You must picture Mr. Thomas Marvel1 as a person of copious2, flexible visage, a nose of cylindrical3 protrusion4, a liquorish, ample, fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling5 eccentricity6. His figure inclined to embonpoint; his short limbs accentuated7 this inclination8. He wore a furry9 silk hat, and the frequent substitution of twine10 and shoe-laces for buttons, apparent at critical points of his costume, marked a man essentially11 bachelor.
Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside over the down towards Adderdean, about a mile and a half out of Iping. His feet, save for socks of irregular open-work, were bare, his big toes were broad, and pricked12 like the ears of a watchful13 dog. In a leisurely14 manner--he did everything in a leisurely manner--he was contemplating15 trying on a pair of boots. They were the soundest boots he had come across for a long time, but too large for him; whereas the ones he had were, in dry weather, a very comfortable fit, but too thin-soled for damp. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but then he hated damp. He had never properly thought out which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four shoes in a graceful16 group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass and springing agrimony, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were exceedingly ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him.
"They're boots, anyhow," said the Voice.
"They are--charity boots," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with his head on one side regarding them distastefully; "and which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed universe, I'm darned if I know!"
"H'm," said the Voice.
"I've worn worse--in fact, I've worn none. But none so owdacious ugly--if you'll allow the expression. I've been cadging17 boots--in particular--for days. Because I was sick of _them_. They're sound enough, of course. But a gentleman on tramp sees such a thundering lot of his boots. And if you'll believe me, I've raised nothing in the whole blessed country, try as I would, but _them_. Look at 'em! And a good country for boots, too, in a general way. But it's just my promiscuous18 luck. I've got my boots in this country ten years or more. And then they treat you like this."
"It's a beast of a country," said the Voice. "And pigs for people."
"Ain't it?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "Lord! But them boots! It beats it."
He turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor with a view to comparisons, and lo! where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He was irradiated by the dawn of a great amazement19. "Where _are_ yer?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder and coming on all fours. He saw a stretch of empty downs with the wind swaying the remote green-pointed furze bushes.
"Am I drunk?" said Mr. Marvel. "Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the--"
"Don't be alarmed," said a Voice.
"None of your ventriloquising _me_," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. "Where _are_ yer? Alarmed, indeed!"
"Don't be alarmed," repeated the Voice.
"_You'll_ be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool," said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "Where _are_ yer? Lemme get my mark on yer...
"Are yer _buried_?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, after an interval20.
There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed, his jacket nearly thrown off.
"Peewit," said a peewit, very remote.
"Peewit, indeed!" said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "This ain't no time for foolery." The down was desolate21, east and west, north and south; the road with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too. "So help me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling22 his coat on to his shoulders again. "It's the drink! I might ha' known."
"It's not the drink," said the Voice. "You keep your nerves steady."
"Ow!" said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches. "It's the drink!" his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards23. "I could have _swore_ I heard a voice," he whispered.
"Of course you did."
"It's there again," said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his hand on his brow with a tragic24 gesture. He was suddenly taken by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever. "Don't be a fool," said the Voice.
"I'm--off--my--blooming--chump," said Mr. Marvel. "It's no good. It's fretting25 about them blarsted boots. I'm off my blessed blooming chump. Or it's spirits."
"Neither one thing nor the other," said the Voice. "Listen!"
"Chump," said Mr. Marvel.
"One minute," said the Voice, penetratingly, tremulous with self-control.
"Well?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having been dug in the chest by a finger.
"You think I'm just imagination? Just imagination?"
"What else _can_ you be?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Very well," said the Voice, in a tone of relief. "Then I'm going to throw flints at you till you think differently."
"But where _are_ yer?"
The Voice made no answer. Whizz came a flint, apparently26 out of the air, and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's-breadth. Mr. Marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet with almost invisible rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge27. Whizz it came, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run, tripped over an unseen obstacle, and came head over heels into a sitting position.
"_Now_," said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the air above the tramp. "Am I imagination?"
