Edwards had already detached himself from the group, feeling that he must be alone to think upon the tremendous and horrible revelation which had just dawned upon his mind. As Saurin passed him he hissed4 in his ear the one word “Fool!” And there was such an evil look of mingled5 rage and fear on his face as the human countenance6 is seldom deformed7 by.
But Edwards met it without quailing8, and there was nothing but aversion in the glance he gave him back. The scales had fallen from his eyes, and his infatuation was dissipated. Never again was he to listen greedily to Saurin’s words, and think them wiser than any others. Never more would he admire and applaud him; build castles in the air, forming wild projects for the future, in his company, or associate willingly with him. They exchanged no other word, and Saurin went his way, strolling in a leisurely9 manner till he was out of sight; and then quickening his pace he took the direction of Slam’s yard. At the rate he was walking he soon got there, and going round to the well-known back-door, he knocked. It was not long before he saw an eye reconnoitring him through a crack.
“Come, do not keep me waiting here all day while you are squinting10 through that hole!” he cried with a savage11 oath. “Let me in.”
Josiah Slam said apologetically that he wanted to make sure who it was, and admitted him.
“Have you got the money, master?” he asked.
“I have got four pounds, and that is all we can raise. It is as much as we have had in cash, and if you will give up that memorandum12 for it I will pay it you.”
“Nonsense! it’s for five pund, I tell yer, and five pund I will have.”
“No you won’t; I cannot get it. So if you won’t take the four, let me out. You may do your worst.”
“Come, say four ten.”
“You fool, don’t you see I am in earnest!” cried Saurin, his suppressed rage bursting out. “Why, I would cut your dirty throat if—” He restrained himself and said, “Fetch the paper if you mean to; I cannot breathe the same air as a man who has threatened me, and I won’t stand bargaining here a minute longer.”
Josiah Slam knew when he had got his victim in a corner, and desperate to biting pitch; so without another word he fetched the I O U and gave it to Saurin, who simultaneously13 handed him two sovereigns and four half-sovereigns. The fellow took it with a chuckle14, for he had never had the slightest intention of getting himself into trouble, which he assuredly would by attempting to make any use of that bit of paper. Call upon Dr Jolliffe indeed, to get a couple of school-boys, whom he had fleeced, into a shindy! Not worth the trouble for him, indeed. But it occurred to him that the threat might bring cash, and it had.
“Won’t yer come in and have something?”
“Let me out!”
“Well, if you must go, here you are. Good-bye, young gent, and better luck next time. And if when yer goes racing15, yer wants—” Saurin was out of hearing.
“Bless ’em,” continued Mr Slam, junior, “I should like to know a few more like them two young gents a good bit richer. Well, they are about somewhere, if one could but light on ’em.”
Saurin did not return to Weston at once, but walked as fast as he could put foot to ground along the lanes and the highroad, trying by physical exertion16 to numb17 thought, and he partly succeeded, now and then, for a short time, but black care soon caught him up again, and brooded over his shoulder.
A voice which did not seem to emanate18 from his own brain kept repeating, “What you have done can never be undone19; never, never. Not if you live to be a hundred; not for all eternity20.” “It can, it shall,” he replied. “Only let me escape suspicion, and I will make it up over and over again.” “That would not make what has happened, not to have happened.” “It is only one act.” “Self-deceiver, you have been growing to it for years, your corruption21 has been gradual, and this is the natural result. You will go on now; each time it will come easier to you, until you grow to think nothing of it. Read your future—outcast, jail-bird.” “No, no; I will lead a new life, work hard, avoid bad company.” “Avoid bad company! I like that! What company can be worse than your own now?” “I will not sink deeper; no one knows.” “You forget; one does know, others may know, will know.” “I could not bear that; I would destroy myself and escape the shame.” “Destroy yourself indeed! I defy you; you cannot do it. You may kill yourself; it is not at all unlikely; but that is not destruction, but only the commission of another crime.”
