Choosing the least soiled of the broken-springed, red-velveted seats in the white compartment4 of the single passenger car, he set his bag down and sank weariedly back. Through the small window beside him he saw the Limited take up its jolting5 progress once more, and watched the[44] station-agent deposit his trunk in the baggage-car ahead, which, with the single passenger-coach, comprised the Corunna train. Then followed five minutes during which nothing happened. Winthrop sighed resignedly and strove to find interest in the view. But there was little to see from where he sat; a corner of the station, a section of platform adorned6 with a few bales of cotton, a crate7 of live chickens, and a bag of raw peanuts, a glimpse of the forest which crept down to the very edge of the track, a wide expanse of cloudless blue sky. Through the open door and windows, borne on the lazy sun-warmed air, came the gentle wheezing8 of the engine ahead, the sudden discordant9 chatter10 of a bluejay, and the murmurous11 voices of two negro women in the other compartment. There was no hint of Winter in the air, although November was almost a week old; instead, it was warm, languorous12, scented14 with the odors of the forest and tinged15 at times with the pleasantly acrid16 smell of burning pitch-pine from the engine.[45] It was strangely soft, that air, soft and soothing17 to tired nerves, and Winthrop felt its influence and sighed. But this time the sigh was not one of resignation; rather of surrender. He stretched his legs as well as he might in the narrow space afforded them, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized until this moment how tired he was! The engine sobbed18 and wheezed19 and the negroes beyond the closed door murmured on.
“Your ticket, sir, if you please.”
Winthrop opened his eyes and blinked. The train was swaying along between green, sunlit forest walls, and at his side the conductor was waiting with good-humored patience. Winthrop yielded the last scrap20 of his green strip and sat up. Suddenly the wood fell behind on either side, giving place to wide fields which rolled back from the railroad to disappear over tiny hills. They were fertile, promising-looking fields, chocolate-hued, covered with sere21, brown cotton-plants to which here and there tufts of white still clung. Rail fences[46] zigzagged22 between them, and fire-blackened pine stumps23 marred24 their neatness. At intervals25 the engine emitted a doleful screech26 and a narrow road crossed the track to amble27 undecidedly away between the fields. At such moments Winthrop caught glimpses of an occasional log cabin with its tipsy, clay-chinked chimney and its invariable congress of lean chickens and leaner dogs. Now and then a commotion29 along the track drew his attention to a scurrying30, squealing31 drove of pigs racing32 out of danger. Then for a time the woods closed in again, and presently the train slowed down before a small station. Winthrop reached tentatively toward his bag, but at that instant the sign came into sight, “Cowper,” he read, and settled back again.
Apparently33 none boarded the train and none got off, and presently the journey began once more. The conductor entered, glanced at Winthrop, decided28 that he didn’t look communicative and so sat himself down in the corner and leisurely34 bit the corner off a new plug of tobacco.
The fields came into sight again, and once a comfortable-looking residence gazed placidly35 down at the passing train from the crest36 of a nearby hill. But Winthrop saw without seeing. His thoughts were reviewing once more the chain of circumstances which had led link by link to the present moment. His thoughts went no further back than that painful morning nearly two years before when he had discovered Gerald Potter huddled37 over his desk, a revolver beside him on the floor, and his face horrible with the stains of blood and of ink from the overturned ink-stand. They had been friends ever since college days, Gerald and he, and the shock had never quite left him. During the subsequent work of disentangling the affairs[48] of the firm the thing haunted him like a nightmare, and when the last obligation had been discharged, Winthrop’s own small fortune going with the rest, he had broken down completely. Nervous prostration38, the physician called it. Looking back at it now Winthrop had a better name for it, and that was, Hell. There had been moments when he feared he would die, and interminable nights when he feared he wouldn’t, when he had cried like a baby and begged to be put out of misery39. There had been two months of that, and then they had bundled him off to a sanitarium in the Connecticut hills. There he, who a few months before had been a strong, capable man of thirty-eight, found himself a weak, helpless, emaciated40 thing with no will of his own, a mere41 sleeping and waking automaton42, more interested in watching the purple veins43 on the backs of his thin hands than aught else in his limited world. At times he could have wept weakly from self-pity.
But that, too, had passed. One sparkling[49] September morning he lay stretched at length in a long chair on the uncovered veranda44, a flood of inspiriting sunlight upon him, and a little breeze, brisk with the cool zest45 of Autumn, stirring his hair. And he had looked up from the white and purple hands and had seen a new world of green and gold and blue spread before him at his feet, a twelve-mile panorama46 of Nature’s finest work retouched and varnished47 overnight. He had feasted his eyes upon it and felt a glad stirring at his heart. And that day had marked the beginning of a new stage of recovery; he had asked, “How long?”
