“Have you ever awarded prizes for school speaking?” inquired the telegraph-operator, Stuart.
“Ever have a chat afterwards with a mother whose girl did not get the prize?”
“It was boys,” I replied. “And parents had no say in it.”
“It's boys and girls in Sharon,” said he. “Parents have no say in it here, either. But that don't seem to occur to them at the moment. We'll all stick together, of course.”
“There are fathers also,” said Stuart. “But individual parents are small trouble compared with a big split in public opinion. We've missed that so far, though.”
“Then why have judges? Why not a popular vote?” I inquired.
“Don't go back on us,” said Stuart. “We are so few here. And you know education can't be democratic or where will good taste find itself? Eastman knows that much, at least.” And Stuart explained that Eastman was the head of the school and chairman of our committee. “He is from Massachusetts, and his taste is good, but he is total abstinence. Won't allow any literature with the least smell of a drink in it, not even in the singing-class. Would not have 'Here's a health to King Charles' inside the door. Narrowing, that; as many of the finest classics speak of wine freely. Eastman is useful, but a crank. Now take 'Lochinvar.' We are to have it on strawberry night; but say! Eastman kicked about it. Told the kid to speak something else. Kid came to me, and I—”
A smile lurked9 for one instant in the corner of Stuart's eye, and disappeared again. Then he drew his arm through mine as we walked.
“You have never seen anything in your days like Sharon,” said he. “You
could not sit down by yourself and make such a thing up. Shakespeare
might have, but he would have strained himself doing it. Well, Eastman
says 'Lochinvar' will go in my expurgated version. Too bad Sir Walter
cannot know. Ever read his Familiar Letters, Great grief! but he was a
good man. Eastman stuck about that mention of wine. Remember?
'So now am I come with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.'
'Well,' thought I, 'Eastman would agree to water. Water and daughter
How's this?
'So now am I come with this beautiful maid
To lead but one measure, drink one lemonade.'
Eastman accepts that. Says it's purer. Oh, it's not all sadness here!”
“How did you come to be in Sharon?” I asked my exotic acquaintance.
“Ah, how did I? How did all our crowd at the railroad? Somebody has got to sell tickets, somebody has got to run that hotel, and telegraphs have got to exist here. That's how we foreigners came. Many travellers change cars here, and one train usually misses the other, because the two companies do not love each other. You hear lots of language, especially in December. Eastern consumptives bound for southern California get left here, and drummers are also thick. Remarks range from 'How provoking!' to things I would not even say myself. So that big hotel and depot12 has to be kept running, and we fellows get a laugh now and then. Our lot is better than these people's.” He made a general gesture at Sharon.
“I should have thought it was worse,” said I. “No, for we'll be transferred some day. These poor folks are shipwrecked. Though it is their own foolishness, all this.”
Again my eye followed as he indicated the town with a sweep of his hand; and from the town I looked to the four quarters of heaven. I may have seen across into Old Mexico. No sign labels the boundary; the vacuum of continent goes on, you might think, to Patagonia. Symptoms of neighboring Mexico basked14 on the sand heaps along Sharon's spacious15 avenues—little torpid16, indecent gnomes17 in sashes and open rags, with crowning-steeple straw hats, and murder dozing18 in their small black eyes. They might have crawled from holes in the sand, or hatched out of brown cracked pods on some weeds that trailed through the broken bottles, the old shoes, and the wire fences. Outside these ramparts began the vacuum, white, gray, indigo19, florescent, where all the year the sun shines. Not the semblance20 of any tree dances in the heat; only rocks and lumps of higher sand waver and dissolve and reappear in the shaking crystal of mirage21. Not the scar of any river-bed furrows22 the void. A river there is, flowing somewhere out of the shiny violet mountains to the north, but it dies subterraneously23 on its way to Sharon, misses the town, and emerges thirty miles south across the sunlight in a shallow, futile24 lake, a cienaga, called Las Palomas. Then it evaporates into the ceaseless blue sky.
