Platt came to Polly, who was sorting up collar boxes. “O’ Man’s doing his Blooming Window.”
“What window?”
“What he said.”
Polly remembered.
He went on with his collar boxes with his eye on his senior, Mansfield. Mansfield was presently called away to the counting house, and instantly Polly shot out by the street door, and made a rapid transit1 along the street front past the Manchester window, and so into the silkroom door. He could not linger long, but he gathered joy, a swift and fearful joy, from his brief inspection2 of Parsons’ unconscious back. Parsons had his tail coat off and was working with vigour3; his habit of pulling his waistcoat straps4 to the utmost brought out all the agreeable promise of corpulence in his youthful frame. He was blowing excitedly and running his fingers through his hair, and then moving with all the swift eagerness of a man inspired. All about his feet and knees were scarlet5 blankets, not folded, not formally unfolded, but — the only phrase is — shied about. And a great bar sinister6 of roller towelling stretched across the front of the window on which was a ticket, and the ticket said in bold black letters: “LOOK!”
So soon as Mr. Polly got into the silk department and met Platt he knew he had not lingered nearly long enough outside. “Did you see the boards at the back?” said Platt.
He hadn’t. “The High Egrugious is fairly On,” he said, and dived down to return by devious7 subterranean8 routes to the outfitting9 department.
Presently the street door opened and Platt, with an air of intense devotion to business assumed to cover his adoption10 of that unusual route, came in and made for the staircase down to the warehouse11. He rolled up his eyes at Polly. “Oh Lor!” he said and vanished.
Irresistible12 curiosity seized Polly. Should he go through the shop to the Manchester department, or risk a second transit outside?
He was impelled13 to make a dive at the street door.
“Where are you going?” asked Mansfield.
“Lill Dog,” said Polly with an air of lucid14 explanation, and left him to get any meaning he could from it.
Parsons was worth the subsequent trouble. Parsons really was extremely rich. This time Polly stopped to take it in.
Parsons had made a huge symmetrical pile of thick white and red blankets twisted and rolled to accentuate15 their woolly richness, heaped up in a warm disorder16, with large window tickets inscribed17 in blazing red letters: “Cosy Comfort at Cut Prices,” and “Curl up and Cuddle below Cost.” Regardless of the daylight he had turned up the electric light on that side of the window to reflect a warm glow upon the heap, and behind, in pursuit of contrasted bleakness18, he was now hanging long strips of grey silesia and chilly19 coloured linen20 dusterings.
It was wonderful, but —
Mr. Polly decided21 that it was time he went in. He found Platt in the silk department, apparently22 on the verge23 of another plunge24 into the exterior25 world. “Cosy Comfort at Cut Prices,” said Polly. “Allittritions Artful Aid.”
He did not dare go into the street for the third time, and he was hovering26 feverishly27 near the window when he saw the governor, Mr. Garvace, that is to say, the managing director of the Bazaar28, walking along the pavement after his manner to assure himself all was well with the establishment he guided.
Mr. Garvace was a short stout29 man, with that air of modest pride that so often goes with corpulence, choleric30 and decisive in manner, and with hands that looked like bunches of fingers. He was red-haired and ruddy, and after the custom of such complexions31, hairs sprang from the tip of his nose. When he wished to bring the power of the human eye to bear upon an assistant, he projected his chest, knitted one brow and partially32 closed the left eyelid33.
An expression of speculative34 wonder overspread the countenance35 of Mr. Polly. He felt he must see. Yes, whatever happened he must see.
“Want to speak to Parsons, Sir,” he said to Mr. Mansfield, and deserted36 his post hastily, dashed through the intervening departments and was in position behind a pile of Bolton sheeting as the governor came in out of the street.
“What on Earth do you think you are doing with that window, Parsons?” began Mr. Garvace.
Only the legs of Parsons and the lower part of his waistcoat and an intervening inch of shirt were visible. He was standing37 inside the window on the steps, hanging up the last strip of his background from the brass38 rail along the ceiling. Within, the Manchester shop window was cut off by a partition rather like the partition of an old-fashioned church pew from the general space of the shop. There was a panelled barrier, that is to say, with a little door like a pew door in it. Parsons’ face appeared, staring with round eyes at his employer.
Mr. Garvace had to repeat his question.
“Dressing39 it, Sir — on new lines.”
“Come out of it,” said Mr. Garvace.
Parsons stared, and Mr. Garvace had to repeat his command.
Parsons, with a dazed expression, began to descend40 the steps slowly.
Mr. Garvace turned about. “Where’s Morrison? Morrison!”
Morrison appeared.
“Take this window over,” said Mr. Garvace pointing his bunch of fingers at Parsons. “Take all this muddle41 out and dress it properly.”
Morrison advanced and hesitated.
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Parsons with an immense politeness, “but this is my window.”
“Take it all out,” said Mr. Garvace, turning away.
Morrison advanced. Parsons shut the door with a click that arrested Mr. Garvace.
