Dry Valley Johnson shook the bottle. You have to shake the bottle before using; for sulphur will not dissolve. Then Dry Valley saturated1 a small sponge with the liquid and rubbed it carefully into the roots of his hair. Besides sulphur there was sugar of lead in it and tincture of nux vomica and bay rum. Dry Valley found the recipe in a Sunday newspaper. You must next be told why a strong man came to fall a victim to a Beauty Hint.
Dry Valley had been a sheepman. His real name was Hector, but he had been rechristened after his range to distinguish him from "Elm Creek2" Johnson, who ran sheep further down the Frio.
Many years of living face to face with sheep on their own terms wearied Dry Valley Johnson. So, he sold his ranch3 for eighteen thousand dollars and moved to Santa Rosa to live a life of gentlemanly ease. Being a silent and melancholy4 person of thirty-five--or perhaps thirty-eight--he soon became that cursed and earth-cumbering thing--an elderlyish bachelor with a hobby. Some one gave him his first strawberry to eat, and he was done for.
Dry Valley bought a four-room cottage in the village, and a library on strawberry culture. Behind the cottage was a garden of which he made a strawberry patch. In his old grey woolen6 shirt, his brown duck trousers, and high-heeled boots he sprawled7 all day on a canvas cot under a live-oak tree at his back door studying the history of the seductive, scarlet8 berry.
The school teacher, Miss De Witt, spoke9 of him as "a fine, presentable man, for all his middle age." But, the focus of Dry Valley's eyes embraced no women. They were merely beings who flew skirts as a signal for him to lift awkwardly his heavy, round-crowned, broad-brimmed felt Stetson whenever he met them, and then hurry past to get back to his beloved berries.
And all this recitative by the chorus is only to bring us to the point where you may be told why Dry Valley shook up the insoluble sulphur in the bottle. So long-drawn and inconsequential a thing is history--the anamorphous shadow of a milestone10 reaching down the road between us and the setting sun.
When his strawberries were beginning to ripen11 Dry Valley bought the heaviest buggy whip in the Santa Rosa store. He sat for many hours under the live oak tree plaiting and weaving in an extension to its lash12. When it was done he could snip13 a leaf from a bush twenty feet away with the cracker14. For the bright, predatory eyes of Santa Rosa youth were watching the ripening15 berries, and Dry Valley was arming himself against their expected raids. No greater care had he taken of his tender lambs during his ranching16 days than he did of his cherished fruit, warding17 it from the hungry wolves that whistled and howled and shot their marbles and peered through the fence that surrounded his property.
In the house next to Dry Valley's lived a widow with a pack of children that gave the husbandman frequent anxious misgivings18. In the woman there was a strain of the Spanish. She had wedded19 one of the name of O'Brien. Dry Valley was a connoisseur20 in cross strains; and he foresaw trouble in the offspring of this union.
Between the two homesteads ran a crazy picket21 fence overgrown with morning glory and wild gourd22 vines. Often he could see little heads with mops of black hair and flashing dark eyes dodging23 in and out between the pickets24, keeping tabs on the reddening berries.
Late one afternoon Dry Valley went to the post office. When he came back, like Mother Hubbard he found the deuce to pay. The descendants of Iberian bandits and Hibernian cattle raiders had swooped25 down upon his strawberry patch. To the outraged26 vision of Dry Valley there seemed to be a sheep corral full of them; perhaps they numbered five or six. Between the rows of green plants they were stooped, hopping27 about like toads28, gobbling silently and voraciously29 his finest fruit.
Dry Valley slipped into the house, got his whip, and charged the marauders. The lash curled about the legs of the nearest--a greedy ten-year-old--before they knew they were discovered. His screech30 gave warning; and the flock scampered31 for the fence like a drove of javelis flushed in the chaparral. Dry Valley's whip drew a toll32 of two more elfin shrieks33 before they dived through the vine-clad fence and disappeared.
Dry Valley, less fleet, followed them nearly to the pickets. Checking his useless pursuit, he rounded a bush, dropped his whip and stood, voiceless, motionless, the capacity of his powers consumed by the act of breathing and preserving the perpendicular34.
Behind the bush stood Panchita O'Brien, scorning to fly. She was nineteen, the oldest of the raiders. Her night-black hair was gathered back in a wild mass and tied with a scarlet ribbon. She stood, with reluctant feet, yet nearer the brook35 than to the river; for childhood had environed and detained her.
She looked at Dry Valley Johnson for a moment with magnificent insolence36, and before his eyes slowly crunched37 a luscious38 berry between her white teeth. Then she turned and walked slowly to the fence with a swaying, conscious motion, such as a duchess might make use of in leading a promenade39. There she turned again and grilled40 Dry Valley Johnson once more in the dark flame of her audacious eyes, laughed a trifle school-girlishly, and twisted herself with pantherish quickness between the pickets to the O'Brien side of the wild gourd vine.