The water you get in Sharon is dragged by a herd25 of wind-wheels from the bowels26 of the sand. Over the town they turn and turn—Sharon's upper story—a filmy colony of slats. In some of the homes beneath them you may go up-stairs—in the American homes, not in the adobe27 Mexican caves of song, woman, and knives; and brick and stone edifices28 occur. Monuments of perished trade, these rise among their flatter neighbors cubical and stark29; under-shirts, fire-arms, and groceries for sale in the ground-floor, blind dust-windows above. Most of the mansions30, however, squat31 ephemerally upon the soil, no cellar to them, and no staircase, the total fragile box ready to bounce and caracole should the wind drive hard enough. Inside them, eating, mending, the newspaper, and more babies, eke33 out the twelvemonth; outside, the citizens loiter to their errands along the brief wide avenues of Sharon that empty into space. Men, women, and children move about in the town, sparse34 and casual, and over their heads in a white tribe the wind-wheels on their rudders veer35 to the breeze and indolently revolve36 above the gaping37 obsoleteness38. Through the dumb town the locomotive bell tolls39 pervadingly when a train of freight or passengers trundles in from the horizon or out along the dwindling40 fence of telegraph poles. No matter where you are, you can hear it come and go, leaving Sharon behind, an airy carcass, bleached41 and ventilated, sitting on the sand, with the sun and the hot wind pouring through its bones.
This town was the magnate's child, the thing that was to keep his memory green; and as I took it in on that first walk of discovery, Stuart told me its story: how the magnate had decreed the railroad shops should be here; how, at that, corner lots grew in a night; how horsemen galloped42 the streets, shooting for joy, and the hasty tents rose while the houses were hammered together; how they had song, dance, cards, whiskey, license43, murder, marriage, opera—the whole usual thing—regular as the clock in our West, in Australia, in Africa, in every virgin44 corner of the world where the Anglo-Saxon rushes to spend his animal spirits—regular as the clock, and in Sharon's case about fifteen minutes long. For they became greedy, the corner-lot people. They ran up prices for land which the railroad, the breath of their nostrils45, wanted. They grew ugly, forgetting they were dealing46 with a magnate, and that a railroad from ocean to ocean can take its shops somewhere else with appalling47 ease. Thus did the corner lots become sand again in a night. “And in the words of the poet,” concluded Stuart, “Sharon has an immense future behind it.”
Our talk was changed by the sight of a lady leaning and calling over a fence.
“Mrs. Jeffries,” said she. “Oh, Mrs. Jeffries!”
“Well?” called a voice next door.
“I want to send Leola and Arvasita into your yard.”
“Well?” the voice repeated.
“Our tool-house blew over into your yard last night. It's jammed behind your tank.”
“Oh, indeed!”
A window in the next house was opened, a head put out, and this occasioned my presentation to both ladies. They were Mrs. Mattern and Mrs. Jeffries, and they fell instantly into a stiff caution of deportment; but they speedily found I was not worth being cautious over. Stuart whispered to me that they were widows of high standing48, and mothers of competing favorites for the elocution prize; and I hastened to court their esteem49. Mrs. Mattern was in body more ample, standing high and yellow and fluffy50; but Mrs. Jeffries was smooth and small, and behind her spectacles she had an eye.
“You must not let us interrupt you, ladies,” said I, after some civilities. “Did I understand that something was to be carried somewhere?”
“You did,” said Mrs. Jeffries (she had come out of her house); “and I am pleased to notice no damage has been done to our fence—this time.”
“It would have been fixed right up at my expense, as always, Mrs. Jeffries,” retorted her neighbor, and started to keep abreast51 of Mrs. Jeffries as that lady walked and inspected the fence. Thus the two marched parallel along the frontier to the rear of their respective territories.
“You'll not resign?” said Stuart to me. “It is 'yours till death,' ain't it?”
I told him that it was.
“About once a month I can expect this,” said Mrs. Jeffries, returning along her frontier.