This inward voice became so real to him that he thought he must be possessed22 or else going mad. Suppose it were the latter, and he let the truth out in his delirium23! He determined24 to live by rule, to study hard, to be conciliatory, not to draw observation on himself. And to begin with, he must be getting back to Weston; it would never do to be late, and risk questioning.
The first time he had an opportunity of speaking to Edwards alone he said, “I have seen that man as I promised, and there is nothing to fear from him. I have secured his silence.”
“At what a price!” sighed Edwards.
“Look here,” murmured Saurin, turning on him fiercely; “if it is as you think, you take advantage of it, which is just as bad. We are in the same boat, and must sink or swim together. What is done cannot be undone; don’t be a fool. If your weakness excites suspicion it will be ruin to both of us.”
They hated the sight of one another now, these two inseparables. What revolted Edwards most of all was the other’s insinuation about Crawley. It was all of a piece with his conduct when Buller was accused of that poaching business, and showed his true character. Days went by and they never spoke26 to one another of the shameful27 secret they shared, and indeed rarely on any other subject. They would have avoided all association if it had not been for the fear of exciting suspicion. They were more attentive28 to their studies, and at the same time took a more prominent part in the school games than either had done for a long time:
Edwards, because it was his natural bent29 to do so when freed from other influences; and Saurin, partly from prudence30, partly because he was making a struggle to escape from the net which he felt that evil habits had thrown around him. He was like one who has been walking in a fog along the brink31 of a precipice32, and discovers his position by setting a foot on the very edge and nearly falling over. He shrank from the abyss which he now saw yawning for him. At the same time he exerted himself to become popular, and since he was no longer anxious to thrust himself perpetually into the foremost place, he was not without success.
“What a much better fellow Saurin is now he has given up going to that Slam’s yard!” said one of his intimates, and his hearers acquiesced33. He had never repeated that abominable34 hint about the possibility of Crawley’s not having lost the money at all; but Gould had taken up the idea, and the gossip had spread, as such ill-natured talk about any one who is popular or in a higher position than others, is sure to do. Very few, if any, really believed that there was a grain of truth in the notion, but some thought it clever to talk as if they did, just to be different from the majority. Others might jump to a conclusion, swallowing all that the popular idol35 chose to tell them, but they withheld36 their judgment37. Unluckily these rumours38 reached Crawley’s ears; some friendly ass3 “thought he ought to know,” as is always the case when anything unpleasant is said, and it fretted39 and annoyed him exceedingly.
It also had the effect of annulling40 a movement which was being set on foot to make up the missing money by subscription, the notion of which emanated41 curiously42 enough from the same source as the scandal. Saurin had thrown out the hint as a sneer43, not a suggestion, but it was taken up by some honest lad in the latter sense. It had been submitted to the masters, who not only approved but were anxious to head the subscription, and the whole thing could have been done at once without anyone feeling it. But Crawley called a special meeting, and the pupil-room was crammed44 to overflowing45 this time to hear what he had to say, which was this: “I have asked you to come for a personal and not a public reason. I am told that it is proposed to raise a subscription to make up the four pounds twelve the fund has been robbed of. Now, though I was perhaps not careful enough, I could hardly expect my keys to be taken out of a coat and the box opened during a short absence, and so I should have been very glad not to have to bear this loss, for which, of course, I am solely46 responsible, alone. But some kind friends (Gould, I believe, started the idea) are pleased to say that I have robbed myself; that is, I have spent the money intrusted to me and invented the story of a robbery.” (“Oh! oh! shame! shame!”) “Well, yes, I think it was rather a shame, and I am glad you are indignant about it. But the accusation47 having been once made, of course I cannot accept the kind suggestion to make the loss good.”
