Sometimes it was three o'clock before Roger squashed his last cigarette into the overloaded10 ashtray11, and he would undress in the darkness, disembodied with fatigue12, but with a sense of triumph that he had lasted out another day.
Christmas came and went and he scarcely noticed that it was gone. He remembered it afterward13 as the day he completed the window-cards for Garrod's shoes. This was one of the eight large accounts for which he was pointing in January—if he got half of them he was assured a quarter of a million dollars' worth of business during the year.
But the world outside his business became a chaotic14 dream. He was aware that on two cool December Sundays George Tompkins had taken Gretchen horseback riding, and that another time she had gone out with him in his automobile15 to spend the afternoon skiing on the country-club hill. A picture of Tompkins, in an expensive frame, had appeared one morning on their bedroom wall. And one night he was shocked into a startled protest when Gretchen went to the theatre with Tompkins in town.
But his work was almost done. Daily now his layouts arrived from the printers until seven of them were piled and docketed in his office safe. He knew how good they were. Money alone couldn't buy such work; more than he realized himself, it had been a labor5 of love.
December tumbled like a dead leaf from the calendar. There was an agonizing16 week when he had to give up coffee because it made his heart pound so. If he could hold on now for four days—three days——
On Thursday afternoon H. G. Garrod was to arrive in New York. On Wednesday evening Roger came home at seven to find Gretchen poring over the December bills with a strange expression in her eyes.
"What's the matter?"
She nodded at the bills. He ran through them, his brow wrinkling in a frown.
"Gosh!"
"I can't help it," she burst out suddenly. "They're terrible."
"Well, I didn't marry you because you were a wonderful housekeeper17. I'll manage about the bills some way. Don't worry your little head over it."
She regarded him coldly.
"You talk as if I were a child."
"I have to," he said with sudden irritation18.
"Well, at least I'm not a piece of bric-à-brac that you can just put somewhere and forget."
He knelt down by her quickly, and took her arms in his hands.
"Gretchen, listen!" he said breathlessly. "For God's sake, don't go to pieces now! We're both all stored up with malice19 and reproach, and if we had a quarrel it'd be terrible. I love you, Gretchen. Say you love me—quick!"
"You know I love you."
The quarrel was averted20, but there was an unnatural21 tenseness all through dinner. It came to a climax22 afterward when he began to spread his working materials on the table.
"Oh, Roger," she protested, "I thought you didn't have to work to-night."
"I didn't think I'd have to, but something came up."
"I've invited George Tompkins over."
"Oh, gosh!" he exclaimed. "Well, I'm sorry, honey, but you'll have to phone him not to come."
"He's left," she said. "He's coming straight from town. He'll be here any minute now."
Roger groaned23. It occurred to him to send them both to the movies, but somehow the suggestion stuck on his lips. He did not want her at the movies; he wanted her here, where he could look up and know she was by his side.
George Tompkins arrived breezily at eight o'clock.
"Aha!" he cried reprovingly, coming into the room. "Still at it."
Roger agreed coolly that he was.
"Better quit—better quit before you have to."
He sat down with a long sigh of physical comfort and lit a cigarette. "Take it from a fellow who's looked into the question scientifically. We can stand so much, and then—bang!"
"If you'll excuse me"—Roger made his voice as polite as possible—"I'm going up-stairs and finish this work."
"Just as you like, Roger." George waved his hand carelessly. "It isn't that I mind. I'm the friend of the family and I'd just as soon see the missus as the mister." He smiled playfully. "But if I were you, old boy, I'd put away my work and get a good night's sleep."
When Roger had spread out his materials on the bed up-stairs he found that he could still hear the rumble24 and murmur25 of their voices through the thin floor. He began wondering what they found to talk about. As he plunged26 deeper into his work his mind had a tendency to revert27 sharply to his question, and several times he arose and paced nervously28 up and down the room.
The bed was ill adapted to his work. Several times the paper slipped from the board on which it rested, and the pencil punched through. Everything was wrong to-night. Letters and figures blurred before his eyes, and as an accompaniment to the beating of his temples came those persistent29 murmuring voices.
At ten he realized that he had done nothing for more than an hour, and with a sudden exclamation30 he gathered together his papers, replaced them in his portfolio31, and went down-stairs. They were sitting together on the sofa when he came in.
"Oh, hello!" cried Gretchen, rather unnecessarily, he thought. "We were just discussing you."
"My health's all right," answered Roger shortly.
"But you look at it so selfishly, old fella," cried Tompkins. "You only consider yourself in the matter. Don't you think Gretchen has any rights? If you were working on a wonderful sonnet34 or a—a portrait of some madonna or something"—he glanced at Gretchen's Titian hair—"why, then I'd say go ahead. But you're not. It's just some silly advertisement about how to sell Nobald's hair tonic35, and if all the hair tonic ever made was dumped into the ocean to-morrow the world wouldn't be one bit the worse for it."