Dry Valley picked up his whip and went into his house. He stumbled as he went up the two wooden steps. The old Mexican woman who cooked his meals and swept his house called him to supper as he went through the rooms. Dry Valley went on, stumbled down the front steps, out the gate and down the road into a mesquite thicket41 at the edge of town. He sat down in the grass and laboriously42 plucked the spines43 from a prickly pear, one by one. This was his attitude of thought, acquired in the days when his problems were only those of wind and wool and water.
A thing had happened to the man--a thing that, if you are eligible44, you must pray may pass you by. He had become enveloped45 in the Indian Summer of the Soul.
Dry Valley had had no youth. Even his childhood had been one of dignity and seriousness. At six he had viewed the frivolous46 gambols47 of the lambs on his father's ranch with silent disapproval48. His life as a young man had been wasted. The divine fires and impulses, the glorious exaltations and despairs, the glow and enchantment49 of youth had passed above his head. Never a thrill of Romeo had he known; he was but a melancholy Jaques of the forest with a ruder philosophy, lacking the bitter-sweet flavour of experience that tempered the veteran years of the rugged50 ranger51 of Arden. And now in his sere52 and yellow leaf one scornful look from the eyes of Panchita O'Brien had flooded the autumnal landscape with a tardy53 and delusive54 summer heat.
But a sheepman is a hardy55 animal. Dry Valley Johnson had weathered too many northers to turn his back on a late summer, spiritual or real. Old? He would show them.
By the next mail went an order to San Antonio for an outfit56 of the latest clothes, colours and styles and prices no object. The next day went the recipe for the hair restorer clipped from a newspaper; for Dry Valley's sunburned auburn hair was beginning to turn silvery above his ears.
Dry Valley kept indoors closely for a week except for frequent sallies after youthful strawberry snatchers. Then, a few days later, he suddenly emerged brilliantly radiant in the hectic57 glow of his belated midsummer madness.
A jay-bird-blue tennis suit covered him outwardly, almost as far as his wrists and ankles. His shirt was ox-blood; his collar winged and tall; his necktie a floating oriflamme; his shoes a venomous bright tan, pointed58 and shaped on penitential lasts. A little flat straw hat with a striped band desecrated59 his weather-beaten head. Lemon-coloured kid gloves protected his oak-tough hands from the benignant May sunshine. This sad and optic-smiting creature teetered out of its den5, smiling foolishly and smoothing its gloves for men and angels to see. To such a pass had Dry Valley Johnson been brought by Cupid, who always shoots game that is out of season with an arrow from the quiver of Momus. Reconstructing mythology60, he had risen, a prismatic macaw, from the ashes of the grey-brown phoenix61 that had folded its tired wings to roost under the trees of Santa Rosa.
Dry Valley paused in the street to allow Santa Rosans within sight of him to be stunned62; and then deliberately63 and slowly, as his shoes required, entered Mrs. O'Brien's gate.
Not until the eleven months' drought did Santa Rosa cease talking about Dry Valley Johnson's courtship of Panchita O'Brien. It was an unclassifiable procedure; something like a combination of cake- walking, deaf-and-dumb oratory64, postage stamp flirtation65 and parlour charades66. It lasted two weeks and then came to a sudden end.
Of course Mrs. O'Brien favoured the match as soon as Dry Valley's intentions were disclosed. Being the mother of a woman child, and therefore a charter member of the Ancient Order of the Rat-trap, she joyfully67 decked out Panchita for the sacrifice. The girl was temporarily dazzled by having her dresses lengthened68 and her hair piled up on her head, and came near forgetting that she was only a slice of cheese. It was nice, too, to have as good a match as Mr. Johnson paying you attentions and to see the other girls fluttering the curtains at their windows to see you go by with him.
Dry Valley bought a buggy with yellow wheels and a fine trotter in San Antonio. Every day he drove out with Panchita. He was never seen to speak to her when they were walking or driving. The consciousness of his clothes kept his mind busy; the knowledge that he could say nothing of interest kept him dumb; the feeling that Panchita was there kept him happy.
He took her to parties and dances, and to church. He tried--oh, no man ever tried so hard to be young as Dry Valley did. He could not dance; but he invented a smile which he wore on these joyous69 occasions, a smile that, in him, was as great a concession70 to mirth and gaiety as turning hand-springs would be in another. He began to seek the company of the young men in the town--even of the boys. They accepted him as a decided71 damper, for his attempts at sportiveness were so forced that they might as well have essayed their games in a cathedral. Neither he nor any other could estimate what progress he had made with Panchita.
The end came suddenly in one day, as often disappears the false afterglow before a November sky and wind.
Dry Valley was to call for the girl one afternoon at six for a walk. An afternoon walk in Santa Rosa was a feature of social life that called for the pink of one's wardrobe. So Dry Valley began gorgeously to array himself; and so early that he finished early, and went over to the O'Brien cottage. As he neared the porch on the crooked72 walk from the gate he heard sounds of revelry within. He stopped and looked through the honeysuckle vines in the open door.
