They were sitting at the western end of the rouseabouts' hut, enjoying the breeze that came up when the sun went down, and smoking and yarning2. The “case” in question was a wretchedly forlorn-looking specimen3 of the swag-carrying clan4 whom a boundary-rider had found wandering about the adjacent plain, and had brought into the station. He was a small, scraggy man, painfully fair, with a big, baby-like head, vacant watery6 eyes, long thin hairy hands, that felt like pieces of damp seaweed, and an apologetic cringe-and-look-up-at-you manner. He professed8 to have forgotten who he was and all about himself.
The Oracle was deeply interested in this case, as indeed he was in anything else that “looked curious.” He was a big, simple-minded shearer9, with more heart than brains, more experience than sense, and more curiosity than either. It was a wonder that he had not profited, even indirectly10, by the last characteristic. His heart was filled with a kind of reverential pity for anyone who was fortunate or unfortunate enough to possess an “affliction;” and amongst his mates had been counted a deaf man, a blind man, a poet, and a man who “had rats.” Tom had dropped across them individually, when they were down in the world, and had befriended them, and studied them with great interest—especially the poet; and they thought kindly11 of him, and were grateful—except the individual with the rats, who reckoned Tom had an axe12 to grind—that he, in fact, wanted to cut his (Rat's) liver out as a bait for Darling cod—and so renounced13 the mateship.
It was natural, then, for The Oracle to take the present case under his wing. He used his influence with the boss to get the Mystery on “picking up,” and studied him in spare time, and did his best to assist the poor hushed memory, which nothing the men could say or do seemed able to push further back than the day on which the stranger “kind o' woke up” on the plain, and found a swag beside him. The swag had been prospected14 and fossicked for a clue, but yielded none. The chaps were sceptical at first, and inclined to make fun of the Mystery; but Tom interfered15, and intimated that if they were skunks16 enough to chyack or try on any of their “funny business” with a “pore afflicted17 chap,” he (Tom) would be obliged to “perform.” Most of the men there had witnessed Tom's performance, and no one seemed ambitious to take a leading part in it. They preferred to be in the audience.
“Yes,” reflected The Oracle, “it's a curious case, and I dare say some of them big doctors, like Morell Mackenzie, would be glad to give a thousand or two to get holt on a case like this.”
“Done,” cried Mitchell, the goat of the shed. “I'll go halves!—or stay, let's form a syndicate and work the Mystery.”
Some of the rouseabouts laughed, but the joke fell as flat with Tom as any other joke.
“The worst of it is,” said the Mystery himself, in the whine18 that was natural to him, and with a timid side look up at Tom—“the worst of it is I might be a lord or duke, and don't know anything about it. I might be a rich man, with a lot of houses and money. I might be a lord.”
“Wot'yer laughing at?” asked Mitchell. “I don't see anything unreasonable21 about it; he might be a lord as far as looks go. I've seen two.”
“Yes,” reflected Tom, ignoring Mitchell, “there's something in that; but then again, you see, you might be Jack22 the Ripper. Better let it slide, mate; let the dead past bury its dead. Start fresh with a clean sheet.”
“But I don't even know my name, or whether I'm married or not,” whined23 the outcast. “I might have a good wife and little ones.”
“Better keep on forgetting, mate,” Mitchell said, “and as for a name, that's nothing. I don't know mine, and I've had eight. There's plenty good names knocking round. I knew a man named Jim Smith that died. Take his name, it just suits you, and he ain't likely to call round for it; if he does, you can say you was born with it.”
So they called him Smith, and soon began to regard him as a harmless lunatic and to take no notice of his eccentricities24. Great interest was taken in the case for a time, and even Mitchell put in his oar25 and tried all sorts of ways to assist the Mystery in his weak, helpless, and almost pitiful endeavours to recollect26 who he was. A similar case happened to appear in the papers at this time, and the thing caught on to such an extent that The Oracle was moved to impart some advice from his store of wisdom.
“I wouldn't think too much over it if I was you,” said he to Mitchell, “hundreds of sensible men went mad over that there Tichborne case who didn't have anything to do with it, but just through thinking on it; and you're ratty enough already, Jack. Let it alone and trust me to find out who's Smith just as soon as ever we cut out.”
Meanwhile Smith ate, worked, and slept, and borrowed tobacco and forgot to return it—which was made a note of. He talked freely about his case when asked, but if he addressed anyone, it was with the air of the timid but good young man, who is fully5 aware of the extent and power of this world's wickedness, and stands somewhat in awe7 of it, but yet would beg you to favour a humble27 worker in the vineyard by kindly accepting a tract28, and passing it on to friends after perusal29.
