Sir Lulworth Quayne was making a leisurely1 progress through the Zoological Society’s Gardens in company with his nephew, recently returned from Mexico. The latter was interested in comparing and contrasting allied2 types of animals occurring in the North American and Old World fauna3.
“One of the most remarkable4 things in the wanderings of species,” he observed, “is the sudden impulse to trek5 and migrate that breaks out now and again, for no apparent reason, in communities of hitherto stay-at-home animals.”
“In human affairs the same phenomenon is occasionally noticeable,” said Sir Lulworth; “perhaps the most striking instance of it occurred in this country while you were away in the wilds of Mexico. I mean the wander fever which suddenly displayed itself in the managing and editorial staffs of certain London newspapers. It began with the stampede of the entire staff of one of our most brilliant and enterprising weeklies to the banks of the Seine and the heights of Montmartre. The migration6 was a brief one, but it heralded7 an era of restlessness in the Press world which lent quite a new meaning to the phrase ‘newspaper circulation.’ Other editorial staffs were not slow to imitate the example that had been set them. Paris soon dropped out of fashion as being too near home; Nurnberg, Seville, and Salonica became more favoured as planting-out grounds for the personnel of not only weekly but daily papers as well. The localities were perhaps not always well chosen; the fact of a leading organ of Evangelical thought being edited for two successive fortnights from Trouville and Monte Carlo was generally admitted to have been a mistake. And even when enterprising and adventurous8 editors took themselves and their staffs further afield there were some unavoidable clashings. For instance, the Scrutator , Sporting Bluff9 , and The Damsels’ Own Paper all pitched on Khartoum for the same week. It was, perhaps, a desire to out-distance all possible competition that influenced the management of the Daily Intelligencer , one of the most solid and respected organs of Liberal opinion, in its decision to transfer its offices for three or four weeks from Fleet Street to Eastern Turkestan, allowing, of course, a necessary margin10 of time for the journey there and back. This was, in many respects, the most remarkable of all the Press stampedes that were experienced at this time. There was no make-believe about the undertaking11; proprietor12, manager, editor, sub-editors, leader-writers, principal reporters, and so forth13, all took part in what was popularly alluded14 to as the Drang nach Osten ; an intelligent and efficient office-boy was all that was left in the deserted15 hive of editorial industry.”
“That was doing things rather thoroughly16, wasn’t it?” said the nephew.
“Well, you see,” said Sir Lulworth, “the migration idea was falling somewhat into disrepute from the half-hearted manner in which it was occasionally carried out. You were not impressed by the information that such and such a paper was being edited and brought out at Lisbon or Innsbruck if you chanced to see the principal leader-writer or the art editor lunching as usual at their accustomed restaurants. The Daily Intelligencer was determined17 to give no loophole for cavil18 at the genuineness of its pilgrimage, and it must be admitted that to a certain extent the arrangements made for transmitting copy and carrying on the usual features of the paper during the long outward journey worked smoothly19 and well. The series of articles which commenced at Baku on ‘What Cobdenism might do for the camel industry’ ranks among the best of the recent contributions to Free Trade literature, while the views on foreign policy enunciated20 ‘from a roof in Yarkand’ showed at least as much grasp of the international situation as those that had germinated21 within half a mile of Downing Street. Quite in keeping, too, with the older and better traditions of British journalism22 was the manner of the home-coming; no bombast23, no personal advertisement, no flamboyant24 interviews. Even a complimentary25 luncheon26 at the Voyagers’ Club was courteously27 declined. Indeed, it began to be felt that the self-effacement of the returned pressmen was being carried to a pedantic28 length. Foreman compositors, advertisement clerks, and other members of the non-editorial staff, who had, of course, taken no part in the great trek, found it as impossible to get into direct communication with the editor and his satellites now that they had returned as when they had been excusably inaccessible29 in Central Asia. The sulky, overworked office-boy, who was the one connecting link between the editorial brain and the business departments of the paper, sardonically30 explained the new aloofness31 as the ‘Yarkand manner.’ Most of the reporters and sub-editors seemed to have been dismissed in autocratic fashion since their return and new ones engaged by letter; to these the editor and his immediate32 associates remained an unseen presence, issuing its instructions solely33 through the medium of curt34 typewritten notes. Something mystic and Tibetan and forbidden had replaced the human bustle35 and democratic simplicity36 of premigration days, and the same experience was encountered by those who made social overtures37 to the returned wanderers. The most brilliant hostess of Twentieth Century London flung the pearl of her hospitality into the unresponsive trough of the editorial letter-box; it seemed as if nothing short of a Royal command would drag the hermit-souled revenants from their self-imposed seclusion38. People began to talk unkindly of the effect of high altitudes and Eastern atmosphere on minds and temperaments39 unused to such luxuries. The Yarkand manner was not popular.”