There was a great hubbub48 and loud protestations, but Crawley was firm. His honour was at stake, he said, and he must repay the money himself; then his traducers at all events could not say that he had profited by holding the office of treasurer49. Those who had indulged in idle innuendoes50 were heartily51 ashamed and sorry, and Gould for a short time was the most unpopular boy in the school. Crawley cut him dead.
The day following this special meeting was Saturday, exactly one week after the robbery, and the day appointed for the football match between the houses of Head-master and Cookson. I fear that a detailed52 account of this match would hardly interest you, for this reason. The Head-master, whose scholarship and capacity worked up Weston to that state of prosperity which it has maintained ever since, was an Etonian, and the games instituted under his auspices53 were played according to Eton rules. Dr Jolliffe had also been educated at the same school, and thought everything connected with it almost sacred. So it happened that the Rugby game of hand-and-football had never supplanted54 the older English pastime, which it has now become so much the fashion to despise, and which, indeed, if it were not for the Eton clubs at Oxford55, Cambridge, and elsewhere, might disappear as the national rats did before the Hanoverian. The Westonians then used round, not oblong footballs; their object was to work the ball between the goal-posts, not over a bar at the top of them; and it was unlawful to touch it with the hands unless caught in the air, and then only for a drop-kick.
I do not advocate one game more than the other; both to my thinking are excellent, and I have no sympathy with those who would suppress every pastime which is fraught56 with some roughness and danger. The tendency of civilisation57 is naturally towards softness, effeminacy, and a dread58 of pain or discomfort59; and these evils are far more serious than bruises60, sprains61, broken collar-bones, or even occasionally a more calamitous62 accident.
However, the chances are that my reader is all in favour of the Rugby game, and would therefore follow the changes and chances of the present match with but little interest. It was exciting enough, however, to those who were engaged in it, for Cookson’s made a better fight of it than their opponents expected. They had been practising with great pains, and their team worked well together and backed each other up excellently. So that, quite early in the match, the ball having been some time at their end, and they acting63 solely on the defensive64, Jolliffe’s thought they were going to carry all before them and got a little rash and careless; those who should have kept back to guard their own end pressing too far forwards, when Edwards, who was fleet of foot and really good at seizing chances, got a clear kick at the ball which sent it over the heads of the attackers into the middle of the field, and, getting through to it again, began dribbling65 it towards the hostile goal with a series of short kicks, having a start of the field, who, seeing their error, were now racing back to their own end. The goal-keeper dashed out and met Edwards in full career, both kicking the ball at the same time; but another on the Cookson side, who had been keeping close in view of such a contingency66, got a fair chance at the ball, which slipped sideways from the two, and sent it sheer between the posts, scoring a goal for Cookson’s.
The success of such a simple manoeuvre67 was equivalent to a “fools’ mate” at chess, and was a lesson to Jolliffe’s never to despise their enemy. They were not to be caught napping again, however, and, by dint68 of steady, persistent69, concentrated play, they too got a goal and equalised matters. Then, after a considerable period, during which the advantages fluctuated, they obtained a rooge. If, in the old game, the ball is kicked behind the goal-posts but not between them, there arises a struggle between the contending sides to touch it with the hand. If one of the defenders70, those behind whose goal the ball has passed, does so first, nothing has happened, and the ball is kicked off again for renewal71 of the game. But should one of the opposite side so touch it, a rooge is gained. The rooge is formed close in front of the defenders’ goal, they being clustered in a semicircle with their backs to it, and with a big and heavy member of the team for the central pillar, who plants his heel firmly in the ground, the ball being placed against his foot. The opposite side complete the circle, leaving an opening for one of their number to rush in and get a good kick at the ball—they instantly closing upon him and endeavouring to force the whole surging, struggling mass bodily back between the posts, ball and all; if they cannot make an opening they send the ball through alone—the defenders, of course, endeavouring to force the ball out sideways, and either touch it down behind their goal or get it away from their end altogether. One goal counts more than any number of rooges; but when no goal is made at all, or the number of them on each side is equal, the rooges decide the game.
