I think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity1 in ambush2, behind his lucid3 frankness. Had Filby shown the model and explained the matter in the Time Traveller's words, we should have shown HIM far less scepticism. For we should have perceived his motives4; a pork butcher could understand Filby. But the Time Traveller had more than a touch of whim5 among his elements, and we distrusted him. Things that would have made the frame of a less clever man seemed tricks in his hands. It is a mistake to do things too easily. The serious people who took him seriously never felt quite sure of his deportment; they were somehow aware that trusting their reputations for judgment6 with him was like furnishing a nursery with egg-shell china. So I don't think any of us said very much about time travelling in the interval7 between that Thursday and the next, though its odd potentialities ran, no doubt, in most of our minds: its plausibility8, that is, its practical incredibleness, the curious possibilities of anachronism and of utter confusion it suggested. For my own part, I was particularly preoccupied9 with the trick of the model. That I remember discussing with the Medical Man, whom I met on Friday at the Linnaean. He said he had seen a similar thing at Tubingen, and laid considerable stress on the blowing out of the candle. But how the trick was done he could not explain.
The next Thursday I went again to Richmond--I suppose I was one of the Time Traveller's most constant guests--and, arriving late, found four or five men already assembled in his drawing-room. The Medical Man was standing10 before the fire with a sheet of paper in one hand and his watch in the other. I looked round for the Time Traveller, and--`It's half-past seven now,' said the Medical Man. `I suppose we'd better have dinner?'
`Where's----?' said I, naming our host.
`You've just come? It's rather odd. He's unavoidably detained. He asks me in this note to lead off with dinner at seven if he's not back. Says he'll explain when he comes.'
`It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,' said the Editor of a well-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.
The Psychologist was the only person besides the Doctor and myself who had attended the previous dinner. The other men were Blank, the Editor aforementioned, a certain journalist, and another--a quiet, shy man with a beard--whom I didn't know, and who, as far as my observation went, never opened his mouth all the evening. There was some speculation11 at the dinner-table about the Time Traveller's absence, and I suggested time travelling, in a half-jocular spirit. The Editor wanted that explained to him, and the Psychologist volunteered a wooden account of the `ingenious paradox12 and trick' we had witnessed that day week. He was in the midst of his exposition when the door from the corridor opened slowly and without noise. I was facing the door, and saw it first. `Hallo!' I said. `At last!' And the door opened wider, and the Time Traveller stood before us. I gave a cry of surprise. `Good heavens! man, what's the matter?' cried the Medical Man, who saw him next. And the whole tableful turned towards the door.
He was in an amazing plight13. His coat was dusty and dirty, and smeared14 with green down the sleeves; his hair disordered, and as it seemed to me greyer--either with dust and dirt or because its colour had actually faded. His face was ghastly pale; his chin had a brown cut on it--a cut half healed; his expression was haggard and drawn15, as by intense suffering. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway16, as if he had been dazzled by the light. Then he came into the room. He walked with just such a limp as I have seen in footsore tramps. We stared at him in silence, expecting him to speak.
He said not a word, but came painfully to the table, and made a motion towards the wine. The Editor filled a glass of champagne17, and pushed it towards him. He drained it, and it seemed to do him good: for he looked round the table, and the ghost of his old smile flickered18 across his face. `What on earth have you been up to, man?' said the Doctor. The Time Traveller did not seem to hear. `Don't let me disturb you,' he said, with a certain faltering19 articulation20. `I'm all right.' He stopped, held out his glass for more, and took it off at a draught21. `That's good,' he said. His eyes grew brighter, and a faint colour came into his cheeks. His glance flickered over our faces with a certain dull approval, and then went round the warm and comfortable room. Then he spoke22 again, still as it were feeling his way among his words. `I'm going to wash and dress, and then I'll come down and explain things. . . Save me some of that mutton. I'm starving for a bit of meat.'
He looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and hoped he was all right. The Editor began a question. `Tell you presently,' said the Time Traveller. `I'm--funny! Be all right in a minute.'
He put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door. Again I remarked his lameness23 and the soft padding sound of his footfall, and standing up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had nothing on them but a pair of tattered24 blood-stained socks. Then the door closed upon him. I had half a mind to follow, till I remembered how he detested25 any fuss about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my mind was wool-gathering. Then, 'Remarkable26 Behaviour of an Eminent27 Scientist,' I heard the Editor say, thinking (after his wont) in headlines. And this brought my attention back to the bright dinner-table.
`What's the game?' said the Journalist. `Has he been doing the Amateur Cadger28? I don't follow.' I met the eye of the Psychologist, and read my own interpretation29 in his face. I thought of the Time Traveller limping painfully upstairs. I don't think any one else had noticed his lameness.