Mr. Marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was immediately rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. "If you struggle any more," said the Voice, "I shall throw the flint at your head."
"It's a fair do," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. "I don't understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking. Put yourself down. Rot away. I'm done."
The third flint fell.
"It's very simple," said the Voice. "I'm an invisible man."
"Tell us something I don't know," said Mr. Marvel, gasping28 with pain. "Where you've hid--how you do it--I _don't_ know. I'm beat."
"That's all," said the Voice. "I'm invisible. That's what I want you to understand."
"Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded impatient, mister. _Now_ then. Give us a notion. How are you hid?"
"I'm invisible. That's the great point. And what I want you to understand is this--"
"But whereabouts?" interrupted Mr. Marvel.
"Here! Six yards in front of you."
"Oh, _come_! I ain't blind. You'll be telling me next you're just thin air. I'm not one of your ignorant tramps--"
"Yes, I am--thin air. You're looking through me."
"What! Ain't there any stuff to you. _Vox et_--what is it?--jabber. Is it that?"
"I am just a human being--solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too--But I'm invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible."
"What, real like?"
"Yes, real."
"Let's have a hand of you," said Marvel, "if you _are_ real. It won't be so darn out-of-the-way like, then--_Lord_!" he said, "how you made me jump!--gripping me like that!"
He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his fingers went timorously29 up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel's face was astonishment30.
"I'm dashed!" he said. "If this don't beat cock-fighting! Most remarkable31!--And there I can see a rabbit clean through you, 'arf a mile away! Not a bit of you visible--except--"
He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. "You 'aven't been eatin' bread and cheese?" he asked, holding the invisible arm.
"You're quite right, and it's not quite assimilated into the system."
"Ah!" said Mr. Marvel. "Sort of ghostly, though."
"Of course, all this isn't half so wonderful as you think."
"It's quite wonderful enough for _my_ modest wants," said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "Howjer manage it! How the dooce is it done?"
"It's too long a story. And besides--"
"I tell you, the whole business fairly beats me," said Mr. Marvel.
"What I want to say at present is this: I need help. I have come to that--I came upon you suddenly. I was wandering, mad with rage, naked, impotent. I could have murdered. And I saw you--"
"_Lord_!" said Mr. Marvel.
"I came up behind you--hesitated--went on--"
Mr. Marvel's expression was eloquent32.
"--then stopped. 'Here,' I said, 'is an outcast like myself. This is the man for me.' So I turned back and came to you--you. And--"
"_Lord_!" said Mr. Marvel. "But I'm all in a tizzy. May I ask--How is it? And what you may be requiring in the way of help?--Invisible!"
"I want you to help me get clothes--and shelter--and then, with other things. I've left them long enough. If you won't--well! But you _will--must_."
"Look here," said Mr. Marvel. "I'm too flabbergasted. Don't knock me about any more. And leave me go. I must get steady a bit. And you've pretty near broken my toe. It's all so unreasonable33. Empty downs, empty sky. Nothing visible for miles except the bosom34 of Nature. And then comes a voice. A voice out of heaven! And stones! And a fist--Lord!"
"Pull yourself together," said the Voice, "for you have to do the job I've chosen for you."
Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were round.
"I've chosen you," said the Voice. "You are the only man except some of those fools down there, who knows there is such a thing as an invisible man. You have to be my helper. Help me--and I will do great things for you. An invisible man is a man of power." He stopped for a moment to sneeze violently.
"But if you betray me," he said, "if you fail to do as I direct you--" He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel's shoulder smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a yelp35 of terror at the touch. "I don't want to betray you," said Mr. Marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. "Don't you go a-thinking that, whatever you do. All I want to do is to help you--just tell me what I got to do. (Lord!) Whatever you want done, that I'm most willing to do."
收听单词发音 |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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cylindrical
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| adj.圆筒形的 | |
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protrusion
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| n.伸出，突出 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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cadging
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| v.乞讨，乞得，索取( cadge的现在分词 ) | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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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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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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