The pleasantest experience Thea had that summer was a trip that she and her mother made to Denver in Ray Kennedy’s caboose. Mrs. Kronborg had been looking forward to this excursion for a long while, but as Ray never knew at what hour his freight would leave Moonstone, it was difficult to arrange. The call-boy was as likely to summon him to start on his run at twelve o’clock midnight as at twelve o’clock noon. The first week in June started out with all the scheduled trains running on time, and a light freight business. Tuesday evening Ray, after consulting with the dispatcher, stopped at the Kronborgs’ front gate to tell Mrs. Kronborg—who was helping1 Tillie water the flowers—that if she and Thea could be at the depot2 at eight o’clock the next morning, he thought he could promise them a pleasant ride and get them into Denver before nine o’clock in the evening. Mrs. Kronborg told him cheerfully, across the fence, that she would “take him up on it,” and Ray hurried back to the yards to scrub out his car.
The one complaint Ray’s brakemen had to make of him was that he was too fussy3 about his caboose. His former brakeman had asked to be transferred because, he said, “Kennedy was as fussy about his car as an old maid about her bird-cage.” Joe Giddy, who was braking with Ray now, called him “the bride,” because he kept the caboose and bunks4 so clean.
It was properly the brakeman’s business to keep the car clean, but when Ray got back to the depot, Giddy was nowhere to be found. Muttering that all his brakemen seemed to consider him “easy,” Ray went down to his car alone. He built a fire in the stove and put water on to heat while he got into his overalls6 and jumper. Then he set to work with a scrubbing-brush and plenty of soap and “cleaner.” He scrubbed the floor and seats, blacked the stove, put clean sheets on the bunks, and then began to demolish7 Giddy’s picture gallery. Ray found that his brakemen were likely to have what he termed “a taste for the nude8 in art,” and Giddy was no exception. Ray took down half a dozen girls in tights and ballet skirts,—premiums for cigarette coupons,—and some racy calendars advertising9 saloons and sporting clubs, which had cost Giddy both time and trouble; he even removed Giddy’s particular pet, a naked girl lying on a couch with her knee carelessly poised10 in the air. Underneath11 the picture was printed the title, “The Odalisque.” Giddy was under the happy delusion12 that this title meant something wicked,—there was a wicked look about the consonants,—but Ray, of course, had looked it up, and Giddy was indebted to the dictionary for the privilege of keeping his lady. If “odalisque” had been what Ray called an objectionable word, he would have thrown the picture out in the first place. Ray even took down a picture of Mrs. Langtry in evening dress, because it was entitled the “Jersey Lily,” and because there was a small head of Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, in one corner. Albert Edward’s conduct was a popular subject of discussion among railroad men in those days, and as Ray pulled the tacks13 out of this lithograph14 he felt more indignant with the English than ever. He deposited all these pictures under the mattress15 of Giddy’s bunk5, and stood admiring his clean car in the lamplight; the walls now exhibited only a wheatfield, advertising agricultural implements16, a map of Colorado, and some pictures of race-horses and hunting-dogs. At this moment Giddy, freshly shaved and shampooed, his shirt shining with the highest polish known to Chinese laundrymen, his straw hat tipped over his right eye, thrust his head in at the door.
“What in hell—” he brought out furiously. His good humored, sunburned face seemed fairly to swell17 with amazement18 and anger.
“That’s all right, Giddy,” Ray called in a conciliatory tone. “Nothing injured. I’ll put ’em all up again as I found ’em. Going to take some ladies down in the car to-morrow.”
Giddy scowled19. He did not dispute the propriety20 of Ray’s measures, if there were to be ladies on board, but he felt injured. “I suppose you’ll expect me to behave like a Y.M.C.A. secretary,” he growled21. “I can’t do my work and serve tea at the same time.”
“No need to have a tea-party,” said Ray with determined22 cheerfulness. “Mrs. Kronborg will bring the lunch, and it will be a darned good one.”
Giddy lounged against the car, holding his cigar between two thick fingers. “Then I guess she’ll get it,” he observed knowingly. “I don’t think your musical friend is much on the grub-box. Has to keep her hands white to tickle23 the ivories.” Giddy had nothing against Thea, but he felt cantankerous24 and wanted to get a rise out of Kennedy.
“Every man to his own job,” Ray replied agreeably, pulling his white shirt on over his head.