The first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical Man, who rang the bell--the Time Traveller hated to have servants waiting at dinner--for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife and fork with a grunt30, and the Silent Man followed suit. The dinner was resumed. Conversation was exclamatory for a little while, with gaps of wonderment; and then the Editor got fervent31 in his curiosity. `Does our friend eke32 out his modest income with a crossing? or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?' he inquired. `I feel assured it's this business of the Time Machine,' I said, and took up the Psychologist's account of our previous meeting. The new guests were frankly33 incredulous. The Editor raised objections. `What WAS this time travelling? A man couldn't cover himself with dust by rolling in a paradox, could he?' And then, as the idea came home to him, he resorted to caricature. Hadn't they any clothes-brushes in the Future? The Journalist too, would not believe at any price, and joined the Editor in the easy work of heaping ridicule34 on the whole thing. They were both the new kind of journalist--very joyous35, irreverent young men. `Our Special Correspondent in the Day after To-morrow reports,' the Journalist was saying--or rather shouting--when the Time Traveller came back. He was dressed in ordinary evening clothes, and nothing save his haggard look remained of the change that had startled me.
`I say,' said the Editor hilariously36, `these chaps here say you have been travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us all about little Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?'
The Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without a word. He smiled quietly, in his old way. `Where's my mutton?' he said. `What a treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!'
`Story!' cried the Editor.
`Story be damned!' said the Time Traveller. `I want something to eat. I won't say a word until I get some peptone into my arteries37. Thanks. And the salt.'
`One word,' said I. `Have you been time travelling?'
`Yes,' said the Time Traveller, with his mouth full, nodding his head.
`I'd give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,' said the Editor. The Time Traveller pushed his glass towards the Silent Man and rang it with his fingernail; at which the Silent Man, who had been staring at his face, started convulsively, and poured him wine. The rest of the dinner was uncomfortable. For my own part, sudden questions kept on rising to my lips, and I dare say it was the same with the others. The Journalist tried to relieve the tension by telling anecdotes38 of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveller devoted39 his attention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a tramp. The Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and watched the Time Traveller through his eyelashes. The Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than usual, and drank champagne with regularity40 and determination out of sheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveller pushed his plate away, and looked round us. `I suppose I must apologize,' he said. `I was simply starving. I've had a most amazing time.' He reached out his hand for a cigar, and cut the end. `But come into the smoking-room. It's too long a story to tell over greasy41 plates.' And ringing the bell in passing, he led the way into the adjoining room.
`You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the machine?' he said to me, leaning back in his easy-chair and naming the three new guests.
`But the thing's a mere42 paradox,' said the Editor.
`I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you the story, but I can't argue. I will,' he went on, `tell you the story of what has happened to me, if you like, but you must refrain from interruptions. I want to tell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like lying. So be it! It's true--every word of it, all the same. I was in my laboratory at four o'clock, and since then . . . I've lived eight days . . . such days as no human being ever lived before! I'm nearly worn out, but I shan't sleep till I've told this thing over to you. Then I shall go to bed. But no interruptions! Is it agreed?'
`Agreed,' said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed `Agreed.' And with that the Time Traveller began his story as I have set it forth43. He sat back in his chair at first, and spoke like a weary man. Afterwards he got more animated44. In writing it down I feel with only too much keenness the inadequacy45 of pen and ink --and, above all, my own inadequacy--to express its quality. You read, I will suppose, attentively46 enough; but you cannot see the speaker's white, sincere face in the bright circle of the little lamp, nor hear the intonation47 of his voice. You cannot know how his expression followed the turns of his story! Most of us hearers were in shadow, for the candles in the smoking-room had not been lighted, and only the face of the Journalist and the legs of the Silent Man from the knees downward were illuminated48. At first we glanced now and again at each other. After a time we ceased to do that, and looked only at the Time Traveller's face.
