"I think I'll go see Jane Hubbard this evening," Orde remarked to his mother, as he arose from the table. This was his method of announcing that he would not be home for supper.
Jane Hubbard lived in a low one-story house of blue granite1, situated2 amid a grove3 of oaks at the top of the hill. She was a kindly4 girl, whose parents gave her free swing, and whose house, in consequence, was popular with the younger people. Every Sunday she offered to all who came a "Sunday-night lunch," which consisted of cold meats, cold salad, bread, butter, cottage cheese, jam, preserves, and the like, warmed by a cup of excellent tea. These refreshments5 were served by the guests themselves. It did not much matter how few or how many came.
On the Sunday evening in question Orde found about the usual crowd gathered. Jane herself, tall, deliberate in movement and in speech, kindly and thoughtful, talked in a corner with Ernest Colburn, who was just out of college, and who worked in a bank. Mignonne Smith, a plump, rather pretty little body with a tremendous aureole of hair like spun6 golden fire, was trying to balance a croquet-ball on the end of a ruler. The ball regularly fell off. Three young men, standing7 in attentive8 attitudes, thereupon dove forward in an attempt to catch it before it should hit the floor--which it generally did with a loud thump9. A collapsed10 chair of slender lines stacked against the wall attested11 previous acrobatics12. This much Orde, standing in the doorway13, looked upon quite as the usual thing. Only he missed the Incubus14. Searching the room with his eyes, he at length discovered that incoherent, desiccated, but persistent15 youth VIS-A-VIS with a stranger. Orde made out the white of her gown in the shadows, the willowy outline of her small and slender figure, and the gracious forward bend of her head.
The company present caught sight of Orde standing in the doorway, and suspended occupations to shout at him joyfully16. He was evidently a favourite. The strange girl in the corner turned to him a white, long face, of which he could see only the outline and the redness of the lips where the lamplight reached them. She leaned slightly forward and the lips parted. Orde's muscular figure, standing square and uncompromising in the doorway, the out-of-door freshness of his complexion17, the steadiness of his eyes laughing back a greeting, had evidently attracted her. Or perhaps anything was a relief from the Incubus.
"So you're back at last, are you, Jack18?" drawled Jane in her lazy, good-natured way. "Come and meet Miss Bishop19. Carroll, I want to present Mr. Orde."
Orde bowed ceremoniously into the penumbra20 cast by the lamp's broad shade. The girl inclined gracefully22 her small head with the glossy23 hair. The Incubus, his thin hands clasped on his knee, his sallow face twisted in one of its customary wry24 smiles, held to the edge of his chair with characteristic pertinacity25.
"Well, Walter," Orde addressed him genially26, "are you having a good time?"
"Yes-indeed!" replied the Incubus as though it were one word.
His chair was planted squarely to exclude all others. Orde surveyed the situation with good-humour.
"Going to keep the other fellow from getting a chance, I see."
"Yes-indeed!" replied the Incubus.
Orde bent27 over, and with great ease lifted Incubus, chair, and all, and set him facing Mignonne Smith and the croquet-ball.
"Here, Mignonne," said he, "I've brought you another assistant."
He returned to the lamp, to find the girl, her dark eyes alight with amusement, watching him intently. She held the tip of a closed fan against her lips, which brought her head slightly forward in an attitude as though she listened. Somehow there was about her an air of poise28, of absolute balanced repose29 quite different from Jane's rather awkward statics, and in direct contrast to Mignonne's dynamics30.
"Walter is a very bright man in his own line," said Orde, swinging forward a chair, "but he mustn't be allowed any monopolies."
"How do you know I want him so summarily removed?" the girl asked him, without changing either her graceful21 attitude of suspended motion or the intentness of her gaze.
"Well," argued Orde, "I got him to say all he ever says to any girl--'Yes-indeed!'--so you couldn't have any more conversation from him. If you want to look at him, why, there he is in plain sight. Besides, I want to talk to you myself."
"Do you always get what you want?" inquired the girl.
Orde laughed.
"Any one can get anything he wants, if only he wants it bad enough," he asserted.
The girl pondered this for a moment, and finally lowered and opened her fan, and threw back her head in a more relaxed attitude.
"Some people," she amended31. "However, I forgive you. I will even flatter you by saying I am glad you came. You look to have reached the age of discretion32. I venture to say that these boys' idea of a lively evening is to throw bread about the table."
Orde flushed a little. The last time he had supped at Jane Hubbard's, that was exactly what they did do.
"They are young, of course," he said, "and you and I are very old and wise. But having a noisy, good time isn't such a great crime--or is it where you came from?"
The girl leaned forward, a sparkle of interest in her eyes.
"Are you and I going to fight?" she demanded.
"That depends on you," returned Orde squarely, but with perfect good-humour.
They eyed each other a moment. Then the girl closed her fan, and leaned forward to touch him on the arm with it.
"You are quite right not to allow me to say mean things about your friends, and I am a nasty little snip33."
Orde bowed with sudden gravity.
"And they do throw bread," said he.
They both laughed. She leaned back with a movement of satisfaction, seeming to sink into the shadows.