“Well, it's not the only case in Sharon, Mrs. Jeffries,” said Mrs. Mattern. “I'll remind you of them three coops when you kept poultry52, and they got away across the railroad, along with the barber's shop.”
“You are very accommodating, sir,” said Mrs. Mattern.
“One of the prize-awarding committee,” said Stuart. “An elegant judge of oratory55. Has decided many contests at Concord, the home of Emerson.”
“Concord, New Hampshire,” I corrected; but neither lady heard me.
“How splendid for Leola!” cried Mrs. Mattern, instantly. “Leola! Oh, Leola! Come right out here!”
Mrs. Jeffries has been more prompt. She was already in her house, and now came from it, bringing a pleasant-looking boy of sixteen, it might be. The youth grinned at me as he stood awkwardly, brought in shirtsleeves from the performance of some household work.
“This is Guy,” said his mother. “Guy took the prize last year. Guy hopes—”
“Shut up, mother,” said Guy, with entire sweetness. “I don't hope twice—”
“Twice or a dozen times should raise no hard feelings if my son is Sharon's best speaker,” cried Mrs. Jeffries, and looked across the fence viciously.
“Shut up, mother; I ain't,” said Guy.
“He is a master of humor recitations,” his mother now said to me. “Perhaps you know, or perhaps you do not know, how high up that is reckoned.”
“Why, mother, Leola can speak all around me. She can,” Guy added to me, nodding his head confidentially56.
I did not believe him, I think because I preferred his name to that of Leola.
“Leola will study in Paris, France,” announced Mrs. Mattern, arriving with her child. “She has no advantages here. This is the gentleman, Leola.”
But before I had more than noted57 a dark-eyed maiden58 who would not look at me, but stood in skirts too young for her figure, black stockings, and a dangle59 of hair that should have been up, her large parent had thrust into my hand a scrap-book.
“Here is what the Santa Fe Observer says;” and when I would have read, she read aloud for me. “The next is the Los Angeles Christian60 Home. And here's what they wrote about her in El Paso: 'Her histrionic genius for one so young'—it commences below that picture. That's Leola.” I now recognized the black stockings and the hair. “Here's what a literary lady in Lordsburg thinks,” pursued Mrs. Mattern.
“Never mind that,” murmured Leola.
“I shall.” And the mother read the letter to me. “Leola has spoke61 in five cultured cities,” she went on. “Arvasita can depict62 how she was encored at Albuquerque last Easter-Monday.”
“Yes, sir, three recalls,” said Arvasita, arriving at our group by the fence. An elder sister, she was, evidently. “Are you acquainted with 'Camill'?” she asked me, with a trifle of sternness; and upon my hesitating, “the celebrated63 French drayma of 'Camill',” she repeated, with a trifle more of sternness. “Camill is the lady in it who dies of consumption. Leola recites the letter-and-coughing scene, Act Third. Mr. Patterson of Coloraydo Springs pronounces it superior to Modjeska.”
“That is Leola again,” said Mrs. Mattern, showing me another newspaper cut—hair, stockings, and a candle this time.
“Sleep-walking scene, 'Macbeth,'” said Arvasita. “Leola's great night at the church fair and bazar, El Paso, in Shakespeare's acknowledged masterpiece. Leola's repetwar likewise includes 'Catherine the Queen before her Judges,' 'Quality of Mercy is not Strained,' 'Death of Little Nell,' 'Death of Paul Dombey,' 'Death of the Old Year,' 'Burial of Sir John Moore,' and other standard gems64 suitable for ladies.”
“No, momma, please not,” said Leola, and her voice made me look at her; something of appeal sounded in it.
“Come away, Guy,” suddenly snapped little Mrs. Jeffries. “We are wasting the gentleman's time. You are no infant prodigy67, and we have no pictures of your calves68 to show him in the papers.”
“Why, mother!” cried the boy, and he gave a brotherly look to Leola.
“As for wasting time, madam,” said I, with indignation, “you are wasting yours in attempting to prejudice the judges.”