Giddy emitted smoke disdainfully. “I suppose so. The man that gets her will have to wear an apron25 and bake the pancakes. Well, some men like to mess about the kitchen.” He paused, but Ray was intent on getting into his clothes as quickly as possible. Giddy thought he could go a little further. “Of course, I don’t dispute your right to haul women in this car if you want to; but personally, so far as I’m concerned, I’d a good deal rather drink a can of tomatoes and do without the women and their lunch. I was never much enslaved to hard-boiled eggs, anyhow.”
“You’ll eat ’em to-morrow, all the same.” Ray’s tone had a steely glitter as he jumped out of the car, and Giddy stood aside to let him pass. He knew that Kennedy’s next reply would be delivered by hand. He had once seen Ray beat up a nasty fellow for insulting a Mexican woman who helped about the grub-car in the work train, and his fists had worked like two steel hammers. Giddy wasn’t looking for trouble.
At eight o’clock the next morning Ray greeted his ladies and helped them into the car. Giddy had put on a clean shirt and yellow pig-skin gloves and was whistling his best. He considered Kennedy a fluke as a ladies’ man, and if there was to be a party, the honors had to be done by some one who wasn’t a blacksmith at small-talk. Giddy had, as Ray sarcastically26 admitted, “a local reputation as a jollier,” and he was fluent in gallant27 speeches of a not too-veiled nature. He insisted that Thea should take his seat in the cupola, opposite Ray’s, where she could look out over the country. Thea told him, as she clambered up, that she cared a good deal more about riding in that seat than about going to Denver. Ray was never so companionable and easy as when he sat chatting in the lookout28 of his little house on wheels. Good stories came to him, and interesting recollections. Thea had a great respect for the reports he had to write out, and for the telegrams that were handed to him at stations; for all the knowledge and experience it must take to run a freight train.
Giddy, down in the car, in the pauses of his work, made himself agreeable to Mrs. Kronborg.
“It’s a great rest to be where my family can’t get at me, Mr. Giddy,” she told him. “I thought you and Ray might have some housework here for me to look after, but I couldn’t improve any on this car.”
“Oh, we like to keep her neat,” returned Giddy glibly29, winking30 up at Ray’s expressive31 back. “If you want to see a clean ice-box, look at this one. Yes, Kennedy always carries fresh cream to eat on his oatmeal. I’m not particular. The tin cow’s good enough for me.”
“Most of you boys smoke so much that all victuals32 taste alike to you,” said Mrs. Kronborg. “I’ve got no religious scruples33 against smoking, but I couldn’t take as much interest cooking for a man that used tobacco. I guess it’s all right for bachelors who have to eat round.”
Mrs. Kronborg took off her hat and veil and made herself comfortable. She seldom had an opportunity to be idle, and she enjoyed it. She could sit for hours and watch the sage34-hens fly up and the jack-rabbits dart35 away from the track, without being bored. She wore a tan bombazine dress, made very plainly, and carried a roomy, worn, mother-of-the-family handbag.
Ray Kennedy always insisted that Mrs. Kronborg was “a fine-looking lady,” but this was not the common opinion in Moonstone. Ray had lived long enough among the Mexicans to dislike fussiness36, to feel that there was something more attractive in ease of manner than in absentminded concern about hairpins37 and dabs38 of lace. He had learned to think that the way a woman stood, moved, sat in her chair, looked at you, was more important than the absence of wrinkles from her skirt. Ray had, indeed, such unusual perceptions in some directions, that one could not help wondering what he would have been if he had ever, as he said, had “half a chance.”
He was right; Mrs. Kronborg was a fine-looking woman. She was short and square, but her head was a real head, not a mere39 jerky termination of the body. It had some individuality apart from hats and hairpins. Her hair, Moonstone women admitted, would have been very pretty “on anybody else.” Frizzy bangs were worn then, but Mrs. Kronborg always dressed her hair in the same way, parted in the middle, brushed smoothly40 back from her low, white forehead, pinned loosely on the back of her head in two thick braids. It was growing gray about the temples, but after the manner of yellow hair it seemed only to have grown paler there, and had taken on a color like that of English primroses41. Her eyes were clear and untroubled; her face smooth and calm, and, as Ray said, “strong.”
Thea and Ray, up in the sunny cupola, were laughing and talking. Ray got great pleasure out of seeing her face there in the little box where he so often imagined it. They were crossing a plateau where great red sandstone boulders43 lay about, most of them much wider at the top than at the base, so that they looked like great toadstools.