"Now, tell me; what do you do?"
"What do I do?" asked Orde, puzzled.
"Yes. Everybody does something out West here. It's a disgrace not to do something, isn't it?"
"Oh, my business! I'm a river-driver just now."
"A river-driver?" she repeated, once more leaning forward. "Why, I've just been hearing a great deal about you."
"That so?" he inquired.
"Yes, from Mrs. Baggs."
"Oh!" said Orde. "Then you know what a drunken, swearing, worthless lot of bums34 and toughs we are, don't you?"
For the first time, in some subtle way she broke the poise of her attitude.
"There is Hell's Half-Mile," she reminded him.
"Oh, yes," said Orde bitterly, "there's Hell's Half-Mile! Whose fault is that? My rivermen's? My boys? Look here! I suppose you couldn't understand it, if you tried a month; but suppose you were working out in the woods nine months of the year, up early in the morning and in late at night. Suppose you slept in rough blankets, on the ground or in bunks35, ate rough food, never saw a woman or a book, undertook work to scare your city men up a tree and into a hole too easy, risked your life a dozen times a week in a tangle36 of logs, with the big river roaring behind just waiting to swallow you; saw nothing but woods and river, were cold and hungry and wet, and so tired you couldn't wiggle, until you got to feeling like the thing was never going to end, and until you got sick of it way through in spite of the excitement and danger. And then suppose you hit town, where there were all the things you hadn't had--and the first thing you struck was Hell's Half-Mile. Say! you've seen water behind a jam, haven't you? Water-power's a good thing in a mill course, where it has wheels to turn; but behind a jam it just RIPS things--oh, what's the use talking! A girl doesn't know what it means. She couldn't understand."
He broke off with an impatient gesture. She was looking at him intently, her lips again half-parted.
"I think I begin to understand a little," said she softly. She smiled to herself. "But they are a hard and heartless class in spite of all their energy and courage, aren't they?" she drew him out.
"Hard and heartless!" exploded Orde. "There's no kinder lot of men on earth, let me tell you. Why, there isn't a man on that river who doesn't chip in five or ten dollars when a man is hurt or killed; and that means three or four days' hard work for him. And he may not know or like the injured man at all! Why--"
"What's all the excitement?" drawled Jane Hubbard behind them. "Can't you make it a to-be-continued-in-our-next? We're 'most starved."
"Yes-indeed!" chimed in the Incubus.
The company trooped out to the dining-room where the table, spread with all the good things, awaited them.
"Ernest, you light the candles," drawled Jane, drifting slowly along the table with her eye on the arrangements, "and some of you boys go get the butter and the milk-pitcher from the ice-box."
To Orde's relief, no one threw any bread, although the whole-hearted fun grew boisterous38 enough before the close of the meal. Miss Bishop sat directly across from him. He had small chance of conversation with her in the hubbub39 that raged, but he gained full leisure to examine her more closely in the fuller illumination. Throughout, her note was of fineness. Her hands, as he had already noticed, were long, the fingers tapering40; her wrists were finely moulded, but slender, and running without abrupt41 swelling42 of muscles into the long lines of her forearm; her figure was rounded, but built on the curves of slenderness; her piled, glossy hair was so fine that though it was full of wonderful soft shadows denied coarser tresses, its mass hardly did justice to its abundance. Her face, again, was long and oval, with a peculiar43 transparence to the skin and a peculiar faint, healthy circulation of the blood well below the surface, which relieved her complexion of pallor, but did not give her a colour. The lips, on the contrary, were satin red, and Orde was mildly surprised, after his recent talk, to find them sensitively moulded, and with a quaint44, child-like quirk45 at the corners. Her eyes were rather contemplative, and so black as to resemble spots.
In spite of her half-scornful references to "bread-throwing," she joined with evident pleasure in the badinage46 and more practical fun which struck the note of the supper. Only Orde thought to discern even in her more boisterous movements a graceful, courteous47 restraint, to catch in the bend of her head a dainty concession48 to the joy of the moment, to hear in the tones of her laughter a reservation of herself, which nevertheless was not at all a reservation, against the others.
After the meal was finished, each had his candle to blow out, and then all returned to the parlour, leaving the debris49 for the later attention of the "hired help."
Orde with determination made his way to Miss Bishop's side. She smiled at him.
"You see, I am a hypocrite as well as a mean little snip," said she. "I threw a little bread myself."
"Threw bread?" repeated Orde. "I didn't see you."
"The moon is made of green cheese," she mocked him, "and there are countries where men's heads do grow beneath their shoulders." She moved gracefully away toward Jane Hubbard. "Do you Western 'business men' never deal in figures of speech as well as figures of the other sort?" she wafted50 back to him over her shoulder.
"I was very stupid," acknowledged Orde, following her.
She stopped and faced him in the middle of the room, smiling quizzically.
"Well?" she challenged.
"Well, what?" asked Orde, puzzled.
"I thought perhaps you wanted to ask me something."
"Why?"
"Your following me," she explained, the corners of her mouth smiling. "I had turned away--"
"I just wanted to talk to you," said Orde.
