The Going Concern
i
On a Saturday afternoon of the following August, Hilda was sitting at a book in the basement parlour of “Cannon1’s Boarding-house” in Preston Street. She heard, through the open window, several pairs of feet mounting wearily to the front door, and then the long remote tinkling2 of the bell. Within the house there was no responsive sound; but from the porch came a clearing of throats, a muttering, impatient and yet resigned, and a vague shuffling3. After a long pause the bell rang again; and then the gas globe over Hilda’s head vibrated for a moment to footsteps in the hall, and the front door was unlatched. She could not catch the precise question; but the reply of Louisa, the chambermaid— haughty5, scornful, and negligently6 pitying—was quite clear:
“Sorry, sir. We’re full up. We’ve had to refuse several this very day.... No! I couldn’t rightly tell you where.... You might try No. 51, ‘Homeleigh’ as they call it; but we’re full up. Good afternoon, sir, ‘d afternoon ‘m.”
The door banged arrogantly7. The feet redescended to the pavement, and Hilda, throwing a careless glance at the window, saw two men and a woman pass melancholy8 down the hot street with their hand-luggage.
And although she condemned9 and despised the flunkey-souled Louisa, who would have abased10 herself with sickly smiles and sweet phrases before the applicants11, if the house had needed custom; although in her mind she was saying curtly12 to the mature Louisa: “It’s a good thing Mr. Cannon didn’t hear you using that tone to customers, my girl;” nevertheless, she could not help feeling somewhat as Louisa felt. It was indubitably agreeable to hear a prosperous door closed on dusty and disappointed holiday-makers, and to realize, in her tranquil13 retreat, that she was part of a very thriving and successful concern.
ii
George Cannon, in a light and elegant summer suit, passed slowly in front of the window, and, looking for Hilda in her accustomed place, saw her and nodded. Surprised by the unusual gesture, she moved uneasily and blushed; and as she did so, she asked herself resentfully: “Why do I behave like this? I’m only his clerk, and I shall never be anything else but his clerk; and yet I do believe I’m getting worse instead of better.” George Cannon skipped easily up to the porch; he had a latchkey, but before he could put it into the keyhole Louisa had flown down the stairs and opened the door to him; she must have been on the watch from an upper floor. George Cannon would have been well served, whatever his situation in the house, for he was one of those genial15 bullies16 who are adored by the menials whom they alternately cajole and terrorize. But his situation in the house was that of a god, and like a god he was attended. He was the very creator of the house; all its life flowed from him. Without him the organism would have ceased to exist, and everybody in it was quite aware of this. He had fully14 learnt his business. He had learnt it in the fishmarket on the beach at seven o’clock in the morning, and in the vegetable market at eight, and in the shops; he had learnt it in the kitchen and on the stairs while the servants were cleaning; and he had learnt it at the dinner-table surrounded by his customers. There was nothing that he did not know and, except actual cooking and mending, little that he could not do. He always impressed his customers by the statement that he had slept in every room in the house in order to understand personally its qualities and defects; and he could and did in fact talk to each boarder about his room with the intimate geographical17 knowledge of a native. The boarders were further flattered by the mien18 and appearance of this practical housekeeper19, who did not in the least resemble his kind, but had rather the style of a slightly doggish stockbroker20. To be strolling on the King’s Road in converse21 with George Cannon was a matter, of pride to boarders male and female. And there was none with whom he could not talk fluently, on any subject from cigars to ozone22, according to the needs of the particular case. Nor did he ever seem to be bored by conversations. But sometimes, after benignantly speeding, for instance, one of the Watchetts on her morning constitutional, he would slip down into the basement and ejaculate, ‘Cursed hag!’ with a calm and natural earnestness, which frightened Hilda, indicating as it did that he must be capable of astounding23 duplicities.
He came, now, directly to the underground parlour, hat on head and ebony stick in hand. Hilda did not even look up, but self-consciously bent24 a little lower over her volume. Her relation to George Cannon in the successful enterprise was anomalous25, and yet the habit of ten months had in practice defined it. Neither paying board nor receiving wages, she had remained in the house apparently26 as Sarah Gailey’s companion and moral support; she had remained because Sarah Gailey had never been in a condition to be left—and the months had passed very quickly. But her lack of occupation and her knowledge of shorthand, and George Cannon’s obvious need of clerical aid, had made it inevitable27 that they should resume their former r?les of principal and clerk. Hilda worked daily at letters, circularizing, advertisements, and—to a less extent—accounts and bills; the second finger of her right hand had nearly always an agreeable stain of ink at the base of the nail; and she often dreamed about letter-filing. In this prosperous month of August she had, on the whole, less work than usual, for both circulating and advertisements were stopped.