“The sand has been blowing against them for a good many hundred years,” Ray explained, directing Thea’s eyes with his gloved hand. “You see the sand blows low, being so heavy, and cuts them out underneath. Wind and sand are pretty high-class architects. That’s the principle of most of the Cliff-Dweller remains44 down at Canyon45 de Chelly. The sandstorms had dug out big depressions in the face of a cliff, and the Indians built their houses back in that depression.”
“You told me that before, Ray, and of course you know. But the geography says their houses were cut out of the face of the living rock, and I like that better.”
Ray sniffed46. “What nonsense does get printed! It’s enough to give a man disrespect for learning. How could them Indians cut houses out of the living rock, when they knew nothing about the art of forging metals?” Ray leaned back in his chair, swung his foot, and looked thoughtful and happy. He was in one of his favorite fields of speculation47, and nothing gave him more pleasure than talking these things over with Thea Kronborg. “I’ll tell you, Thee, if those old fellows had learned to work metals once, your ancient Egyptians and Assyrians wouldn’t have beat them very much. Whatever they did do, they did well. Their masonry’s standing48 there to-day, the corners as true as the Denver Capitol. They were clever at most everything but metals; and that one failure kept them from getting across. It was the quicksand that swallowed ’em up, as a race. I guess civilization proper began when men mastered metals.”
Ray was not vain about his bookish phrases. He did not use them to show off, but because they seemed to him more adequate than colloquial49 speech. He felt strongly about these things, and groped for words, as he said, “to express himself.” He had the lamentable50 American belief that “expression” is obligatory51. He still carried in his trunk, among the unrelated possessions of a railroad man, a notebook on the title-page of which was written “Impressions on First Viewing the Grand Canyon, Ray H. Kennedy.” The pages of that book were like a battlefield; the laboring52 author had fallen back from metaphor53 after metaphor, abandoned position after position. He would have admitted that the art of forging metals was nothing to this treacherous54 business of recording55 impressions, in which the material you were so full of vanished mysteriously under your striving hand. “Escaping steam!” he had said to himself, the last time he tried to read that notebook.
Thea didn’t mind Ray’s travel-lecture expressions. She dodged56 them, unconsciously, as she did her father’s professional palaver58. The light in Ray’s pale-blue eyes and the feeling in his voice more than made up for the stiffness of his language.
“Were the Cliff-Dwellers really clever with their hands, Ray, or do you always have to make allowance and say, ‘That was pretty good for an Indian’?” she asked.
Ray went down into the car to give some instructions to Giddy. “Well,” he said when he returned, “about the aborigines: once or twice I’ve been with some fellows who were cracking burial mounds59. Always felt a little ashamed of it, but we did pull out some remarkable60 things. We got some pottery61 out whole; seemed pretty fine to me. I guess their women were their artists. We found lots of old shoes and sandals made out of yucca fiber62, neat and strong; and feather blankets, too.”
“Feather blankets? You never told me about them.”
“Didn’t I? The old fellows—or the squaws—wove a close netting of yucca fiber, and then tied on little bunches of down feathers, overlapping63, just the way feathers grow on a bird. Some of them were feathered on both sides. You can’t get anything warmer than that, now, can you?—or prettier. What I like about those old aborigines is, that they got all their ideas from nature.”
Thea laughed. “That means you’re going to say something about girls’ wearing corsets. But some of your Indians flattened64 their babies’ heads, and that’s worse than wearing corsets.”
“Give me an Indian girl’s figure for beauty,” Ray insisted. “And a girl with a voice like yours ought to have plenty of lung-action. But you know my sentiments on that subject. I was going to tell you about the handsomest thing we ever looted out of those burial mounds. It was on a woman, too, I regret to say. She was preserved as perfect as any mummy that ever came out of the pyramids. She had a big string of turquoises65 around her neck, and she was wrapped in a fox-fur cloak, lined with little yellow feathers that must have come off wild canaries. Can you beat that, now? The fellow that claimed it sold it to a Boston man for a hundred and fifty dollars.”
Thea looked at him admiringly. “Oh, Ray, and didn’t you get anything off her, to remember her by, even? She must have been a princess.”