“There!” said Guy.
“And, Mrs. Mattern,” continued, “if I may say so without offense70, the age (real or imaginary) of the speakers may make a difference in Albuquerque, but with our committee not the slightest.”
“Eastern ideas are ever welcome in Sharon,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “Good-morning.” And she removed Guy and herself into her house, while Mrs. Mattern and Arvasita, stiffly ignoring me, passed into their own door.
“Come have a drink,” said Stuart to me. “I am glad you said it. Old Mother Mattern will let down those prodigy skirts. The poor girl has been ashamed of them these two years, but momma has bulldozed her into staying young for stage effect. The girl's not conceited72, for a wonder, and she speaks well. It is even betting which of the two widows you have made the maddest.”
Close by the saloon we were impeded73 by a rush of small boys. They ran before and behind us suddenly from barrels and unforeseen places, and wedging and bumping between us, they shouted: “Chicken-legs! Ah, look at the chicken-legs!”
For a sensitive moment I feared they were speaking of me; but the folding slat-doors of the saloon burst open outward, and a giant barkeeper came among the boys and caught and shook them to silence.
I did not see why they should thus describe him. He stood and nodded to us, and jerked big thumb towards the departing flock. “Funny how a boy will never think,” said he, with amiability75. “But they'll grow up to be about as good as the rest of us, I guess. Don't you let them monkey with you, Josey!” he called.
“Naw, I won't,” said a voice. I turned and saw, by a barrel, a youth in knee-breeches glowering76 down the street at his routed enemies. He was possibly eight, and one hand was bound in a grimy rag. This was Chickenlegs.
“Did they harm you, Josey?” asked the giant.
“Naw, they didn't.”
“Not troubled your hand any?”
“Naw, they didn't.”
“Well, don't you let them touch you. We'll see you through.” And as we followed him in towards our drink through his folding slat-doors he continued discoursing77 to me, the newcomer. “I am against interfering78 with kids. I like to leave 'em fight and fool just as much as they see fit. Now them boys ain't malicious79, but they're young, you see, they're young, and misfortune don't appeal to them. Josey lost his father last spring, and his mother died last month. Last week he played with a freight car and left two of his fingers with it. Now you might think that was enough hardship.”
“Indeed yes,” I answered.
“Well!” I cried.
“So we're seeing him through.”
“This town is not going to permit any man to fool with Josey,” stated his opponent in the game.
“Or women either,” added a lounger by the bar, shaggy-bearded and also with a pistol.
“Mr. Abe Hanson,” said the barkeeper, presenting me to him. “Josey's father's partner. He's took the boy from the aunt and is going to see him through.”
“A member of the prize-awarding committee,” explained Stuart, and waved a hand at me.
They all brightened up and came round me.
“Heard my boy speak?” inquired one. “Reub Gadsden's his name.”
I told him I had heard no speaker thus far; and I mentioned Leola and Guy.
“What's the heifer speakin' this trip?” another inquired.
“Huh! Her!” said a third.
“You'll talk different, maybe, this time,” retorted the other.
“Not agin 'The Jumping Frog,' he won't,” the first insisted. “I near bust,” he repeated.
“I'd like for you to know my boy Reub,” said Mr. Gadsden to me, insinuatingly84.
“Quit fixing' the judge, Al,” said Leola's backer. “Reub forgets his words, an' says 'em over, an' balks85, an' mires86 down, an' backs out, an starts fresh, en' it's confusin' to foller him.”
“I'm glad to see you take so much interest, gentlemen,” said I.
“Yes, we're apt to see it through,” said the barkeeper. And Stuart and I bade them a good-morning.
As we neared the school-master's house, where Stuart was next taking me, we came again upon the boys with Josey, and no barkeeper at hand to “see him through.” But Josey made it needless. At the word “Chicken-legs” he flew in a limber manner upon the nearest, and knocking him immediately flat, turned with spirit upon a second and kicked him. At this they set up a screeching87 and fell all together, and the school-master came out of his door.