The last week in October had seen his release. He had returned to his long-vacant apartment in New York fully48 determined49 to start at once the work of rebuilding his fallen fortunes. But his physician had interposed. “I’ve done what I can for you,” he said, “and the rest is in your own hands. Get away from New York; it won’t supply what you need. Get into the country somewhere, away from cities and tickers. Hunt,[50] fish, spend your time out of doors. There’s nothing organically wrong with that heart of yours, but it’s pretty tired yet; nurse it awhile.”
“The programme sounds attractive,” Winthrop had replied, smilingly, “but it’s expensive. Practically I am penniless. Give me a year to gather the threads up again and get things a-going once more, and I’ll take your medicine gladly.”
“I have never heard,” he replied, “that the hunting or fishing was especially good in the next world.”
“What do you mean?” asked Winthrop, frowning.
“Just this, sir. You say you can’t afford to take a vacation. I say you can’t afford not to take it. I’ve lived a good deal longer than you and I give you my word I never saw a poor man who wasn’t a whole lot better off than any dead one of my acquaintance. I don’t want to frighten you, but I tell you frankly51 that if you stay here[51] and buckle52 down to rebuilding your business you’ll be a damned poor risk for any insurance company inside of two weeks. It’s better to live poor than to die rich. Take your choice.”
Winthrop had taken it. After all, poverty is comparative, and he realized that he was still as well off as many a clerk who was contentedly53 keeping a family on his paltry54 twenty or thirty dollars a week. He sub-rented his apartment, paid what bills he owed out of the small balance standing55 to his name at the bank, and considered the question of destination. It was then that he had remembered the piece of property in Florida which he had taken over for the firm and which, having been the least desirable of the assets, had escaped the creditors56. He went to the telephone and called up the physician.
“I don’t care where you go,” was the response, “so long as there’s pure air and sunshine there, and as long as you give[52] your whole attention to mending yourself.”
He had never been in Florida, but it appealed to him and he believed that, since he must live economically, there could be no better place; at least there would be no rent to pay. So he had written to Major Cass, whose name he had come across in looking over his partner’s papers, and had started South on the heels of his letter. The trip had been a hard one for him, but now the soft, fragrant58 air that blew against his face through the open car window was already soothing him with its caressing59 touch and whispering fair promises of strengthening days. A long blast of the whistle moved the conductor to a return of animation60 and Winthrop awoke from his thoughts. The train was slowing down with a grinding of hand-brakes. Through the window he caught glimpses of gardens and houses and finally of a broad, tree-lined street marching straight away from the railroad up a sloping hill to a gray stone building with a wooden cupola which[53] seemed to block its path. Then the station threw its shadow across him and the train, with many jerks and much rattling61 of coupling, came to a stop.
“Corunna,” drawled the conductor.
Outside, on the platform which ran in front of the station on a level with the car floors, Winthrop looked about him with mingled62 amusement and surprise. In most places, he thought, the arrival of the daily train was an event of sufficient importance to people the station platform with spectators. But here he counted just three persons beside himself and the train crew. These were the two negresses who had travelled with him and the station agent. There was no carriage in sight; not even a dray for his trunk. He applied63 to the agent.
“Take that street over yonder,” said the agent, “and it’ll fetch you right square to the Major’s office, sir. I’ll look after your bag until you send for it. You tell the nigger to ask me for it, sir.”
So Winthrop yielded the bag, coat and[54] umbrella and started forth64. The station and the adjoining freight-shed stood, neutral-hued, under the wide-spreading branches of several magnificent live-oaks, in one of which, hidden somewhere in the thick greenery, a thrush was singing. This sound, with that of the panting of the tired engine, alone stirred the somnolent65 silence of mid-afternoon. A road, deep with white sand, ambled66 away beneath the trees in the direction of the wide street which Winthrop had seen from the car and to which he had been directed. It proved to be a well-kept thoroughfare lined with oaks and bordered by pleasant gardens in front of comfortable, always picturesque67 and sometimes handsome[55] houses. The sidewalks were high above the street, and gullies of red clay, washed deep by the heavy rains, divided the two. In front of the gates little bridges crossed the gullies. The gardens were still aflame with late flowers and the scent13 of roses was over all. Winthrop walked slowly, his senses alert and enravished. He drew in deep breaths of the fragrant air and sighed for very contentment.
“Heavens,” he said under his breath, “the place is just one big rest cure! If I can’t get fixed68 up here I might as well give up trying. I wonder,” he added a moment later, “if every one is asleep.”
There was not a soul in sight up the length of the street, but from one of the houses came the sound of a piano and, as he glanced toward its embowered porch, he thought he caught the white of a woman’s gown.