Ray took a wallet from the pocket of the coat that was hanging beside him, and drew from it a little lump wrapped in worn tissue paper. In a moment a stone, soft and blue as a robin’s egg, lay in the hard palm of his hand. It was a turquoise66, rubbed smooth in the Indian finish, which is so much more beautiful than the incongruous high polish the white man gives that tender stone. “I got this from her necklace. See the hole where the string went through? You know how the Indians drill them? Work the drill with their teeth. You like it, don’t you? They’re just right for you. Blue and yellow are the Swedish colors.” Ray looked intently at her head, bent67 over his hand, and then gave his whole attention to the track.
“I’ll tell you, Thee,” he began after a pause, “I’m going to form a camping party one of these days and persuade your padre to take you and your mother down to that country, and we’ll live in the rock houses—they’re as comfortable as can be—and start the cook fires up in ’em once again. I’ll go into the burial mounds and get you more keepsakes than any girl ever had before.” Ray had planned such an expedition for his wedding journey, and it made his heart thump68 to see how Thea’s eyes kindled69 when he talked about it. “I’ve learned more down there about what makes history,” he went on, “than in all the books I’ve ever read. When you sit in the sun and let your heels hang out of a doorway70 that drops a thousand feet, ideas come to you. You begin to feel what the human race has been up against from the beginning. There’s something mighty71 elevating about those old habitations. You feel like it’s up to you to do your best, on account of those fellows having it so hard. You feel like you owed them something.”
At Wassiwappa, Ray got instructions to sidetrack until Thirty-six went by. After reading the message, he turned to his guests. “I’m afraid this will hold us up about two hours, Mrs. Kronborg, and we won’t get into Denver till near midnight.”
“That won’t trouble me,” said Mrs. Kronborg contentedly72. “They know me at the Y.W.C.A., and they’ll let me in any time of night. I came to see the country, not to make time. I’ve always wanted to get out at this white place and look around, and now I’ll have a chance. What makes it so white?”
“Some kind of chalky rock.” Ray sprang to the ground and gave Mrs. Kronborg his hand. “You can get soil of any color in Colorado; match most any ribbon.”
While Ray was getting his train on to a side track, Mrs. Kronborg strolled off to examine the post-office and station house; these, with the water tank, made up the town. The station agent “batched” and raised chickens. He ran out to meet Mrs. Kronborg, clutched at her feverishly73, and began telling her at once how lonely he was and what bad luck he was having with his poultry74. She went to his chicken yard with him, and prescribed for gapes75.
Wassiwappa seemed a dreary76 place enough to people who looked for verdure, a brilliant place to people who liked color. Beside the station house there was a blue-grass plot, protected by a red plank77 fence, and six fly-bitten box-elder trees, not much larger than bushes, were kept alive by frequent hosings from the water plug. Over the windows some dusty morning-glory vines were trained on strings78. All the country about was broken up into low chalky hills, which were so intensely white, and spotted79 so evenly with sage, that they looked like white leopards80 crouching81. White dust powdered everything, and the light was so intense that the station agent usually wore blue glasses. Behind the station there was a water course, which roared in flood time, and a basin in the soft white rock where a pool of alkali water flashed in the sun like a mirror. The agent looked almost as sick as his chickens, and Mrs. Kronborg at once invited him to lunch with her party. He had, he confessed, a distaste for his own cooking, and lived mainly on soda82 crackers83 and canned beef. He laughed apologetically when Mrs. Kronborg said she guessed she’d look about for a shady place to eat lunch.
She walked up the track to the water tank, and there, in the narrow shadows cast by the uprights on which the tank stood, she found two tramps. They sat up and stared at her, heavy with sleep. When she asked them where they were going, they told her “to the coast.” They rested by day and traveled by night; walked the ties unless they could steal a ride, they said; adding that “these Western roads were getting strict.” Their faces were blistered84, their eyes blood-shot, and their shoes looked fit only for the trash pile.
“I suppose you’re hungry?” Mrs. Kronborg asked. “I suppose you both drink?” she went on thoughtfully, not censoriously.
The huskier of the two hoboes, a bushy, bearded fellow, rolled his eyes and said, “I wonder?” But the other, who was old and spare, with a sharp nose and watery85 eyes, sighed. “Some has one affliction, some another,” he said.
Mrs. Kronborg reflected. “Well,” she said at last, “you can’t get liquor here, anyway. I am going to ask you to vacate, because I want to have a little picnic under this tank for the freight crew that brought me along. I wish I had lunch enough to provide you, but I ain’t. The station agent says he gets his provisions over there at the post office store, and if you are hungry you can get some canned stuff there.” She opened her handbag and gave each of the tramps a half-dollar.