One Saturday morning, about a fortnight before cut out, The Oracle came late to his stand, and apparently30 with something on his mind. Smith hadn't turned up, and the next rouseabout was doing his work, to the mutual31 dissatisfaction of all parties immediately concerned.
“Did you see anything of Smith?” asked Mitchell of The Oracle. “Seems to have forgot to get up this morning.”
Tom looked disheartened and disappointed. “He's forgot again,” said he, slowly and impressively.
“He's forgot again,” repeated Tom. “He woke up this morning and wanted to know who he was and where he was.” Comments.
“Better give him best, Oracle,” said Mitchell presently. “If he can't find out who he is and where he is, the boss'll soon find it out for him.”
“No,” said Tom, “when I take a thing in hand I see it through.”
This was also characteristic of the boss-over-the-board, though in another direction. He went down to the but and inquired for Smith.
“Why ain't you at work?”
“Who am I, sir? Where am I?” whined Smith. “Can you please tell me who I am and where I am?”
The boss drew a long breath and stared blankly at the Mystery; then he erupted.
“Now, look here!” he howled, “I don't know who the gory33 sheol you are, except that you're a gory lunatic, and what's more, I don't care a damn. But I'll soon show you where you are! You can call up at the store and get your cheque, and soon as you blessed well like; and then take a walk, and don't forget to take your lovely swag with you.”
The matter was discussed at the dinner-table. The Oracle swore that it was a cruel, mean way to treat a “pore afflicted chap,” and cursed the boss. Tom's admirers cursed in sympathy, and trouble seemed threatening, when the voice of Mitchell was heard to rise in slow, deliberate tones over the clatter34 of cutlery and tin plates.
“I wonder,” said the voice, “I wonder whether Smith forgot his cheque?”
It was ascertained35 that Smith hadn't.
There was some eating and thinking done. Soon Mitchell's voice was heard again, directed at The Oracle.
Tom looked hard at Mitchell. “Why?”
“Oh, nothin': only I think it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to look at your bunk and see whether Smith forgot.”
The chaps grew awfully37 interested. They fixed38 their eyes on Tom, and he looked with feeling from one face to another; then he pushed his plate back, and slowly extracted his long legs from between the stool and the table. He climbed to his bunk, and carefully reviewed the ingredients of his swag. Smith hadn't forgot.
When The Oracle's face came round again there was in it a strange expression which a close study would have revealed to be more of anger than of sorrow, but that was not all. It was an expression such as a man might wear who is undergoing a terrible operation, without chloroform, but is determined39 not to let a whimper escape him. Tom didn't swear, and by that token they guessed how mad he was. 'Twas a rough shed, with a free and lurid40 vocabulary, but had they all sworn in chorus, with One-eyed Bogan as lead, it would not have done justice to Tom's feelings—and they realized this.
The Oracle took down his bridle41 from its peg42, and started for the door amid a respectful and sympathetic silence, which was only partly broken once by the voice of Mitchell, which asked in an awed20 whisper:
“Going ter ketch yer horse, Tom?” The Oracle nodded, and passed on; he spake no word—he was too full for words.
Five minutes passed, and then the voice of Mitchell was heard again, uninterrupted by the clatter of tinware. It said in impressive tones:
“It would not be a bad idea for some of you chaps that camp in the bunks43 along there, to have a look at your things. Scotty's bunk is next to Tom's.”
Scotty shot out of his place as if a snake had hold of his leg, starting a plank44 in the table and upsetting three soup plates. He reached for his bunk like a drowning man clutching at a plank, and tore out the bedding. Again, Smith hadn't forgot.
Then followed a general overhaul45, and it was found in most cases that Smith had remembered. The pent-up reservoir of blasphemy46 burst forth47.
The Oracle came up with Smith that night at the nearest shanty48, and found that he had forgotten again, and in several instances, and was forgetting some more under the influence of rum and of the flattering interest taken in his case by a drunken Bachelor of Arts who happened to be at the pub. Tom came in quietly from the rear, and crooked49 his finger at the shanty-keeper. They went apart from the rest, and talked together a while very earnestly. Then they secretly examined Smith's swag, the core of which was composed of Tom's and his mate's valuables.
Then The Oracle stirred up Smith's recollections and departed.
Smith was about again in a couple of weeks. He was damaged somewhat physically50, but his memory was no longer impaired51.
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收听单词发音
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1
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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7
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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8
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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shearer
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| n.剪羊毛的人；剪切机 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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12
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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14
prospected
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| vi.勘探（prospect的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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16
skunks
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| n.臭鼬( skunk的名词复数 )；臭鼬毛皮；卑鄙的人；可恶的人 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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guffawed
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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22
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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23
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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24
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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25
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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28
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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30
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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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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35
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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40
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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41
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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42
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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43
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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44
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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45
overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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46
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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49
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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50
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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51
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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