"Wait a minute," said Roger angrily; "that's not quite fair. I'm not kidding myself about the importance of my work—it's just as useless as the stuff you do. But to Gretchen and me it's just about the most important thing in the world."
"Are you implying that my work is useless?" demanded Tompkins incredulously.
"No; not if it brings happiness to some poor sucker of a pants manufacturer who doesn't know how to spend his money."
Tompkins and Gretchen exchanged a glance.
"Oh-h-h!" exclaimed Tompkins ironically. "I didn't realize that all these years I've just been wasting my time."
"You're a loafer," said Roger rudely.
"Me?" cried Tompkins angrily. "You call me a loafer because I have a little balance in my life and find time to do interesting things? Because I play hard as well as work hard and don't let myself get to be a dull, tiresome36 drudge37?"
Both men were angry now, and their voices had risen, though on Tompkins's face there still remained the semblance38 of a smile.
"What I object to," said Roger steadily39, "is that for the last six weeks you seem to have done all your playing around here."
"Roger!" cried Gretchen. "What do you mean by talking like that?"
"Just what I said."
"You've just lost your temper." Tompkins lit a cigarette with ostentatious coolness. "You're so nervous from overwork you don't know what you're saying. You're on the verge40 of a nervous break——"
"You get out of here!" cried Roger fiercely. "You get out of here right now—before I throw you out!"
Tompkins got angrily to his feet.
"You—you throw me out?" he cried incredulously.
They were actually moving toward each other when Gretchen stepped between them, and grabbing Tompkins's arm urged him toward the door.
"He's acting41 like a fool, George, but you better get out," she cried, groping in the hall for his hat.
"He insulted me!" shouted Tompkins. "He threatened to throw me out!"
"Never mind, George," pleaded Gretchen. "He doesn't know what he's saying. Please go! I'll see you at ten o'clock to-morrow."
She opened the door.
"You won't see him at ten o'clock to-morrow," said Roger steadily. "He's not coming to this house any more."
Tompkins turned to Gretchen.
"It's his house," he suggested. "Perhaps we'd better meet at mine."
Then he was gone, and Gretchen had shut the door behind him. Her eyes were full of angry tears.
"See what you've done!" she sobbed42. "The only friend I had, the only person in the world who liked me enough to treat me decently, is insulted by my husband in my own house."
She threw herself on the sofa and began to cry passionately43 into the pillows.
"He brought it on himself," said Roger stubbornly. "I've stood as much as my self-respect will allow. I don't want you going out with him any more."
"I will go out with him!" cried Gretchen wildly. "I'll go out with him all I want! Do you think it's any fun living here with you?"
"Gretchen," he said coldly, "get up and put on your hat and coat and go out that door and never come back!"
Her mouth fell slightly ajar.
"Well, then, behave yourself." And he added in a gentler voice: "I thought you were going to sleep for this forty days."
"Oh, yes," she cried bitterly, "easy enough to say! But I'm tired of sleeping." She got up, faced him defiantly45. "And what's more, I'm going riding with George Tompkins to-morrow."
"You won't go out with him if I have to take you to New York and sit you down in my office until I get through."
She looked at him with rage in her eyes.
"I hate you," she said slowly. "And I'd like to take all the work you've done and tear it up and throw it in the fire. And just to give you something to worry about to-morrow, I probably won't be here when you get back."
She got up from the sofa, and very deliberately46 looked at her flushed, tear-stained face in the mirror. Then she ran up-stairs and slammed herself into the bedroom.
Automatically Roger spread out his work on the living-room table. The bright colors of the designs, the vivid ladies—Gretchen had posed for one of them—holding orange ginger47 ale or glistening48 silk hosiery, dazzled his mind into a sort of coma49. His restless crayon moved here and there over the pictures, shifting a block of letters half an inch to the right, trying a dozen blues50 for a cool blue, and eliminating the word that made a phrase anæmic and pale. Half an hour passed—he was deep in the work now; there was no sound in the room but the velvety51 scratch of the crayon over the glossy52 board.
After a long while he looked at his watch—it was after three. The wind had come up outside and was rushing by the house corners in loud, alarming swoops53, like a heavy body falling through space. He stopped his work and listened. He was not tired now, but his head felt as if it was covered with bulging54 veins55 like those pictures that hang in doctors' offices showing a body stripped of decent skin. He put his hands to his head and felt it all over. It seemed to him that on his temple the veins were knotty56 and brittle57 around an old scar.