The old man wiped his eyes with his forefinger86. “Thank ’ee, ma’am. A can of tomatters will taste pretty good to me. I wasn’t always walkin’ ties; I had a good job in Cleveland before—”
The hairy tramp turned on him fiercely. “Aw, shut up on that, grandpaw! Ain’t you got no gratitude87? What do you want to hand the lady that fur?”
The old man hung his head and turned away. As he went off, his comrade looked after him and said to Mrs. Kronborg: “It’s true, what he says. He had a job in the car shops; but he had bad luck.” They both limped away toward the store, and Mrs. Kronborg sighed. She was not afraid of tramps. She always talked to them, and never turned one away. She hated to think how many of them there were, crawling along the tracks over that vast country.
Her reflections were cut short by Ray and Giddy and Thea, who came bringing the lunch box and water bottles. Although there was not shadow enough to accommodate all the party at once, the air under the tank was distinctly cooler than the surrounding air, and the drip made a pleasant sound in that breathless noon. The station agent ate as if he had never been fed before, apologizing every time he took another piece of fried chicken. Giddy was unabashed before the devilled eggs of which he had spoken so scornfully last night. After lunch the men lit their pipes and lay back against the uprights that supported the tank.
“This is the sunny side of railroading, all right,” Giddy drawled luxuriously89.
“You fellows grumble90 too much,” said Mrs. Kronborg as she corked91 the pickle92 jar. “Your job has its drawbacks, but it don’t tie you down. Of course there’s the risk; but I believe a man’s watched over, and he can’t be hurt on the railroad or anywhere else if it’s intended he shouldn’t be.”
Giddy laughed. “Then the trains must be operated by fellows the Lord has it in for, Mrs. Kronborg. They figure it out that a railroad man’s only due to last eleven years; then it’s his turn to be smashed.”
“That’s a dark Providence93, I don’t deny,” Mrs. Kronborg admitted. “But there’s lots of things in life that’s hard to understand.”
“I guess!” murmured Giddy, looking off at the spotted white hills.
Ray smoked in silence, watching Thea and her mother clear away the lunch. He was thinking that Mrs. Kronborg had in her face the same serious look that Thea had; only hers was calm and satisfied, and Thea’s was intense and questioning. But in both it was a large kind of look, that was not all the time being broken up and convulsed by trivial things. They both carried their heads like Indian women, with a kind of noble unconsciousness. He got so tired of women who were always nodding and jerking; apologizing, deprecating, coaxing94, insinuating95 with their heads.
When Ray’s party set off again that afternoon the sun beat fiercely into the cupola, and Thea curled up in one of the seats at the back of the car and had a nap.
As the short twilight96 came on, Giddy took a turn in the cupola, and Ray came down and sat with Thea on the rear platform of the caboose and watched the darkness come in soft waves over the plain. They were now about thirty miles from Denver, and the mountains looked very near. The great toothed wall behind which the sun had gone down now separated into four distinct ranges, one behind the other. They were a very pale blue, a color scarcely stronger than wood smoke, and the sunset had left bright streaks97 in the snow-filled gorges98. In the clear, yellow-streaked sky the stars were coming out, flickering99 like newly lighted lamps, growing steadier and more golden as the sky darkened and the land beneath them fell into complete shadow. It was a cool, restful darkness that was not black or forbidding, but somehow open and free; the night of high plains where there is no moistness or mistiness100 in the atmosphere.
Ray lit his pipe. “I never get tired of them old stars, Thee. I miss ’em up in Washington and Oregon where it’s misty101. Like ’em best down in Mother Mexico, where they have everything their own way. I’m not for any country where the stars are dim.” Ray paused and drew on his pipe. “I don’t know as I ever really noticed ’em much till that first year I herded102 sheep up in Wyoming. That was the year the blizzard103 caught me.”
“And you lost all your sheep, didn’t you, Ray?” Thea spoke88 sympathetically. “Was the man who owned them nice about it?”
“Yes, he was a good loser. But I didn’t get over it for a long while. Sheep are so damned resigned. Sometimes, to this day, when I’m dog-tired, I try to save them sheep all night long. It comes kind of hard on a boy when he first finds out how little he is, and how big everything else is.”
