Bobby knelt down beside him, but there was no doubt. The man was dead.
A last moment of consciousness, that sudden question, and then—the end.
Rather apologetically, Bobby put his hand into the dead man’s pocketand, drawing out a silk handkerchief, he spread it reverently1 over thedead face. There was nothing more he could do.
Then he noticed that in his action he had jerked something else out ofthe pocket. It was a photograph and in the act of replacing it he glanced atthe pictured face.
It was a woman’s face, strangely haunting in quality. A fair woman withwide-apart eyes. She seemed little more than a girl, certainly under thirty,but it was the arresting quality of her beauty rather than the beauty itselfthat seized upon the boy’s imagination. It was the kind of face, he thought,not easy to forget.
Gently and reverently, he replaced the photograph in the pocket fromwhich it had come, then he sat down again to wait for the doctor’s return.
The time passed very slowly—or at least so it seemed to the waiting boy.
Also, he had just remembered something. He had promised his father toplay the organ at the evening service at six o’clock and it was now tenminutes to six. Naturally, his father would understand the circumstances,but all the same he wished that he had remembered to send a message bythe doctor. The Rev2. Thomas Jones was a man of extremely nervous tem-perament. He was, par3 excellence5, a fusser, and when he fussed, his digest-ive apparatus6 collapsed7 and he suffered agonizing8 pain. Bobby, though heconsidered his father a pitiful old ass4, was nevertheless extremely fond ofhim. The Rev. Thomas, on the other hand, considered his fourth son a piti-ful young ass, and with less tolerance9 than Bobby sought to effect improve-ment in the young man.
“The poor old gov’nor,” thought Bobby. “He’ll be ramping10 up and down.
He won’t know whether to start the service or not. He’ll work himself uptill he gets that pain in the tummy, and then he won’t be able to eat hissupper. He won’t have the sense to realize that I wouldn’t let him downunless it were quite unavoidable—and, anyway, what does it matter? Buthe’ll never see it that way. Nobody over fifty has got any sense — theyworry themselves to death about tuppeny-ha’peny things that don’t mat-ter. They’ve been brought up all wrong, I suppose, and now they can’t helpthemselves. Poor old Dad, he’s got less sense than a chicken!”
He sat there thinking of his father with mingled11 affection and exaspera-tion. His life at home seemed to him to be one long sacrifice to his father’speculiar ideas. To Mr. Jones, the same time seemed to be one long sacrificeon his part, ill-understood or appreciated by the younger generation. Somany ideas on the same subject differ.
What an age the doctor was! Surely he might have been back by thistime?
Bobby got up and stamped his feet moodily12. At that moment he heardsomething above him and looked up, thankful that help was at hand andhis own services no longer needed.
But it was not the doctor. It was a man in plus fours whom Bobby didnot know.
“I say,” said the newcomer. “Is anything the matter? Has there been anaccident? Can I help in any way?”
He was a tall man with a pleasant tenor13 voice. Bobby could not see himvery clearly for it was now fast growing dusk.
He explained what had happened whilst the stranger made shockedcomments.
“There’s nothing I can do?” he asked. “Get help or anything?”
Bobby explained that help was on the way and asked if the other couldsee any signs of its arriving.
“There’s nothing at present.”
“You see,” went on Bobby, “I’ve got an appointment at six.”
“And you don’t like to leave—”
“No, I don’t quite,” said Bobby. “I mean, the poor chap’s dead and allthat, and of course one can’t do anything, but all the same—”
He paused, finding it, as usual, difficult to put confused emotions intowords.
The other, however, seemed to understand.
“I know,” he said. “Look here, I’ll come down—that is, if I can see myway—and I’ll stay till these fellows arrive.”
“Oh, would you?” said Bobby gratefully. “You see, it’s my father. He’s nota bad sort really, and things upset him. Can you see your way? A bit moreto the left—now to the right—that’s it. It’s not really difficult.”
He encouraged the other with directions until the two men were face toface on the narrow plateau. The newcomer was a man of about thirty-five.
