In the morning the big form was still there. The artist turned to it as he opened his eyes. “You are not gone!”
“Gone? Land, no!” Uncle William sat up from a cat-nap, rubbing his eyes and blinking a little. “I cal’ate to stay quite a spell yet.” He stretched his great legs slowly, first one and then the other, as if testing them.
Reproach filled the artist’s eyes. “You’ve not lain down all night!”
“Didn’t need to,” said Uncle William. He got to his feet briskly. “I slep’ a good deal comin’ down in the boat. There wa’n’t a great deal goin’ on. If you’ve got a little water and soap handy, I reckon I could use it.”
The artist half started to get up, but a firm hand held him back. “Now, stay right there. You jest tell me where things be—”
“Don’t you mind.” Uncle William had disappeared through the doorway2. “It won’t bother me a mite3.” His voice came back sociably4. “I’m considabul ust to havin’ things mussed up.”
The artist lay with a smile, listening to the sounds that came through the half-open door—thumping and blowing and splashing.
Uncle William reappeared with shining face. “It seems good to hev suthin’ bigger’n a teacup to wash in,” he said. “I like the hull5 ocean, myself, but a tub does putty well. Now, jest let me see.”
He drew up to the bed, looking at the young man with keen glance.
“Oh, I’m all right—now.”
“Had a fever?”
“A little—yes.”
“You all alone?”
“There’s a man comes in by and by. He’ll clean up and get things for me.”
Uncle William ignored the pride in the tone. “Jest roll over a little mite. There—” He placed his broad hand under the thin back. “Feel sore there? Kind o’ hurts, don’t it? I thought so—There.” He laid him back gently. “You jest wait a minute.” He was fumbling6 at the lock that held his box.
“Are you a doctor?” The young man was watching him with half-amused eyes.
“Well, not a doctor exactly.” Uncle William had taken out a small bottle and was holding it up to the light, squinting7 through it. “But I had a fever once, myself—kep’ a-runnin’.” He had come over to the bedside, the bottle in his hand. “You got a doctor?”
The young man shook his head. “He will come if I send for him.”
Uncle William nodded. “That’s the best kind.” He held out the bottle. “I’d like to give you ’bout five on ’em.”
“What are they?”
“Well, that’s what I don’t know, but it took about five on ’em to break up mine.” He had poured one into the palm of his hand and held it out. It was a small, roughly shaped pill, with grayish surface pitted with black.
The young man eyed it doubtfully.
“It don’t look very nice,” said Uncle William, “and the man that made it never had a stitch of clothes on his back in his life; but I guess you better take it.”
The young man opened his lips. The thing slid down, leaving a sickish, sweetish taste behind it.
Uncle William brought him a glass of water. “I know how it tastes, but I reckon it’ll do the work. Now, let’s see.” he stood back, surveying the untidy room, a mellow8 smile on his lips. “‘T is kind o’ cluttered9 up,” he said. “I’ll jest make a path through.” He gathered up a handful of shoes and slippers10 and thrust them under the bed, drawing the spread down to hid them. The cups and glasses and scattered11 spoons and knives he bore away to the bath-room, and the artist heard them descending12 into the tub with a sound of rushing water. Uncle William returned triumphant13. “I’ve put ’em a-soak,” he explained. The table-spread, with its stumps14 of cigars, bits of torn papers, and collars and neckties and books and paint-brushes and tubes, he gathered up by the four corners, dumping it into a half-open drawer. He closed the drawer firmly. “Might ’s well start fresh.” He replaced the spread and stood back, surveying it proudly. “What’s that door?” He pointed across the room.
“It’s your bedroom,” said the artist, a little uneasily. “But I don’t believe you can get in.”
Uncle William approached cautiously. He pushed open the door and looked in. He came back beaming. “The’ ’s quite a nice lot of room,” he said, taking hold of the end of his box and dragging it away.
The artist lay looking about the room with brightening eyes. The window-shades were still askew15 and there were garments here and there, but Uncle William’s path was a success. The sun was coming over the tops of the houses opposite, and Uncle William reappeared with shining face.
“You reely needed a man around,” he said. “I’m putty glad I come.”
“What made you come?” asked the artist.
“What made me?” Uncle William paused, looking about him. “Where’s my spectacles? Must ’a’ left ’em in there.” He disappeared once more.
While the artist was waiting for him to return he dozed16 again, and when he opened his eyes, Uncle William was standing17 by the bed with a cup of something hot. He slipped a hand under the young man’s head, raising it while he drank.
The artist took his time—in slow, surprised sips18. “It’s good!” he said. He released the cup slowly.
“You didn’t find that in it.” The artist motioned to the cup.
“Well—all but a drop or two,” said Uncle William, setting it down. “A drop o’ suthin’ hot’ll make ’most anything tasty, I reckon. I’ll go out and stock up pretty soon.”
A slow color had come into the artist’s face. He turned it away. “I don’t need much,” he said.
“No more’n a robin,” said Uncle William, cheerfully; “but I can’t live on bird-seed myself. I reckon I’ll lay in suthin’—two-three crackers20, mebbe, enough to make a chowder.”
The young man laughed out. “I feel better,” he declared.
“It’s a good pill,” said Uncle William. “Must be ’most time for another.” He pulled out his great watch. “Jest about.” He doled21 out the pill with careful hand.
The young man looked at the bottle. “You haven’t many left?”
“Eight more,” said Uncle William, rapping the cork22 into place. “That ’lows for one more fever for me afore I die—I don’t cal’ate to have but one more.” He looked about for his hat. “I’m goin’ out a little while,” he said, settling it on his head.
“Wait a minute, Uncle William.” The young man stretched out his hand. “How did you come to know I needed you?”
Uncle William took the hand in his, patting it slowly. “Why, that was nateral enough,” he said. “When Sergia wrote me, sayin’ you was sick—”
“Sergia wrote you?” the young man had turned away his eyes. “She should not have done it. She had no right—”
“Why not?” said Uncle William. He seated himself by the bed. There was something keen in the glance of his blue eyes. “You’re goin’ to be married, ain’t you?”
The head on the pillow turned uneasily. “No—not now.”
“Why not?”
“I shall never be able to take care of her.”
“Shucks!” said Uncle William. “Let her take care of you, then.”
The tears of weakness came into the young man’s eyes.
Uncle William’s gaze was fixed23 on space. “You’ve been foolish,” he said—“turrible foolish. I don’t doubt she wants to marry you this minute.”
“There, there,” said Uncle William, soothingly25, “I wouldn’t make such a fuss about it. Nobody’s goin’ to marry you ’thout you want ’em to. You jest quiet down and go to sleep. We’ll talk it over when I come back.”
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1
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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sociably
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| adv.成群地 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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6
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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7
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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14
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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18
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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21
doled
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| 救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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24
spoke
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| 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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25
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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