But no one, with the exception of the editor of the Times, ever dreamed that there was anything out of the common in the shaggy, unkempt head upon which poor Bogg used to “do his little time,” until a young English doctor came to practise at Geebung. One night the doctor and the manager of the local bank and one or two others wandered into the bar of the Diggers' Arms, where Bogg sat in a dark corner mumbling8 to himself as usual and spilling half his beer on the table and floor. Presently some drunken utterances9 reached the doctor's ear, and he turned round in a surprised manner and looked at Bogg. The drunkard continued to mutter for some time, and then broke out into something like the fag-end of a song. The doctor walked over to the table at which Bogg was sitting, and, seating himself on the far corner, regarded the drunkard attentively10 for some minutes; but the latter's voice ceased, his head fell slowly on his folded arms, and all became silent except the drip, drip of the overturned beer falling from the table to the form and from the form to the floor.
The doctor rose and walked back to his friends with a graver face.
“You seem interested in Bogg,” said the bank manager.
“Yes,” said the doctor.
“What was he mumbling about?”
“Oh, that was a passage from Homer.”
“What?”
The doctor repeated his answer.
“Then do you mean to say he understands Greek?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, sadly; “he is, or must have been, a classical scholar.”
The manager took time to digest this, and then asked:
“What was the song?”
“Oh, that was an old song we used to sing at the Dublin University,” said the doctor.
During his sober days Bogg used to fossick about among the old mullock heaps, or split palings in the bush, and just managed to keep out of debt. Strange to say, in spite of his drunken habits, his credit was as good as that of any man in the town. He was very unsociable, seldom speaking, whether drunk or sober; but a weary, hard-up sundowner was always pretty certain to get a meal and a shake-down at Bogg's lonely but among the mullock heaps. It happened one dark night that a little push of local larrikins, having nothing better to amuse them, wended their way through the old mullock heaps in the direction of the lonely little bark hut, with the object of playing off an elaborately planned ghost joke on Bogg. Prior to commencing operations, the leader of the jokers put his eye to a crack in the bark to reconnoitre. He didn't see much, but what he did see seemed to interest him, for he kept his eye there till his mates grew impatient. Bogg sat in front of his rough little table with his elbows on the same, and his hands supporting his forehead. Before him on the table lay a few articles such as lady novelists and poets use in their work, and such as bitter cynics often wear secretly next their bitter, cynical11 hearts.
There was the usual faded letter, a portrait of a girl, something that looked like a pressed flower, and, of course, a lock of hair. Presently Bogg folded his arms over these things, and his face sank lower and lower, till nothing was visible to the unsuspected watcher except the drunkard's rough, shaggy hair; rougher and wilder looking in the uncertain light of the slush-lamp.
“Wot is it?” asked one, when they had gone some distance. The leader said, “We're a-goin' ter let 'im alone; that's wot it is.”
There was some demur13 at this, and an explanation was demanded; but the boss bully14 unbuttoned his coat, and spat15 on his hands, and said:
“We're a-goin' ter let Bogg alone; that's wot it is.”
So they went away and let Bogg alone.
A few days later the following paragraph appeared in the Geebung Times: “A well-known character named Bogg was found drowned in the river on Sunday last, his hat and coat being found on the bank. At a late hour on Saturday night a member of our staff saw a man walking slowly along the river bank, but it was too dark to identify the person.”
We suppose it was Bogg whom the Times reported, but of course we cannot be sure. The chances are that it was Bogg. It was pretty evident that he had committed suicide, and being “a well-known character,” no doubt he had reasons for his rash act. Perhaps he was walking by himself in the dark along the river bank, and thinking of those reasons when the Times man saw him. Strange to say, the world knows least about the lives and sorrows of “well-known characters” of this kind, no matter what their names might be, and—well, there is no reason why we should bore a reader, or waste any more space over a well-known character named Bogg.
点击收听单词发音
1 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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2 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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3 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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4 muddled | |
adj.混乱的;糊涂的;头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱,弄糟( muddle的过去式);使糊涂;对付,混日子 | |
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5 quotation | |
n.引文,引语,语录;报价,牌价,行情 | |
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6 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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7 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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8 mumbling | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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9 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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10 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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11 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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12 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 demur | |
v.表示异议,反对 | |
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14 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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15 spat | |
n.口角,掌击;v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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