我想我们当时谁也不太相信时间机器。事实上，时间游客是个聪明得让人不敢相信的人。你从未感到看透过他，你总是怀疑他坦率的背后还有所保留，还另有用心。要是让菲尔比展示这台机器并用时间游客的话来进行解释，我们就不会这样疑虑重重，因为我们一定会看穿他的动机，连杀猪的都能理解菲尔比。但是，时间游客不仅仅是有几分异想天开，而且我们都不相信他。可以让一个不如他聪明的人名声大振的事情到他手里就成了骗人的把戏。事情做得太容易实在是个错误。那些不和他开玩笑的严肃认真的人从未感到摸，透过他的行为。他们反正也知道，虽然他们擅长判断，可轻易相信他就如同用蛋壳般易碎的瓷器去装饰托儿所。所以，我想我们在那个星期四到下一个星期四的这段时间里，谁也没有多谈时间旅行的事，不过我们大多数人的脑子里无疑还惦记着它虽然可疑却有潜在可能性。这就是其表面上可能而事实上不切实际，也就是造成年代颠倒和天下大乱的可能性。我自己则一心想着机器里面的鬼花招。我记得星期五在林尼安遇上医生后同他讨论过这个问题。他说他在蒂宾根见过类似的事情，并且特别强调了蜡烛被吹灭的现象。但花招是如何耍的，他没法解释。
接下来的星期四我又去了里士满——我相信我是时间游客的常客之——由于到得晚，我发现四五个人已聚集在他的会客室里。医生站在壁炉前，一手拿着一张纸，一手握着一块手表。我朝四周看看，想寻找时间游客。“现在已经7点半了”，医生说，“我看我们最好先吃饭吧？”
“怎么不见……”我问着说出了我们主人的名字。
“你刚来？真是怪事，他一定是耽搁了。他留了张便条，叫我7点钟还不见他回来就先带大家吃饭。他说他回来后再跟大伙解释。”
“有饭不吃似乎有点可惜。”一位著名日报的编辑说。医生随后摇了摇铃。
除了医生和我，心理学家是唯一出席上次晚餐会的人。其他几个人分别是上面提到的那位编辑布兰克，一位记者，还有一位是个留着山羊胡子、内向怕羞的男子，这人我不认识。据我观察，他整个晚上没开口说一句话。用餐时，大家都在猜测时间游客缺席的原因，我半开玩笑地提到了时间旅行。编辑要我们解释一下，心理学家主动要求对我们那天目睹的“巧妙的怪事和把戏”做一番如实的描述。他正讲到一半，通走廊的门慢慢地、悄然无声地打开了。我是朝门坐的，第一个看到了眼前的情境。“你好！”我说，“终于回来啦！”我惊叹一声。这时门开得更大了，时间游客站在我们面前。
“天哪！老兄，怎么回事？”医生大声问道。他是第二个看见他的，全桌的人都转身朝门口望去。
他显得狼狈不堪，外套又灰又脏，袖管上沾满了青兮兮的污迹，头发乱七八糟，好像变得更加灰白了——如果不是因为头发上的灰尘和污垢，那就是头发真的比以前更白了。他脸色如土，下巴上留着一条还没有完全愈合的棕色口子。他神情惟怀，面容枯稿，好像吃尽了苦头。他站在门口，犹豫了片刻，仿佛被灯光刺花了眼。随后，他一瘸一拐地走进了房间，像是我见过的那些腿酸脚痛的徒步旅行者。我们静静地望着他，等待他开口说话。
他一声不吭，费劲地来到桌前，朝酒瓶做了个手势。编辑斟满一杯香摈，推到他面前。他一饮而尽，这下好像来了点精神，因为他朝桌旁的人望了一眼，脸上又掠过了一丝应有的微笑。“你到底上哪儿去了，老兄？”医生问。时间游客好像没听见。“我不来打扰你们，”他说，声音有点颤抖，“我没事。”他说到这里又停了下来，伸出杯子又要了点酒，又是一口喝了个精光。“不错。”他说。双眼越来越有神，面颊上也泛出了淡淡的红晕。他用迟钝的赞许的目光朝我们脸上扫了一眼，接着在温暖舒适的房间里兜了一圈。随后他又开口说话了，好像还是不知道该说什么。“我去洗个澡，换换衣服，然再下来向你们解释……给我留点羊肉，我都要馋死了。”
他朝编辑看了一眼。编辑是位稀客，他希望编辑一切如意。编辑提了个问题。“马上就告诉你，”时间游客答道，“我这模样——太可笑了！不过隔一会儿就好了。”
他放下酒杯，朝搂道门走去。我再次注意到了他走路一瘸一拐的样子和软绵绵的脚步。我从座位上站立起来，在他出门的时候着清了他的双脚。他的脚上只套了一双血迹斑斑的破袜子，连鞋都没穿。这时门在他身后关上了，我真想跟他出去帮帮他，可一想到他讨厌别人为他的事情大惊小怪又打消了念头。我一时心乱如麻，不知所措。这时，我听见编辑说“著名科学家的惊人之举，”他（出于习惯）又在考虑他的文章标题了。我的注意力又被拉回到了气氛热烈的餐桌上。
“这是玩什么游戏？”记者说，“他一直在扮演业余乞丐吗？我真不明白。”我和心理学家目光相遇，我从他脸上看出来，我俩的理解是相同的。我想起了时间游客一瘸一拐爬楼的痛苦模样，以为其他人一个也没注意到他的脚不好。
第一个从惊讶中恢复过来的是医生。他摇摇铃——时间游客不喜欢让仆人站在餐桌旁——示意上热菜。这时编辑咕咕着拿起了刀叉，那个沉默寡言的人也跟着拿起了刀叉。晚饭继续进行。桌上的谈话有段时间竟变成了叫喊，还不时冒出几声惊叹。这时编辑再也按捺不住他的好奇心了：“我们的朋友是有旁门左道来弥补他不高的收入呢？还是在学尼布甲尼撒二世呢？”他问道。“我肯定这和时间机器有关。”我接过心理学家叙述的我们上次聚会的话题答道。新来的客人显然不相信；编辑提出了反对意见：“这时间旅行究竟是什么？一个人总不会在奇谈怪论里滚得满身是泥吧？”说着他想起了什么，于是就讽刺挖苦起来，“难道未来人连掸衣刷都没有？”记者也是死不相信，他站到了编辑的一边，对整个事情横加嘲弄。他俩都是新式的新闻工作者——那种生性快乐又缺乏礼貌的年轻人。“我们的《后天》报特约记者报道说，”记者正说着——其实是喊着——时间游客回来了。他穿着普通的夜礼服，除了面客依旧显得慌怀，刚才让我们大吃一惊的样子已无影无踪。