“Boys, boys!” said he. “And the Sabbath too!”
As this did not immediately affect them, Mr. Eastman made a charge, and they fled from him then. A long stocking of Josey's was torn, and hung in two streamers round his ankles; and his dangling88 shoe-laces were trodden to fringe.
“If you want your hand to get well for strawberry night—” began Mr. Eastman.
“Ah, bother strawberry night!” said Josey, and hopped89 at one of his playmates. But Mr. Eastman caught him skilfully90 by the collar.
“I am glad his misfortunes have not crushed him altogether,” said I.
“Josey Yeatts is an anxious case, sir,” returned the teacher. “Several influences threaten his welfare. Yesterday I found tobacco on him. Chewing, sir.”
“Just you hurt me,” said Josey, “and I'll tell Abe.”
“Abe!” exclaimed Mr. Eastman, lifting his brow. “He means a man old enough to be his father, sir. I endeavor to instill him with some few notions of respect, but the town spoils him. Indulges him completely, I may say. And when Sharon's sympathies are stirred sir, it will espouse91 a cause very warmly—Give me that!” broke off the schoolmaster, and there followed a brief wrestle92. “Chewing again to-day, sir,” he added to me.
But the calm, chilly94 Eastman had ground the tobacco under his heel. “You can understand how my hands are tied,” he said to me.
“Readily,” I answered.
“The men give Josey his way in everything. He has a—I may say an unworthy aunt.”
“Yes,” said I. “So I have gathered.”
At this point Josey ducked and slid free, and the united flock vanished with jeers95 at us. Josey forgot they had insulted him, they forgot he had beaten them; against a common enemy was their friendship cemented.
“I did, sir. No one could live here long without noticing it.”
“Sharon is a quiet town, but sudden,” remarked Stuart. “Apt to be sudden. They're beginning about strawberry night,” he said to Eastman. “Wanted to know about things down in the saloon.”
“How does their taste in elocution chiefly lie?” I inquired.
Eastman smiled. He was young, totally bald, the moral dome97 of his skull98 rising white above visionary eyes and a serious auburn beard. He was clothed in a bleak99, smooth slate-gray suit, and at any climax100 of emphasis he lifted slightly upon his toes and relaxed again, shutting his lips tight on the finished sentence. “Your question,” said he, “has often perplexed101 me. Sometimes they seem to prefer verse; sometimes prose stirs them greatly. We shall have a liberal crop of both this year. I am proud to tell you I have augmented102 our number of strawberry speakers by nearly fifty per cent.”
“How many will there be?” said I.
“Eleven. You might wish some could be excused. But I let them speak to stimulate103 their interest in culture. Will you not take dinner with me, gentlemen? I was just sitting down when little Josey Yeatts brought me out.”
We were glad to do this, and he opened another can of corned beef for us. “I cannot offer you wine, sir,” said he to me, “though I am aware it is a general habit in luxurious104 homes.” And he tightened105 his lips.
“General habit wherever they don't prefer whiskey,” said Stuart.
“I fear so,” the school-master replied, smiling. “That poison shall never enter my house, gentlemen, any more than tobacco. And as I cannot reform the adults of Sharon, I am doing what I can for their children. Little Hugh Straight is going to say his 'Lochinvar' very pleasingly, Mr. Stuart. I went over it with him last night. I like them to be word perfect,” he continued to me, “as failures on exhibition night elicit106 unfavorable comment.”
“And are we to expect failures also?” I inquired.
“Reuben Gadsden is likely to mortify107 us. He is an earnest boy, but nervous; and one or two others. But I have limited their length. Reuben Gadsden's father declined to have his boy cut short, and he will give us a speech of Burke's; but I hope for the best. It narrows down, it narrows down. Guy Jeffries and Leola Mattern are the two.”
“The parents seem to take keen interest,” said I.