The street came to an end in a wide[56] space surrounded by one- and two-story stores and occupied in the centre by a stone building which he surmised70 to be the court-house. He bore to the right, his eyes searching the buildings for the shingle71 of Major Cass. A few teams were standing in front of the town hitching-rails, and perhaps a dozen persons, mostly negroes, were in view. He had decided to appeal for information when he caught sight of a modest sign on a corner building across the square. “L. Q. Cass, Counsellor at Law,” he read. The building was a two-story affair of crumbling72 red brick. The lower part was occupied by a general merchandise store, and the upper by offices. A flight of wooden steps led from the sidewalk along the outside of the building to the second floor. Winthrop ascended73, entered an open door, and knocked at the first portal. But there was no reply to his demands, and, as the other rooms in sight were evidently untenanted, he returned to the street and addressed himself to a youth who sat on an empty box under the wooden[57] awning74 of the store below. The youth was in his shirt-sleeves and was eating sugar-cane, but at Winthrop’s greeting he rose to his feet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and answered courteously75:
“Waynewood is about three-quarters of a mile, sir,” he replied to the stranger’s inquiry76. “Right down this street, sir, until you cross the bridge over the branch. Then it’s the first place.”
He was evidently very curious about the questioner, but strove politely to restrain that curiosity until the other had moved away along the street.
The street upon which Winthrop now found himself ran at right angles with that up which he had proceeded from the station. Like that, it was shaded from side to side by water-oaks and bordered by gardens. But the gardens were larger, less flourishing, and the houses behind them smaller and less tidy. He concluded that this was an older part of the village. Several carriages passed him, and once he paused in the shade to watch the slow approach[58] and disappearance77 of a creaking two-wheeled cart, presided over by a white-haired old negro and drawn78 by a pair of ruminative79 oxen. It was in sight quite five minutes, during which time Winthrop leaned against the sturdy bole of an oak and marvelled80 smilingly.
“And in New York,” he said to himself, “we swear because it takes us twenty minutes to get to Wall Street on the elevated!”
He went on, glad of the rest, passing from sunlight to shadow along the uneven81 sidewalk and finally crossing the bridge, a tiny affair over a shallow stream of limpid82 water which trickled83 musically over its bed of white sand. Beyond the bridge the sidewalk ceased and he went on for a little distance over a red clay road, rutted by wheels and baked hard by the sun. Then a picket84 fence which showed evidence of having once been whitewashed85 met him and he felt a sudden stirring within him. This was Waynewood, doubtless, and it belonged to him. The thought was somehow a very pleasant one. He wondered why.[59] He had possessed86 far more valuable real estate in his time but he couldn’t recollect87 that he had ever thrilled before at the thought of ownership.
“Oh, there’s magic in this ridiculous air,” he told himself whimsically. “Even a toad88 would look romantic here, I dare say. I wonder if there is a gate to my domain89.”
Behind the fence along which he made his way was an impenetrable mass of shrubbery and trees. Of what was beyond, there was no telling. But presently the gate was before him, sagging90 wide open on its rusted91 hinges. From it a straight path, narrow and shadowy, proceeded for some distance, crossed a blur92 of sunlight and continued to where a gleam of white seemed to indicate a building. The path was set between solid rows of oleander bushes whose lanceolate leaves whispered murmurously to Winthrop as he trod the firm, moss-edged path.
The blur of sunlight proved to be a break in the path where a driveway angled across[60] it, curving on toward the house and backward toward the road where, as Winthrop later discovered, it emerged through a gate beyond the one by which he had entered. He crossed the drive and plunged93 again into the gloom of the oleander path. But his journey was almost over, for a moment later the sentinel bushes dropped away from beside him and he found himself at the foot of a flower garden, across whose blossom-flecked width a white-pillared, double-galleried old house stared at him in dignified94 calm. The porches were untenanted and the wide-open door showed an empty hall. To reach that door Winthrop had to make a half circuit of the garden, for directly in front of him a great round bed of roses and box barred his way. In the middle of the bed a stained marble cupid twined garlands of roses about his naked body. Winthrop followed the path to the right and circled his way to the drive and the steps, the pleasure of possession kindling95 in his heart. With his foot on the lowest step he paused and glanced about[61] him. It was charming! Find his health here? Oh, beyond a doubt he would. Ponce de Leon had searched in this part of the world for the Fountain of Youth. Who knew but that he, Robert Winthrop, might not find it here, hidden away in this fragrant, shaded jungle? And just then his wandering glance fell on a sprawling96 fig-tree at the end of the porch, at a white figure[62] perched in its branches, at a girl’s fresh young face looking across at him with frank and smiling curiosity.
Winthrop took off his hat and moved toward the fig-tree.
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1
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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8
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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murmurous
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| adj.低声的 | |
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languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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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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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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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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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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amble
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| vi.缓行，漫步 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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40
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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41
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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43
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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44
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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45
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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46
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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47
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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48
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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50
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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51
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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52
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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53
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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55
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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56
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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57
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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58
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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60
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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61
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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62
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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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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65
somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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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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insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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71
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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78
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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ruminative
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| adj.沉思的，默想的，爱反复思考的 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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83
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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84
picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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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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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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