Thea moved restlessly toward him and dropped her chin on her hand, looking at a low star that seemed to rest just on the rim42 of the earth. “I don’t see how you stood it. I don’t believe I could. I don’t see how people can stand it to get knocked out, anyhow!” She spoke with such fierceness that Ray glanced at her in surprise. She was sitting on the floor of the car, crouching like a little animal about to spring.
“No occasion for you to see,” he said warmly. “There’ll always be plenty of other people to take the knocks for you.”
“That’s nonsense, Ray.” Thea spoke impatiently and leaned lower still, frowning at the red star. “Everybody’s up against it for himself, succeeds or fails—himself.”
“In one way, yes,” Ray admitted, knocking the sparks from his pipe out into the soft darkness that seemed to flow like a river beside the car. “But when you look at it another way, there are a lot of halfway104 people in this world who help the winners win, and the failers fail. If a man stumbles, there’s plenty of people to push him down. But if he’s like ‘the youth who bore,’ those same people are foreordained to help him along. They may hate to, worse than blazes, and they may do a lot of cussin’ about it, but they have to help the winners and they can’t dodge57 it. It’s a natural law, like what keeps the big clock up there going, little wheels and big, and no mix-up.” Ray’s hand and his pipe were suddenly outlined against the sky. “Ever occur to you, Thee, that they have to be on time close enough to make time? The Dispatcher up there must have a long head.” Pleased with his similitude, Ray went back to the lookout. Going into Denver, he had to keep a sharp watch.
Giddy came down, cheerful at the prospect105 of getting into port, and singing a new topical ditty that had come up from the Santa Fé by way of La Junta106. Nobody knows who makes these songs; they seem to follow events automatically. Mrs. Kronborg made Giddy sing the whole twelve verses of this one, and laughed until she wiped her eyes. The story was that of Katie Casey, head diningroom girl at Winslow, Arizona, who was unjustly discharged by the Harvey House manager. Her suitor, the yardmaster, took the switchmen out on a strike until she was reinstated. Freight trains from the east and the west piled up at Winslow until the yards looked like a log-jam. The division superintendent107, who was in California, had to wire instructions for Katie Casey’s restoration before he could get his trains running. Giddy’s song told all this with much detail, both tender and technical, and after each of the dozen verses came the refrain:—
“Oh, who would think that Katie Casey owned the Santa Fé?
But it really looks that way,
The dispatcher’s turnin’ gray,
All the crews is off their pay;
She can hold the freight from Albuquerq’ to Needles any day;
The division superintendent, he come home from Monterey,
Just to see if things was pleasin’ Katie Ca—a—a—sey.”
Thea laughed with her mother and applauded Giddy. Everything was so kindly108 and comfortable; Giddy and Ray, and their hospitable109 little house, and the easy-going country, and the stars. She curled up on the seat again with that warm, sleepy feeling of the friendliness110 of the world—which nobody keeps very long, and which she was to lose early and irrevocably.
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1
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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lithograph
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| n.平板印刷，平板画；v.用平版印刷 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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18
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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19
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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21
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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22
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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23
tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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24
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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25
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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26
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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27
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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28
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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29
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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30
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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31
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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32
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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33
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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35
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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36
fussiness
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| [医]易激怒 | |
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37
hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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38
dabs
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| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
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39
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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40
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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41
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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42
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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43
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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44
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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45
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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46
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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47
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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48
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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49
colloquial
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| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
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50
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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51
obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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52
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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53
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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54
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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55
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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56
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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57
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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58
palaver
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| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
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59
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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60
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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61
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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62
fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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63
overlapping
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| adj./n.交迭（的） | |
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64
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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65
turquoises
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| n.绿松石( turquoise的名词复数 )；青绿色 | |
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66
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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67
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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68
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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69
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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70
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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71
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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72
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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73
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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74
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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75
gapes
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 )；张开，张大 | |
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76
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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77
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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78
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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79
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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80
leopards
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| n.豹( leopard的名词复数 )；本性难移 | |
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81
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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82
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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83
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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84
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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85
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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86
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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87
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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88
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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89
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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90
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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91
corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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92
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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93
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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94
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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95
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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96
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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97
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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98
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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99
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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100
mistiness
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| n.雾，模糊，不清楚 | |
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101
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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102
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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103
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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104
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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105
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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106
junta
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| n.团体；政务审议会 | |
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107
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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108
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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109
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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110
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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