Mr. Eastman smiled at Stuart. “We have no reason to suppose they have changed since last year,” said he. “Why, sir,” he suddenly exclaimed, “if I did not feel I was doing something for the young generation here, I should leave Sharon to-morrow! One is not appreciated, not appreciated.”
He spoke fervently108 of various local enterprises, his failures, his hopes, his achievements; and I left his house honoring him, but amazed—his heart was so wide and his head so narrow; a man who would purify with simultaneous austerity the morals of Lochinvar and of Sharon.
“About once a month,” said Stuart, “I run against a new side he is blind on. Take his puzzlement as to whether they prefer verse or prose. Queer and dumb of him that, you see. Sharon does not know the difference between verse and prose.”
“That's going too far,” said I.
“They don't,” he repeated, “when it comes to strawberry night. If the piece is about something they understand, rhymes do not help or hinder. And of course sex is apt to settle the question.”
“Then I should have thought Leola—” I began.
“Not the sex of the speaker. It's the listeners. Now you take women. Women generally prefer something that will give them a good cry. We men want to laugh mostly.”
“Yes,” said I; “I would rather laugh myself, I think.”
“You'd know you'd rather if you had to live in Sharon. The laugh is one of the big differences between women and men, and I would give you my views about it, only my Sunday-off time is up, and I've got to go to telegraphing.”
“Our ways are together,” said I. “I'm going back to the railroad hotel.”
“There's Guy,” continued Stuart. “He took the prize on 'The Jumping Frog.' Spoke better than Leola, anyhow. She spoke 'The Wreck13 of the Hesperus.' But Guy had the back benches—that's where the men sit—pretty well useless. Guess if there had been a fire, some of the fellows would have been scorched109 before they'd have got strength sufficient to run out. But the ladies did not laugh much. Said they saw nothing much in jumping a frog. And if Leola had made 'em cry good and hard that night, the committee's decision would have kicked up more of a fuss than it did. As it was, Mrs. Mattern got me alone; but I worked us around to where Mrs. Jeffries was having her ice-cream, and I left them to argue it out.”
“Let us adhere to that policy,” I said to Stuart; and he replied nothing, but into the corner of his eye wandered that lurking110 smile which revealed that life brought him compensations.
He went to telegraphing, and I to revery concerning strawberry night. I found myself wishing now that there could have been two prizes; I desired both Leola and Guy to be happy; and presently I found the matter would be very close, so far at least as my judgment111 went. For boy and girl both brought me their selections, begging I would coach them, and this I had plenty of leisure to do. I preferred Guy's choice—the story of that blue-jay who dropped nuts through the hole in a roof, expecting to fill it, and his friends came to look on and discovered the hole went into the entire house. It is better even than “The Jumping Frog”—better than anything, I think—and young Guy told it well. But Leola brought a potent112 rival on the tearful side of things. “The Death of Paul Dombey” is plated pathos113, not wholly sterling114; but Sharon could not know this; and while Leola most prettily115 recited it to me I would lose my recent opinion in favor of Guy, and acknowledge the value of her performance. Guy might have the men strong for him, but this time the women were going to cry. I got also a certain other sort of entertainment out of the competing mothers. Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs. Mattern had a way of being in the hotel office at hours when I passed through to meals. They never came together, and always were taken by surprise at meeting me.
“Leola is ever so grateful to you,” Mrs. Mattern would say.
“Oh,” I would answer, “do not speak of it. Have you ever heard Guy's 'Blue-Jay' story?”
“Well, if it's anything like that frog business, I don't want to.” And the lady would leave me.
“Oh yes, I'm severe,”' I answered, brightly. “I let nothing pass. I only wish I was as careful with Leola. But as soon as she begins 'Paul had never risen from his little bed,' I just lose myself listening to her.”
On the whole, there were also compensations for me in these mothers, and I thought it as well to secure them in advance.