“And the contents of the paper,” said the nephew, “did they show the influence of the new style?”
“Ah!” said Sir Lulworth, “that was the exciting thing. In home affairs, social questions, and the ordinary events of the day not much change was noticeable. A certain Oriental carelessness seemed to have crept into the editorial department, and perhaps a note of lassitude not unnatural40 in the work of men who had returned from what had been a fairly arduous41 journey. The aforetime standard of excellence42 was scarcely maintained, but at any rate the general lines of policy and outlook were not departed from. It was in the realm of foreign affairs that a startling change took place. Blunt, forcible, outspoken43 articles appeared, couched in language which nearly turned the autumn manoeuvres of six important Powers into mobilisations. Whatever else the Daily Intelligencer had learned in the East, it had not acquired the art of diplomatic ambiguity44. The man in the street enjoyed the articles and bought the paper as he had never bought it before; the men in Downing Street took a different view. The Foreign Secretary, hitherto accounted a rather reticent45 man, became positively46 garrulous47 in the course of perpetually disavowing the sentiments expressed in the Daily Intelligencer’s leaders; and then one day the Government came to the conclusion that something definite and drastic must be done. A deputation, consisting of the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary, four leading financiers, and a well-known Nonconformist divine, made its way to the offices of the paper. At the door leading to the editorial department the way was barred by a nervous but defiant48 office-boy.
“‘You can’t see the editor nor any of the staff,’ he announced.
“‘We insist on seeing the editor or some responsible person,’ said the Prime Minister, and the deputation forced its way in. The boy had spoken truly; there was no one to be seen. In the whole suite49 of rooms there was no sign of human life.
“‘Where is the editor?’ ‘Or the foreign editor?’ ‘Or the chief leader-writer? Or anybody?’
“In answer to the shower of questions the boy unlocked a drawer and produced a strange-looking envelope, which bore a Khokand postmark, and a date of some seven or eight months back. It contained a scrap50 of paper on which was written the following message:
“‘Entire party captured by brigand51 tribe on homeward journey. Quarter of million demanded as ransom52, but would probably take less. Inform Government, relations, and friends.’
“There followed the signatures of the principal members of the party and instructions as to how and where the money was to be paid.
“The letter had been directed to the office-boy-incharge, who had quietly suppressed it. No one is a hero to one’s own office-boy, and he evidently considered that a quarter of a million was an unwarrantable outlay53 for such a doubtfully advantageous54 object as the repatriation55 of an errant newspaper staff. So he drew the editorial and other salaries, forged what signatures were necessary, engaged new reporters, did what sub-editing he could, and made as much use as possible of the large accumulation of special articles that was held in reserve for emergencies. The articles on foreign affairs were entirely56 his own composition.
“Of course the whole thing had to be kept as quiet as possible; an interim57 staff, pledged to secrecy58, was appointed to keep the paper going till the pining captives could be sought out, ransomed59, and brought home, in twos and threes to escape notice, and gradually things were put back on their old footing. The articles on foreign affairs reverted60 to the wonted traditions of the paper.”
“But,” interposed the nephew, “how on earth did the boy account to the relatives all those months for the non-appearance —”
“That,” said Sir Lulworth, “was the most brilliant stroke of all. To the wife or nearest relative of each of the missing men he forwarded a letter, copying the handwriting of the supposed writer as well as he could, and making excuses about vile61 pens and ink; in each letter he told the same story, varying only the locality, to the effect that the writer, alone of the whole party, was unable to tear himself away from the wild liberty and allurements62 of Eastern life, and was going to spend several months roaming in some selected region. Many of the wives started off immediately in pursuit of their errant husbands, and it took the Government a considerable time and much trouble to reclaim63 them from their fruitless quests along the banks of the Oxus, the Gobi Desert, the Orenburg steppe, and other outlandish places. One of them, I believe, is still lost somewhere in the Tigris Valley.”
“And the boy?”
“Is still in journalism.”
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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germinated
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| v.（使）发芽( germinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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bombast
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| n.高调，夸大之辞 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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54
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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repatriation
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| n.遣送回国，归国 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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ransomed
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| 付赎金救人，赎金( ransom的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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