George Cannon went to the desk in the dark corner between the window and the door, where all business papers were kept, but where neither he nor she actually wrote. When his back was turned she surreptitiously glanced at him without moving her head, and perceived that his hand was only moving idly about among the papers while he stared at the wall. She thought, half in alarm: “What is the matter now?” Then he came over to the table and hesitated by her shoulder. Still, she would not look up. She could no longer decipher a single word on the page. Her being was somehow monopolized28 by the consciousness of his nearness.
“Interesting?” he inquired.
She turned her head at last and glanced at him with a friendly smile of affirmation, fingering the leaves of the book nervously29. It was Cranswick’s History of Printing. One day, a fortnight earlier, while George Cannon, in company with her, was bargaining for an old London Directory outside a bookseller’s shop in East Street, she had seen Cranswick’s History of Printing (labelled “published at ￡1 1s., our price 6s. 6d.”) and had opened it curiously30. George Cannon, who always kept an eye on her, had said teasingly: “I suppose it’s your journalistic past that makes you interested in that?” “I suppose it is,” she answered. Which statement was an untruth, for the sole thought in her mind had been that Edwin Clayhanger was a printer. A strange, idle thought! She had laid the book down. The next day, however, George Cannon had brought it home, saying carelessly: “I bought that book—five and six; the man seemed anxious to do business, and it’s a book to have.” He had not touched it since.
“Page 473!” he murmured, looking at the number of the page. “If you keep on at this rate, you’ll soon know more about printing than young Clayhanger himself!”
She was thunderstruck. Never before had the name of Clayhanger been mentioned between them! Could he, then, penetrate31 her thoughts? Could he guess that in truth she was reading Cranswick solely32 because Edwin Clayhanger happened to be a printer? No! It was impossible! The reason of her interest in Cranswick, inexplicable33 even to herself, was too fantastic to be divined. And yet was not his tone peculiar34? Or was it only in her fancy that his tone was peculiar? She blushed scarlet35, and her muscles grew rigid36.
“I say,” George Cannon continued, in a tone that now was unmistakably peculiar, “I want you to come out with me. I want to show you something on the front. Can you come?”
“At once?” she muttered glumly37 and painfully. What could be the mystery beneath this most singular behaviour?
“Yes.”
“Florrie will be arriving at five,” said Hilda, after artificially coughing. “I ought to be here then, oughtn’t I?”
“Oh!” he cried. “We shall be back long before five.”
“Very well,” she agreed.
“I’ll be ready in three minutes,” he said, going gaily38 towards the door. From the door he gave her a glance. She met it, courageously39 exposing her troubled features and nodded.
iii
Hilda went into the bedroom behind the parlour, to get her hat and gloves. A consequence of the success of the boarding-house was that she was temporarily sharing this chamber4 with Sarah Gailey. She had insisted on making the sacrifice, and she enjoyed the personal discomfort40 which it involved. When she cautiously lay down on the narrow and lumpy truckle-bed that had been insinuated41 against an unoccupied wall, and when she turned over restlessly in the night and the rickety ironwork creaked and Sarah Gailey moaned, and when she searched vainly for a particular garment lost among garments that were hung pell-mell on insecure hooks and jutting42 corners of furniture,—she was proud and glad because her own comfortable room was steadily43 adding thirty shillings or more per week to the gross receipts of the enterprise. The benefit was in no way hers, and yet she gloated on it, thinking pleasurably of George Cannon’s great japanned cash-box, which seemed to be an exhaustless store of gold sovereigns and large silver, and of his mysterious—almost furtive—visits to the Bank. Her own capital, invested by George Cannon in railway stock, was bringing in four times as much as she disbursed44; and she gloated also on her savings45. The more money she amassed46, the less willing was she to spend. This nascent47 avarice48 amused her, as a new trait in his character always amuses the individual. She said to herself: “I am getting quite a miser49,” with the assured reservation: “Of course I can stop being a miser whenever I feel like stopping.”
Sarah Gailey was lulling50 herself in a rocking-chair when Hilda entered, and she neither regarded Hilda nor intermitted her see-saw. Her features were drawn51 into a preoccupied52 expression of martyrdom, and in fact she constantly suffered physical torture. She had three genuine complaints—rheumatism, sciatica, and neuritis; they were all painful. The latest and worst was the neuritis, which had attacked her in the wrist, producing swollen53 joints54 that had to be fomented55 with hot water. Sarah Gailey’s life had indeed latterly developed into a continual fomentation and a continual rocking. She was so taken up with the elemental business of fomenting56 and of keeping warm, that she had no energy left for other remedial treatments, such as distraction57 in the open air. She sat for ever shawled, generally with heavy mittens58 on her arms and wrists, and either fomenting or rocking, in the eternal twilight59 of the basement bedroom. She eschewed60 aid—she could manage for herself—and she did not encourage company, apparently preferring to be alone with fate. In her easier hours, one hand resting on another and both hugged close to her breast, rocking to and fro with an astounding monotonous61 perseverance62, she was like a mysterious Indian god in a subterranean63 temple. Above her, unseen by her, floor beyond floor, the life of the boarding-house functioned in the great holiday month of August.