When the train arrived from El Paso, and I saw our strawberries and our ice-cream taken out, I felt the hour to be at hand, and that whatever our decision, no bias117 could be laid to me. According to his prudent118 habit, Eastman had the speakers follow each other alphabetically119. This happened to place Leola after Guy, and perhaps might give her the last word, as it were, with the people; but our committee was there, and superior to such accidents. The flags and the bunting hung gay around the draped stage. While the audience rustled120 or resoundingly trod to its chairs, and seated neighbors conferred solemnly together over the programme, Stuart, behind the bunting, played “Silver Threads among the Gold” upon a melodeon.
“Pretty good this,” he said to me, pumping his feet.
“What?” I said.
“Tune. Sharon is for free silver.”
“No. But I have a way of enjoying a thing by myself.” And he pumped away, playing with tasteful variations until the hall was full and the singing-class assembled in gloves and ribbons.
They opened the ceremonies for us by rendering122 “Sweet and Low” very happily; and I trusted it was an omen7.
Sharon was hearty123, and we had “Sweet and Low” twice. Then the speaking began, and the speakers were welcomed, coming and going, with mild and friendly demonstrations124. Nothing that one would especially mark went wrong until Reuben Gadsden. He strode to the middle of the boards, and they creaked beneath his tread. He stood a moment in large glittering boots and with hair flat and prominently watered. As he straightened from his bow his suspender-buttons came into view, and remained so for some singular internal reason, while he sent his right hand down into the nearest pocket and began his oratory.
“It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,” he said, impressively, and stopped.
We waited, and presently he resumed:
“It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France.” He took the right hand out and put the left hand in.
“It is sixteen or seventeen years,” said he, and stared frowning at his boots.
I found the silence was getting on my nerves. I felt as if it were myself who was drifting to idiocy125, and tremulous empty sensations began to occur in my stomach. Had I been able to recall the next sentence, I should have prompted him.
And down deep back among the men came a voice, “Well, I guess it must be, Reub.”
This snapped the tension. I saw Reuben's boots march away; Mr. Eastman came from behind the bunting and spoke (I suppose) words of protest. I could not hear them, but in a minute, or perhaps two, we grew calm, and the speaking continued.
There was no question what they thought of Guy and Leola. He conquered the back of the room. They called his name, they blessed him with endearing audible oaths, and even the ladies smiled at his pleasant, honest face—the ladies, except Mrs. Mattern. She sat near Mrs. Jeffries, and throughout Guy's “Blue-Jay” fanned herself, exhibiting a well-sustained inattention. She might have foreseen that Mrs. Jeffries would have her turn. When the “Death of Paul Dombey” came, and handkerchiefs began to twinkle out among the audience, and various noises of grief were rising around us, and the men themselves murmured in sympathy, Mrs. Jeffries not only preserved a suppressed-hilarity countenance126, but managed to cough twice with a cough that visibly bit into Mrs. Mattern's soul.
But Leola's appealing cadences127 moved me also. When Paul was dead, she made her pretty little bow, and we sat spellbound, then gave her applause surpassing Guy's. Unexpectedly I found embarrassment128 of choice dazing me, and I sat without attending to the later speakers. Was not successful humor more difficult than pathos? Were not tears more cheaply raised than laughter? Yet, on the other hand, Guy had one prize, and where merit was so even—I sat, I say, forgetful of the rest of the speakers, when suddenly I was aware of louder shouts of welcome, and I awaked to Josey Yeatts bowing at us.
“Spit it out, Josey!” a large encouraging voice was crying in the back of the hall. “We'll see you through.”
“Don't be scared, Josey!” yelled another.
“I love little pussy131 her coat is so warm And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm I'll sit by the fi-yer and give her some food And pussy will love me because I am good.”
That was all. It had come without falter132 or pause, even for breath. Josey stood, and the room rose to him.
“Again! again!” they roared. “He ain't a bit scared!” “Go it, Josey!” “You don't forgit yer piece!” And a great deal more, while they pounded with their boots.
“I love little pussy,” began Josey.
“Poor darling!” said a lady next me. “No mother.”
“I'll sit by the fi-yer.”
