Mr. Polly returned to Clapham from the funeral celebration prepared for trouble, and took his dismissal in a manly1 spirit.
“You’ve merely anti-separated me by a hair,” he said politely.
And he told them in the dormitory that he meant to take a little holiday before his next crib, though a certain inherited reticence2 suppressed the fact of the legacy3.
“You’ll do that all right,” said Ascough, the head of the boot shop. “It’s quite the fashion just at present. Six Weeks in Wonderful Wood Street. They’re running excursions. . . . ”
“A little holiday”; that was the form his sense of wealth took first, that it made a little holiday possible. Holidays were his life, and the rest merely adulterated living. And now he might take a little holiday and have money for railway fares and money for meals and money for inns. But — he wanted someone to take the holiday with.
For a time he cherished a design of hunting up Parsons, getting him to throw up his situation, and going with him to Stratford-on-Avon and Shrewsbury and the Welsh mountains and the Wye and a lot of places like that, for a really gorgeous, careless, illimitable old holiday of a month. But alas4! Parsons had gone from the St. Paul’s Churchyard outfitter’s long ago, and left no address.
Mr. Polly tried to think he would be almost as happy wandering alone, but he knew better. He had dreamt of casual encounters with delightfully6 interesting people by the wayside — even romantic encounters. Such things happened in Chaucer and “Bocashiew,” they happened with extreme facility in Mr. Richard Le Gallienne’s very detrimental7 book, The Quest of the Golden Girl, which he had read at Canterbury, but he had no confidence they would happen in England — to him.
When, a month later, he came out of the Clapham side door at last into the bright sunshine of a fine London day, with a dazzling sense of limitless freedom upon him, he did nothing more adventurous8 than order the cabman to drive to Waterloo, and there take a ticket for Easewood.
He wanted — what did he want most in life? I think his distinctive9 craving10 is best expressed as fun — fun in companionship. He had already spent a pound or two upon three select feasts to his fellow assistants, sprat suppers they were, and there had been a great and very successful Sunday pilgrimage to Richmond, by Wandsworth and Wimbledon’s open common, a trailing garrulous11 company walking about a solemnly happy host, to wonderful cold meat and salad at the Roebuck, a bowl of punch, punch! and a bill to correspond; but now it was a weekday, and he went down to Easewood with his bag and portmanteau in a solitary12 compartment13, and looked out of the window upon a world in which every possible congenial seemed either toiling14 in a situation or else looking for one with a gnawing15 and hopelessly preoccupying16 anxiety. He stared out of the window at the exploitation roads of suburbs, and rows of houses all very much alike, either emphatically and impatiently TO LET or full of rather busy unsocial people. Near Wimbledon he had a glimpse of golf links, and saw two elderly gentlemen who, had they chosen, might have been gentlemen of grace and leisure, addressing themselves to smite17 little hunted white balls great distances with the utmost bitterness and dexterity18. Mr. Polly could not understand them.
Every road he remarked, as freshly as though he had never observed it before, was bordered by inflexible19 palings or iron fences or severely20 disciplined hedges. He wondered if perhaps abroad there might be beautifully careless, unenclosed high roads. Perhaps after all the best way of taking a holiday is to go abroad.
He was haunted by the memory of what was either a half-forgotten picture or a dream; a carriage was drawn21 up by the wayside and four beautiful people, two men and two women graciously dressed, were dancing a formal ceremonious dance full of bows and curtseys, to the music of a wandering fiddler they had encountered. They had been driving one way and he walking another — a happy encounter with this obvious result. They might have come straight out of happy Theleme, whose motto is: “Do what thou wilt22.” The driver had taken his two sleek23 horses out; they grazed unchallenged; and he sat on a stone clapping time with his hands while the fiddler played. The shade of the trees did not altogether shut out the sunshine, the grass in the wood was lush and full of still daffodils, the turf they danced on was starred with daisies.
Mr. Polly, dear heart! firmly believed that things like that could and did happen — somewhere. Only it puzzled him that morning that he never saw them happening. Perhaps they happened south of Guilford. Perhaps they happened in Italy. Perhaps they ceased to happen a hundred years ago. Perhaps they happened just round the corner — on weekdays when all good Mr. Pollys are safely shut up in shops. And so dreaming of delightful5 impossibilities until his heart ached for them, he was rattled24 along in the suburban25 train to Johnson’s discreet26 home and the briskly stimulating27 welcome of Mrs. Johnson.
1 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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2 reticence | |
n.沉默,含蓄 | |
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3 legacy | |
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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4 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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5 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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6 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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7 detrimental | |
adj.损害的,造成伤害的 | |
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8 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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9 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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10 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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11 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
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12 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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13 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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14 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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15 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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16 preoccupying | |
v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的现在分词 ) | |
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17 smite | |
v.重击;彻底击败;n.打;尝试;一点儿 | |
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18 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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19 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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20 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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21 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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22 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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23 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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24 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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25 suburban | |
adj.城郊的,在郊区的 | |
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26 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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27 stimulating | |
adj.有启发性的,能激发人思考的 | |
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