He had a rather indecisive face which seemed to be calling for a monocleand a little moustache.
“I’m a stranger down here,” he explained. “My name’s Bassington-ffrench, by the way. Come down to see about a house. I say, what a beastlything to happen! Did he walk over the edge?”
Bobby nodded.
“Bit of mist got up,” he explained. “It’s a dangerous bit of path. Well, solong. Thanks very much. I’ve got to hurry. It’s awfully14 good of you.”
“Not at all,” the other protested. “Anybody would do the same. Can’tleave the poor chap lying—well, I mean, it wouldn’t be decent somehow.”
Bobby was scrambling15 up the precipitous path. At the top he waved hishand to the other then set off at a brisk run across country. To save time,he vaulted16 the churchyard wall instead of going round to the gate on theroad—a proceeding17 observed by the Vicar from the vestry window anddeeply disapproved18 of by him.
It was five minutes past six, but the bell was still tolling19.
Explanations and recriminations were postponed20 until after the service.
Breathless, Bobby sank into his seat and manipulated the stops of the an-cient organ. Association of ideas led his fingers into Chopin’s funeralmarch.
Afterwards, more in sorrow than in anger (as he expressly pointed21 out),the Vicar took his son to task.
“If you cannot do a thing properly, my dear Bobby,” he said, “it is betternot to do it at all. I know that you and all your young friends seem to haveno idea of time, but there is One whom we should not keep waiting. Youoffered to play the organ of your own accord. I did not coerce22 you. In-stead, faint-hearted, you preferred playing a game—”
Bobby thought he had better interrupt before his father got too wellaway.
“Sorry, Dad,” he said, speaking cheerfully and breezily as was his habitno matter what the subject. “Not my fault this time. I was keeping guardover a corpse23.”
“You were what?”
“Keeping guard over a blighter who stepped over the cliff. You know—the place where the chasm24 is—by the seventeenth tee. There was a bit ofmist just then, and he must have gone straight on and over.”
“Good heavens,” cried the Vicar. “What a tragedy! Was the man killedoutright?”
“No. He was unconscious. He died just after Dr. Thomas had gone off.
But of course I felt I had to squat25 there—couldn’t just push off and leavehim. And then another fellow came along so I passed the job of chiefmourner on to him and legged it here as fast as I could.”
The Vicar sighed.
“Oh, my dear Bobby,” he said. “Will nothing shake your deplorable cal-lousness? It grieves me more than I can say. Here you have been broughtface to face with death—with sudden death. And you can joke about it! Itleaves you unmoved. Everything—everything, however solemn, howeversacred, is merely a joke to your generation.”
Bobby shuffled26 his feet.
If his father couldn’t see that, of course, you joked about a thing becauseyou had felt badly about it—well, he couldn’t see it! It wasn’t the sort ofthing you could explain. With death and tragedy about you had to keep astiff upper lip.
But what could you expect? Nobody over fifty understood anything atall. They had the most extraordinary ideas.
“I expect it was the War,” thought Bobby loyally. “It upset them and theynever got straight again.”
He felt ashamed of his father and sorry for him.
“Sorry, Dad,” he said with a clear-eyed realization27 that explanation wasimpossible.
The Vicar felt sorry for his son—he looked abashed—but he also feltashamed of him. The boy had no conception of the seriousness of life.
Even his apology was cheery and impenitent28.
They moved towards the Vicarage, each making enormous efforts tofind excuses for the other.
The Vicar thought: “I wonder when Bobby will find something to do .?.?.
?”
Bobby thought: “Wonder how much longer I can stick it down here .?.?.
?”
Yet they were both extremely fond of each other.
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收听单词发音
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1
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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3
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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6
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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7
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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8
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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9
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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10
ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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11
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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12
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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13
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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14
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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15
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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16
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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17
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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18
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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21
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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23
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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24
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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25
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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26
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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27
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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28
impenitent
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| adj.不悔悟的，顽固的 | |
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