“我说，”编辑兴高采烈地说，“这些家伙说你刚才到下星期旅行去了！跟我们讲讲小罗斯伯里的事，好吗？你觉得他的命运如何？”
时间游客一声不吭地来到留给他的座位旁，和以往一样安详地笑了。“我的羊肉呢？”他说，“刀叉上又能叉上肉真是享受啊！”
“故事！”编辑喊道。
“去他妈的故事吧！”时间游客说。“我想吃点东西。我不填饱肚皮是什么也不会讲的。谢谢，把盐递一递。”
“就讲一句话，”我说，“你去时间旅行了吗？”
“是的。”时间游客嘴里塞满了东西，他边点头边回答。
“我愿出每行字一先令的价，买下记录稿。”编辑说。时间游客把玻璃杯推向那位沉默者，并用指甲敲敲杯子。两眼一直望着时间游客的沉默者吓了一跳，赶忙为他斟满酒杯。随后吃饭的气氛是令人不快的。就我而言，问题不时地冒到嘴边，我敢说其他人一定也有同感。新闻记者讲起了海迪·波特的轶事趣闻，想缓和一下紧张的气氛。时间游客一门心思只顾吃饭，胃口大得像个流浪汉。医生点燃香烟，眯眼望着时间游客。沉默者似乎比平时更笨口拙舌，他不停地闷声喝着香模酒，借以掩饰内心的紧张不安。时间游客终于推开盘子，朝我们望了一眼。“我想我应该道歉”，他说，“刚才我实在是饿极了。我的经历太惊人了。”他伸手取了一古雪茄烟，切去烟屁股。“还是去吸烟室吧，故事太长了，总不能在这油兮兮的盘子前讲吧。”他顺手摇了摇铃，领大家走进隔壁房间。
“你对戴希、乔士和布兰克讲过时间旅行机器的事吗？”他一边问我一边靠上安乐椅，点出了这三位新客人的名字。
“可这种事情纯属胡扯。”编辑说。
“今晚我无法辩论。我愿意把经过告诉你们，但我不相辩论。如果你们想听，”他继续说道，“我就把我的遭遇全告诉你们，但不能打断我的话。我很想把这个故事讲出来，大多数内容听起来像是谎话，可事情就是这样！这是真的——绝对是真话。我4点钟还在实验室，随后……我度过了8天时间……这是谁也不曾有过的日子啊！我现在真是精疲力竭，可我不把事情告诉你们是不会睡觉去的，讲完了再睡。但不许插话！都同意吗？”
“同意。”编辑说。我们其他人也跟着说了声“同意”。于是，时间游客开始讲述我下面记录的这个故事。他先是靠在椅子上，讲话像个劳累过度的人，后来械讲越起劲。记录时，我特别感到笔墨的欠缺，尤其是我自身能力的不足，无法把这故事淋漓尽致地表达出来。我想，你们会聚精会神地去读的，但是你们无法亲眼目睹讲述者在小灯照射下的那张苍白而又严肃的脸，也无法听到他的讲话声调。你们也无法知道他的表情是如何随着故事的发展而变化的。我们这些听众大多坐在灯影里，因为吸烟室里没有点蜡烛，灯光只照到了记者的脸和那位沉默者的小腿。起初，我们还不时地相互望望，过了一会儿，就再也无暇顾及别人，只是两眼盯着时间游客的脸。
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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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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plausibility
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| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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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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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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cadger
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| n.乞丐；二流子；小的油容量；小型注油器 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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hilariously
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arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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