“I quite forgot about the make-up bed for Florrie,” said Sarah Gailey plaintively64 as she rocked. “Would you have time to see to it? Of course she will have to be with Louisa.”
“Very well,” said Hilda curtly, and not quite hiding exasperation65.
There were three reasons for her exasperation. In the first place, the constant spectacle of Sarah Gailey’s pain, and the effect of the pain on Sarah’s character, was exasperating66—to Hilda as well as to George Cannon. Both well knew that the watery-eyed, fretful spinster was a victim, utterly67 innocent and utterly helpless, of destiny, and that she merited nothing but patient sympathy; yet often the strain of relationship with Sarah produced in them such a profound feeling of annoyance68 that they positively69 resented Sarah’s sufferings, and with a sad absence of logic70 blamed her in her misfortune, just as though she had wilfully71 brought the maladies upon herself in order to vex72 them. Then, further, it was necessary always to minister to Sarah’s illusion that Sarah was the mainstay of the house, that she attended to everything and was responsible for everything, and that without her governance the machine would come to a disastrous73 standstill: the fact being that she had grown feeble and superfluous74. Sarah had taught all she knew to two highly intelligent pupils, and had survived her usefulness. She had no right place on earth. But in her morose75 inefficiency76 she had developed into an unconscious tyrant77—a tyrant whose power lay in the loyalty78 of her subjects and not at all in her own soul. She was indeed like a deity79, immanent, brooding, and unaware80 of itself!... Thus, the question of Florrie’s bed had been discussed and settled long before Sarah Gailey had even thought of it; but Hilda might not tell her so. Lastly, this very question of Florrie’s bed was exasperating to Hilda. Already Louisa’s kennel81 was inadequate82 for Louisa, and now another couch had been crowded into it. Hilda was ashamed of the shift; but there was no alternative. Here, for Hilda, was the secret canker of George Cannon’s brilliant success. The servants were kindly83 ill-treated. In the commercial triumph she lost the sense of the tragic84 forlornness of boarding-house existence, as it had struck her on the day of her arrival. But the image of the Indian god in the basement and of the prone85 forms of the servants in stifling86 black cupboards under the roof and under the stairs—these images embittered87 at intervals88 the instinctive89 and reflecting exultation90 of her moods.
She adjusted her small, close-fitting flowered hat, dropped her parasol across the bed, and began to draw on her cotton gloves.
“Where are you going, dear?” asked Sarah Gailey.
“Out with Mr. Cannon.”
“But where?”
“I don’t know.” In spite of herself there was a certain unnecessary defiance91 in Hilda’s voice.
“You don’t know, dear?” Sarah Gailey suddenly ceased rocking, and glanced at Hilda with the mournful expression of acute worry that was so terribly familiar on her features. Although it was notorious that baseless apprehensions92 were a part of Sarah’s disease, nevertheless Hilda could never succeed in treating any given apprehension93 as quite baseless. And now Sarah’s mere94 tone begot95 in Hilda’s self-consciousness a vague alarm.
She continued busy with her gloves, silent.
“And on Saturday afternoon too, when everybody’s abroad!” Sarah Gailey added gloomily, with her involuntary small movements of the head.
“He asked me if I could go out with him for a minute or two at once,” said Hilda, and picked up the parasol with a decisive gesture.
“There’s a great deal too much talk about you and George as it is,” said Sarah with an acrid96 firmness.
“Talk about me and—!” Hilda cried, absolutely astounded97.
She had no feeling of guilt98, but she knew that she was looking guilty, and this knowledge induced in her the actual sensations of a criminal.
“I’m sure I don’t want—” Sarah Gailey began, and was interrupted by a quiet tap at the door.
George Cannon entered.
“Ready, miss?” he demanded, smiling, before he had caught sight of her face.
For the second time that afternoon he saw her scarlet, and now there were tears in her eyes, too.
She hesitated an instant.
“Yes,” she answered with a painful gulp99, and moved towards the door.
收听单词发音 |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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negligently
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arrogantly
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| adv.傲慢地 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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abased
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| 使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到羞耻； 使降低（地位、身份等）； 降下 | |
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applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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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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anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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monopolized
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| v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 )；独占；专卖；专营 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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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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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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disbursed
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| v.支出，付出( disburse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nascent
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| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
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avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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lulling
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的现在分词形式） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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fomented
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| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fomenting
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| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的现在分词 ) | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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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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eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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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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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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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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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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begot
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 )；产生，引起 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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