Panchita was amusing her younger brothers and sisters. She wore a man's clothes--no doubt those of the late Mr. O'Brien. On her head was the smallest brother's straw hat decorated with an ink-striped paper band. On her hands were flapping yellow cloth gloves, roughly cut out and sewn for the masquerade. The same material covered her shoes, giving them the semblance73 of tan leather. High collar and flowing necktie were not omitted.
Panchita was an actress. Dry Valley saw his affectedly74 youthful gait, his limp where the right shoe hurt him, his forced smile, his awkward simulation of a gallant75 air, all reproduced with startling fidelity76. For the first time a mirror had been held up to him. The corroboration77 of one of the youngsters calling, "Mamma, come and see Pancha do like Mr. Johnson," was not needed.
As softly as the caricatured tans would permit, Dry Valley tiptoed back to the gate and home again.
Twenty minutes after the time appointed for the walk Panchita tripped demurely78 out of her gate in a thin, trim white lawn and sailor hat. She strolled up the sidewalk and slowed her steps at Dry Valley's gate, her manner expressing wonder at his unusual delinquency.
Then out of his door and down the walk strode--not the polychromatic victim of a lost summertime, but the sheepman, rehabilitated79. He wore his old grey woolen shirt, open at the throat, his brown duck trousers stuffed into his run-over boots, and his white felt sombrero on the back of his head. Twenty years or fifty he might look; Dry Valley cared not. His light blue eyes met Panchita's dark ones with a cold flash in them. He came as far as the gate. He pointed with his long arm to her house.
"Go home," said Dry Valley. "Go home to your mother. I wonder lightnin' don't strike a fool like me. Go home and play in the sand. What business have you got cavortin' around with grown men? I reckon I was locoed to be makin' a he poll-parrot out of myself for a kid like you. Go home and don't let me see you no more. Why I done it, will somebody tell me? Go home, and let me try and forget it."
Panchita obeyed and walked slowly toward her home, saying nothing. For some distance she kept her head turned and her large eyes fixed80 intrepidly81 upon Dry Valley's. At her gate she stood for a moment looking back at him, then ran suddenly and swiftly into the house.
Old Antonia was building a fire in the kitchen stove. Dry Valley stopped at the door and laughed harshly.
"I'm a pretty looking old rhinoceros82 to be gettin' stuck on a kid, ain't I, 'Tonia?" said he.
"Not verree good thing," agreed Antonia, sagely83, "for too much old man to likee muchacha."
"You bet it ain't," said Dry Valley, grimly. "It's dum foolishness; and, besides, it hurts."
He brought at one armful the regalia of his aberration--the blue tennis suit, shoes, hat, gloves and all, and threw them in a pile at Antonia's feet.
"Give them to your old man," said he, "to hunt antelope84 in."
Just as the first star presided palely over the twilight85 Dry Valley got his biggest strawberry book and sat on the back steps to catch the last of the reading light. He thought he saw the figure of someone in his strawberry patch. He laid aside the book, got his whip and hurried forth86 to see.
It was Panchita. She had slipped through the picket fence and was half-way across the patch. She stopped when she saw him and looked at him without wavering.
A sudden rage--a humiliating flush of unreasoning wrath87--came over Dry Valley. For this child he had made himself a motley to the view. He had tried to bribe88 Time to turn backward for himself; he had--been made a fool of. At last he had seen his folly89. There was a gulf90 between him and youth over which he could not build a bridge even with yellow gloves to protect his hands. And the sight of his torment91 coming to pester92 him with her elfin pranks--coming to plunder93 his strawberry vines like a mischievous94 schoolboy--roused all his anger.
"I told you to keep away from here," said Dry Valley. "Go back to your home."
Panchita moved slowly toward him.
Dry Valley cracked his whip.
"Go back home," said Dry Valley, savagely95, "and play theatricals96 some more. You'd make a fine man. You've made a fine one of me."
She came a step nearer, silent, and with that strange, defiant97, steady shine in her eyes that had always puzzled him. Now it stirred his wrath.
His whiplash whistled through the air. He saw a red streak98 suddenly come out through her white dress above her knee where it had struck.
Without flinching99 and with the same unchanging dark glow in her eyes, Panchita came steadily100 toward him through the strawberry vines. Dry Valley's trembling hand released his whip handle. When within a yard of him Panchita stretched out her arms.
"God, kid!" stammered101 Dry Valley, "do you mean--?"
But the seasons are versatile102; and it may have been Springtime, after all, instead of Indian Summer, that struck Dry Valley Johnson.
收听单词发音 |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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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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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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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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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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milestone
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| n.里程碑；划时代的事件 | |
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ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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ranching
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| adj.放牧的 | |
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warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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voraciously
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| adv.贪婪地 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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grilled
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| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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43
spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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45
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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47
gambols
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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51
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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52
sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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53
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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54
delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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55
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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56
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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57
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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58
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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59
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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61
phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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62
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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64
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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65
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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charades
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| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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affectedly
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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rehabilitated
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| 改造（罪犯等）( rehabilitate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使恢复正常生活； 使恢复原状； 修复 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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intrepidly
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| adv.无畏地，勇猛地 | |
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rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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pester
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| v.纠缠，强求 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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101
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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