Josey was continuing. But nobody heard him finish. The room was a Babel.
“Look at his little hand!” “Only three fingers inside them rags!” “Nobody to mend his clothes any more.” They all talked to each other, and clapped and cheered, while Josey stood, one leg slightly advanced and proudly stiff, somewhat after the manner of those military engravings where some general is seen erect133 upon an eminence134 at the moment of victory.
Mr. Eastman again appeared from the bunting, and was telling us, I have no doubt, something of importance; but the giant barkeeper now shouted above the din32, “Who says Josey Yeatts ain't the speaker for this night?”
At that striking of the common chord I saw them heave, promiscuous135 and unanimous, up the steps to the stage. Josey was set upon Abe Hanson's shoulder, while ladies wept around him. What the literary committee might have done I do not know, for we had not the time even to resign. Guy and Leola now appeared, bearing the prize between them—a picture of Washington handing the Bible out of clouds to Abraham Lincoln—and very immediately I found myself part of a procession. Men and women we were, marching about Sharon. The barkeeper led; four of Sharon's fathers followed him, escorting Josey borne aloft on Abe Hanson's shoulder, and rigid136 and military in his bearing. Leola and Guy followed with the picture; Stuart walked with me, whistling melodies of the war—Dixie and others. Eastman was not with us. When the ladies found themselves conducted to the saloon, they discreetly137 withdrew back to the entertainment we had broken out from. Josey saw them go, and shrilly138 spoke his first word:
“Ain't I going to have any ice-cream?”
This presently caused us to return to the ladies, and we finished the evening with entire unity139 of sentiment. Eastman alone took the incident to heart; inquired how he was to accomplish anything with hands tied, and murmured his constant burden once more: “One is not appreciated, not appreciated.”
I do not stop over in Sharon any more. My ranch140 friend, whose presence there brought me to visit him, is gone away. But such was my virgin experience of the place; and in later days fate led me to be concerned with two more local competitions—one military and one civil—which greatly stirred the population. So that I never pass Sharon on my long travels without affectionately surveying the sandy, quivering, bleached town, unshaded by its twinkling forest of wind-wheels. Surely the heart always remembers a spot where it has been merry! And one thing I should like to know—shall know, perhaps: what sort of citizen in our republic Josey will grow to be. For whom will he vote? May he not himself come to sit in Washington and make laws for us? Universal suffrage141 holds so many possibilities.
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1
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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2
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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immortally
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| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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8
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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10
fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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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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12
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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13
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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14
basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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17
gnomes
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| n.矮子( gnome的名词复数 )；侏儒；（尤指金融市场上搞投机的）银行家；守护神 | |
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18
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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19
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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20
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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21
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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22
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23
subterraneously
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| adj.地下的，隐匿的 | |
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24
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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25
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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26
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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27
adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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28
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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29
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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30
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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31
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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32
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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33
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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34
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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35
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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36
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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37
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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38
obsoleteness
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| 废弃 | |
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39
tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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40
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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41
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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42
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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43
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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44
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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45
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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46
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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47
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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48
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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49
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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50
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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51
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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52
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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53
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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54
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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55
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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56
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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57
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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58
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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59
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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60
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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61
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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62
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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63
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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64
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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65
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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66
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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68
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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69
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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70
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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71
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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72
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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73
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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75
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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76
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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77
discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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78
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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79
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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80
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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81
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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82
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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83
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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84
insinuatingly
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85
balks
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的第三人称单数 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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86
mires
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| n.泥潭( mire的名词复数 ) | |
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87
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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88
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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89
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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90
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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91
espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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92
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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93
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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95
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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96
espousing
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的现在分词 ) | |
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97
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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98
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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99
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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100
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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101
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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102
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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103
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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104
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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105
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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106
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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107
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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108
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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109
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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110
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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111
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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112
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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113
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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114
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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115
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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alphabetically
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| adv.照字母顺序排列地 | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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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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127
cadences
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| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
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128
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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136
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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