red-eye—"
"Whisky?" echoed Connor, and moistened his lips. Then he shook his head. "Not that."
He went back to the door with steps so long and heavy that Jack Townsend rose from his chair, and spreading his hands on the desk, peered after the muscular figure.
"That gent is a bad hombre," pronounced Jack to himself. He sat down again with a sigh, and added: "Maybe."
The wind freshened, fell away, and the light, swift ticking sounded again more clearly. It mingled44 with the alkali scent of the dust—Manhattan and the desert together. He felt a sense of persecuted45 virtue46. But one of his maxims47 was: "If anything bothers you, go and find out about it."
Ben Connor largely used maxims and epigrams; he met crises by remembering what some one else had said. The ticking of the sounder was making him homesick and dangerously nervous, so he went to find the telegrapher and see the sounder which brought the voice of the world into Lukin.
A few steps carried him to a screen door through which he looked upon a long, narrow office.
In a corner, an electric fan swung back and forth48 through a hurried arc and fluttered papers here and there. Its whining49 almost drowned the ticking of the sounder, and Ben Connor wondered with dull irritation50 how a tapping which was hardly audible at the door of the office could carry to his room in the hotel. He opened the door and entered.
点击收听单词发音
1 huddle | |
vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
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2 scooped | |
v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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3 funnel | |
n.漏斗;烟囱;v.汇集 | |
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4 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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6 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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7 unbearable | |
adj.不能容忍的;忍受不住的 | |
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8 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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9 sickle | |
n.镰刀 | |
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10 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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11 skyscraper | |
n.摩天大楼 | |
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12 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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13 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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14 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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15 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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16 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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17 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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18 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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19 rhythmically | |
adv.有节奏地 | |
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20 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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21 broiled | |
a.烤过的 | |
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22 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
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23 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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24 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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25 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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26 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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27 embezzlement | |
n.盗用,贪污 | |
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28 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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29 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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30 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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31 crumbled | |
(把…)弄碎, (使)碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 衰落; 坍塌; 损坏 | |
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32 pal | |
n.朋友,伙伴,同志;vi.结为友 | |
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33 twitch | |
v.急拉,抽动,痉挛,抽搐;n.扯,阵痛,痉挛 | |
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34 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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35 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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36 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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37 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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38 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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39 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 zigzagging | |
v.弯弯曲曲地走路,曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 );盘陀 | |
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41 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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42 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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43 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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44 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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45 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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46 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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47 maxims | |
n.格言,座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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48 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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49 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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50 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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