Suddenly he began to be afraid. A hundred warnings he had heard swept into his mind. People did wreck58 themselves with overwork, and his body and brain were of the same vulnerable and perishable59 stuff. For the first time he found himself envying George Tompkins's calm nerves and healthy routine. He arose and began pacing the room in a panic.
"I've got to sleep," he whispered to himself tensely. "Otherwise I'm going crazy."
He rubbed his hand over his eyes, and returned to the table to put up his work, but his fingers were shaking so that he could scarcely grasp the board. The sway of a bare branch against the window made him start and cry out. He sat down on the sofa and tried to think.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" the clock said. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
"I can't stop," he answered aloud. "I can't afford to stop."
Listen! Why, there was the wolf at the door now! He could hear its sharp claws scrape along the varnished60 woodwork. He jumped up, and running to the front door flung it open; then started back with a ghastly cry. An enormous wolf was standing61 on the porch, glaring at him with red, malignant62 eyes. As he watched it the hair bristled63 on its neck; it gave a low growl64 and disappeared in the darkness. Then Roger realized with a silent, mirthless laugh that it was the police dog from over the way.
Dragging his limbs wearily into the kitchen, he brought the alarm-clock into the living-room and set it for seven. Then he wrapped himself in his overcoat, lay down on the sofa and fell immediately into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
When he awoke the light was still shining feebly, but the room was the gray color of a winter morning. He got up, and looking anxiously at his hands found to his relief that they no longer trembled. He felt much better. Then he began to remember in detail the events of the night before, and his brow drew up again in three shallow wrinkles. There was work ahead of him, twenty-four hours of work; and Gretchen, whether she wanted to or not, must sleep for one more day.
Roger's mind glowed suddenly as if he had just thought of a new advertising65 idea. A few minutes later he was hurrying through the sharp morning air to Kingsley's drug-store.
"Is Mr. Kingsley down yet?"
The druggist's head appeared around the corner of the prescription-room.
"I wonder if I can talk to you alone."
At 7.30, back home again, Roger walked into his own kitchen. The general housework girl had just arrived and was taking off her hat.
"Bebé"—he was not on familiar terms with her; this was her name—"I want you to cook Mrs. Halsey's breakfast right away. I'll take it up myself."
It struck Bebé that this was an unusual service for so busy a man to render his wife, but if she had seen his conduct when he had carried the tray from the kitchen she would have been even more surprised. For he set it down on the dining-room table and put into the coffee half a teaspoonful66 of a white substance that was not powdered sugar. Then he mounted the stairs and opened the door of the bedroom.
Gretchen woke up with a start, glanced at the twin bed which had not been slept in, and bent67 on Roger a glance of astonishment68, which changed to contempt when she saw the breakfast in his hand. She thought he was bringing it as a capitulation.
"I don't want any breakfast," she said coldly, and his heart sank, "except some coffee."
"No breakfast?" Roger's voice expressed disappointment.
"I said I'd take some coffee."
Roger discreetly69 deposited the tray on a table beside the bed and returned quickly to the kitchen.
"We're going away until to-morrow afternoon," he told Bebé, "and I want to close up the house right now. So you just put on your hat and go home."
He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to eight, and he wanted to catch the 8.10 train. He waited five minutes and then tiptoed softly up-stairs and into Gretchen's room. She was sound asleep. The coffee cup was empty save for black dregs and a film of thin brown paste on the bottom. He looked at her rather anxiously, but her breathing was regular and clear.
From the closet he took a suitcase and very quickly began filling it with her shoes—street shoes, evening slippers70, rubber-soled oxfords—he had not realized that she owned so many pairs. When he closed the suitcase it was bulging.
He hesitated a minute, took a pair of sewing scissors from a box, and following the telephone-wire until it went out of sight behind the dresser, severed71 it in one neat clip. He jumped as there was a soft knock at the door. It was the nursemaid. He had forgotten her existence.
"Mrs. Halsey and I are going up to the city till to-morrow," he said glibly72. "Take Maxy to the beach and have lunch there. Stay all day."
Back in the room, a wave of pity passed over him. Gretchen seemed suddenly lovely and helpless, sleeping there. It was somehow terrible to rob her young life of a day. He touched her hair with his fingers, and as she murmured something in her dream he leaned over and kissed her bright cheek. Then he picked up the suitcase full of shoes, locked the door, and ran briskly down the stairs.
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1
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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commuting
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| 交换（的） | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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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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overloaded
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| a.超载的，超负荷的 | |
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ashtray
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| n.烟灰缸 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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24
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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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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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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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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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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dazedly
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| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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48
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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51
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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52
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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53
swoops
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| 猛扑，突然下降( swoop的名词复数 ) | |
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54
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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56
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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63
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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65
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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66
teaspoonful
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| n.一茶匙的量；一茶匙容量 | |
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67
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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68
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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69
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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70
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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71
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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72
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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