Ends were changed, and after a good deal of play without result Cookson’s also scored a rooge, and matters were equal again; after which the Jolliffe team, which was the strongest physically72, kept the ball entirely73 in the neighbourhood of the Cookson goals. For the latter had made great exertions74, and were tiring fast. The time fixed75 for leaving off play was now approaching; and if they could only keep matters as they were a little longer they would make a drawn76 match of it, which would be of itself a triumph, considering that their opponents, with the redoubtable77 Crawley at their head, were reckoned so much the stronger.
“Come, we must get one more rooge,” said the Jolliffe captain, “and weak as they are getting we ought to turn it into a goal.” And pursuing his determination he dribbled78 the ball up close to the base line, sent it behind the goal-posts, and rushed forward to touch it down. Edwards ran up to it at the same time to touch it first, and a collision ensued which sent him flying. Near that spot there was a tree with seats round it, and Edwards fell heavily with his side against a corner of this wooden settle. Crawley touched the ball down.
“You have given us all our work to get this!” he called out to the other, laughing; and then seeing that Edwards was lying on the ground, he added, “You are not hurt, old fellow, are you? Only blown?”
But as the other was not in the position in which any one would lie still a moment to get breath, he went up to him and repeated his question.
“I don’t know; I—I feel rather queer,” was the reply.
Crawley stooped, and put his arms round his body to raise him up, but Edwards shrieked79 out, “Ah! don’t; that hurts!”
The other players now gathered round, and many offered well-meaning but absurd suggestions. One practical youth ran off, however, to Cookson’s house to report what had happened, and then returned with a chair. By the time he got back Edwards had managed to rise, and was sitting on the settle, very faint. They managed to transfer him to the chair, and carried him home in it very gently, and by the time he was laid on his bed, which had been got ready, the doctor arrived. A couple of ribs80 were broken, he said, after an examination which made poor Edwards groan81 a good deal; but he did not think there was much more the matter, which words were a great comfort to Crawley, who began to fear that he might have been the cause of the boy’s death. He was quite sufficiently82 sorry and vexed83 as it was, and would have liked to nurse him if he had been allowed.
It was just as well for his reading that they were not in the same house, for he spent all the hours that he was out of school, and not necessarily in his own tutor’s, by Edwards’ bedside. You cannot fall with your side against a sharp angle heavily enough to break a couple of ribs without feeling it afterwards, I can tell you, so you had better not try, and Edwards suffered a good deal from pain and difficulty of breathing for a few days, and when the inflammation was got down, and he felt more easy, he was kept back by a great depression of spirits.
“One would say that the boy had something on his mind!” said the doctor to Mr Cookson, “but that is impossible. At his age we possess no minds worth speaking about to have anything upon;” and so he lost the scent84 after hitting it off to go on the trail of a witticism85, which after all was not very brilliant.
Edwards was delirious86 one night, and astonished the housekeeper87, a motherly dame88 who sat up with him, by his talk on the occasion.
“Look here!” he said; and thinking he wanted drink or something she got out of her chair and leaned over him; “let us have five shillings on the black this time; it has gone red four times running, and that can’t go on, can it?”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs Blobbs, wondering whatever the boy’s distracted fancy was running on. “Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” he then cried. “I’ll have nothing to say to it. Let us stand our chance rather. Not that way; not that way; no, no, that’s making bad worse. I won’t! I won’t!”
That was only one night, however, the third after the accident, and he was all right in his head next morning, only so terribly depressed89. Saurin never came near him.
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收听单词发音
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1
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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mingled
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| 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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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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quailing
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的现在分词 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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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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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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emanate
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| v.发自，来自，出自 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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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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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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annulling
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| v.宣告无效( annul的现在分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
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emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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48
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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50
innuendoes
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| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
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51
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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52
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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53
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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54
supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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56
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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sprains
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| 扭伤( sprain的名词复数 ) | |
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calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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