"And you always get what you want," she repeated. "Well?" she conceded, with a shrug51 of mock resignation. But the four other men here cut in with a demand.
"Music!" they clamoured. "We want music!"
With a nod, Miss Bishop turned to the piano, sweeping52 aside her white draperies as she sat. She struck a few soft chords, and then, her long hands wandering idly and softly up and down the keys, she smiled at them over her shoulder.
"What shall it be?" she inquired.
Some one thrust an open song-book on the rack in front of her. The others gathered close about, leaning forward to see.
Song followed song, at first quickly, then at longer intervals53. At last the members of the chorus dropped away one by one to occupations of their own. The girl still sat at the piano, her head thrown back idly, her hands wandering softly in and out of melodies and modulations. Watching her, Orde finally saw only the shimmer54 of her white figure, and the white outline of her head and throat. All the rest of the room was gray from the concentration of his gaze. At last her hands fell in her lap. She sat looking straight ahead of her.
Orde at once arose and came to her.
"That was a wonderfully quaint and beautiful thing," said he. "What was it?"
She turned to him, and he saw that the mocking had gone from her eyes and mouth, leaving them quite simple, like a child's.
"Did you like it?" she asked.
"Yes," said Orde. He hesitated and stammered55 awkwardly. "It was so still and soothing56, it made me think of the river sometimes about dusk. What was it?"
"It wasn't anything. I was improvising57."
"You made it up yourself?"
"It was myself, I suppose. I love to build myself a garden, and wander on until I lose myself in it. I'm glad there was a river in the garden--a nice, still, twilight58 river."
She flashed up at him, her head sidewise.
"There isn't always." She struck a crashing discord59 on the piano.
Every one looked up at the sudden noise of it.
"Oh, don't stop!" they cried in chorus, as though each had been listening intently.
The girl laughed up at Orde in amusement. Somehow this flash of an especial understanding between them to the exclusion60 of the others sent a warm glow to his heart.
"I do wish you had your harp61 here," said Jane Hubbard, coming indolently forward. "You just ought to hear her play the harp," she told the rest. "It's just the best thing you ever DID hear!"
At this moment the outside door opened to admit Mr and Mrs. Hubbard, who had, according to their usual Sunday custom, been spending the evening with a neighbour. This was the signal for departure. The company began to break up.
Orde pushed his broad shoulders in to screen Carroll Bishop from the others.
"Are you staying here?" he asked.
She opened her eyes wide at his brusqueness.
"I'm visiting Jane," she replied at length, with an affectation of demureness62.
"Are you going to be here long?" was Orde's next question.
"About a month."
"I am coming to see you," announced Orde. "Good-night."
He took her hand, dropped it, and followed the others into the hall, leaving her standing by the lamp. She watched him until the outer door had closed behind him. Not once did he look back. Jane Hubbard, returning after a moment from the hall, found her at the piano again, her head slightly one side, playing with painful and accurate exactness a simple one-finger melody.
Orde walked home down the hill in company with the Incubus. Neither had anything to say; Orde because he was absorbed in thought, the Incubus because nothing occurred to draw from him his one remark. Their feet clipped sharply against the tar37 walks, or rang more hollow on the boards. Overhead the stars twinkled through the still-bare branches of the trees. With few exceptions the houses were dark. People "retired63" early in Redding. An occasional hall light burned dimly, awaiting some one's return. At the gate of the Orde place, Orde roused himself to say good-night. He let himself into the dim-lighted hall, hung up his hat, and turned out the gas. For some time he stood in the dark, quite motionless; then, with the accuracy of long habitude, he walked confidently to the narrow stairs and ascended64 them. Subconsciously65 he avoided the creaking step, but outside his mother's door he stopped, arrested by a greeting from within.
"That you, Jack?" queried66 Grandma Orde.
For answer Orde pushed open the door, which stood an inch or so ajar, and entered. A dim light from a distant street-lamp, filtered through the branches of a tree, flickered67 against the ceiling. By its aid he made out the great square bed, and divined the tiny figure of his mother. He seated himself sidewise on the edge of the bed.
"Go to Jane's?" queried grandma in a low voice, to avoid awakening68 grandpa, who slept in the adjoining room.
"Yes," replied Orde, in the same tone.
"Who was there?"
"Oh, about the usual crowd."
He fell into an abstracted silence, which endured for several minutes.
"Mother," said he abruptly69, at last, "I've met the girl I want for my wife."
Grandma Orde sat up in bed.
"Who is she?" she demanded.
"Her name is Carroll Bishop," said Orde, "and she's visiting Jane Hubbard."
"Yes, but WHO is she?" insisted Grandma Orde. "Where is she from?"
Orde stared at her in the dim light.
"Why, mother," he repeated for the second time that day, "blest if I know that!"
收听单词发音 |
1
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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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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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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acrobatics
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| n.杂技 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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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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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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penumbra
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| n.（日蚀）半影部 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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dynamics
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| n.力学，动力学，动力，原动力；动态 | |
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Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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quirk
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| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
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badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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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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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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65
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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66
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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67
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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