“Come out of that window,” he said. “You can’t dress it. If you want to play the fool with a window ——”
“This window’s All Right,” said the genius in window dressing, and there was a little pause.
“Open the door and go right in,” said Mr. Garvace to Morrison.
“You leave that door alone, Morrison,” said Parsons.
Polly was no longer even trying to hide behind the stack of Bolton sheetings. He realised he was in the presence of forces too stupendous to heed42 him.
“Get him out,” said Mr. Garvace.
Morrison seemed to be thinking out the ethics43 of his position. The idea of loyalty44 to his employer prevailed with him. He laid his hand on the door to open it; Parsons tried to disengage his hand. Mr. Garvace joined his effort to Morrison’s. Then the heart of Polly leapt and the world blazed up to wonder and splendour. Parsons disappeared behind the partition for a moment and reappeared instantly, gripping a thin cylinder45 of rolled huckaback. With this he smote46 at Morrison’s head. Morrison’s head ducked under the resounding47 impact, but he clung on and so did Mr. Garvace. The door came open, and then Mr. Garvace was staggering back, hand to head; his autocratic, his sacred baldness, smitten48. Parsons was beyond all control — a strangeness, a marvel49. Heaven knows how the artistic50 struggle had strained that richly endowed temperament51. “Say I can’t dress a window, you thundering old Humbug,” he said, and hurled52 the huckaback at his master. He followed this up by hurling53 first a blanket, then an armful of silesia, then a window support out of the window into the shop. It leapt into Polly’s mind that Parsons hated his own effort and was glad to demolish54 it. For a crowded second Polly’s mind was concentrated upon Parsons, infuriated, active, like a figure of earthquake with its coat off, shying things headlong.
Then he perceived the back of Mr. Garvace and heard his gubernatorial voice crying to no one in particular and everybody in general: “Get him out of the window. He’s mad. He’s dangerous. Get him out of the window.”
Then a crimson55 blanket was for a moment over the head of Mr. Garvace, and his voice, muffled56 for an instant, broke out into unwonted expletive.
Then people had arrived from all parts of the Bazaar. Luck, the ledger57 clerk, blundered against Polly and said, “Help him!” Somerville from the silks vaulted58 the counter, and seized a chair by the back. Polly lost his head. He clawed at the Bolton sheeting before him, and if he could have detached a piece he would certainly have hit somebody with it. As it was he simply upset the pile. It fell away from Polly, and he had an impression of somebody squeaking59 as it went down. It was the sort of impression one disregards. The collapse60 of the pile of goods just sufficed to end his subconscious61 efforts to get something to hit somebody with, and his whole attention focussed itself upon the struggle in the window. For a splendid instant Parsons towered up over the active backs that clustered about the shop window door, an active whirl of gesture, tearing things down and throwing them, and then he went under. There was an instant’s furious struggle, a crash, a second crash and the crack of broken plate glass. Then a stillness and heavy breathing.
Parsons was overpowered. . . .
Polly, stepping over scattered62 pieces of Bolton sheeting, saw his transfigured friend with a dark cut, that was not at present bleeding, on the forehead, one arm held by Somerville and the other by Morrison.
“You — you — you — you annoyed me,” said Parsons, sobbing63 for breath.
1 transit | |
n.经过,运输;vt.穿越,旋转;vi.越过 | |
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2 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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3 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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4 straps | |
n.带子( strap的名词复数 );挎带;肩带;背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 );用皮带抽打;包扎;给…打绷带 | |
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5 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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6 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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7 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
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8 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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9 outfitting | |
v.装备,配置设备,供给服装( outfit的现在分词 ) | |
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10 adoption | |
n.采用,采纳,通过;收养 | |
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11 warehouse | |
n.仓库;vt.存入仓库 | |
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12 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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13 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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15 accentuate | |
v.着重,强调 | |
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16 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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17 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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18 bleakness | |
adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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19 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
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20 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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21 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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22 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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23 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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24 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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25 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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26 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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27 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
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28 bazaar | |
n.集市,商店集中区 | |
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30 choleric | |
adj.易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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31 complexions | |
肤色( complexion的名词复数 ); 面色; 局面; 性质 | |
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32 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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33 eyelid | |
n.眼睑,眼皮 | |
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34 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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35 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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36 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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37 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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38 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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39 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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40 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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41 muddle | |
n.困惑,混浊状态;vt.使混乱,使糊涂,使惊呆;vi.胡乱应付,混乱 | |
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42 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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43 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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44 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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45 cylinder | |
n.圆筒,柱(面),汽缸 | |
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46 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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47 resounding | |
adj. 响亮的 | |
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48 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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49 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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50 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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51 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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52 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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53 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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54 demolish | |
v.拆毁(建筑物等),推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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55 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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56 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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57 ledger | |
n.总帐,分类帐;帐簿 | |
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58 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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59 squeaking | |
v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 );吱吱叫;告密;充当告密者 | |
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60 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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61 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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62 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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63 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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