The Ballad of the Sad Café
The town itself is dreary; not much is there except the cotton mill, the two-room houses where the workers live, a few peach trees, a church with two colored windows, and a miserable main street only a hundred yards long. On Saturdays the tenants from the near-by farms come in for a day of talk and trade. Otherwise the town is lonesome, sad, and like a place that is far off and estranged from all other places in the world. The nearest train stop is Society City, and the Greyhound and White Bus Lines use the Forks Falls Road which is three miles away. The winters here are short and raw, the summers white with glare and fiery hot.
If you walk along the main street on an August afternoon there is nothing whatsoever to do. The largest building, in the very center of the town, is boarded up completely and leans so far to the right that it seems bound to collapse at any minute. The house is very old. There is about it a curious, cracked look that is very puzzling until you suddenly realize that at one time, and long ago, the right side of the front porch had been painted, and part of the wall -- but the painting was left unfinished and one portion of the house is darker and dingier than the other. The building looks completely deserted. Nevertheless, on the second floor there is one window which is not boarded; sometimes in the late afternoon when the heat is at its worst a hand will slowly open the shutter and a face will look down on the town. It is a face like the terrible dim faces known in dreams -- sexless and white, with two gray crossed eyes which are turned inward so sharply that they seem to be exchanging with each other one long and secret gaze of grief. The face lingers at the window for an hour or so, then the shutters are dosed once more, and as likely as not there will not be another soul to be seen along the main street. These August afternoons -- when your shift is finished there is absolutely nothing to do; you might as well walk down to the Forks Falls Road and listen to the chain gang.
However, here in this very town there was once a café. And this old boarded-up house was unlike any other place for many miles around. There were tables with cloths and paper napkins, colored streamers from the electric fans, great gatherings on Saturday nights. The owner of the place was Miss Amelia Evans. But the person most responsible for the success and gaiety of the place was a hunchback called Cousin Lymon. One other person had a part in the story of this café -- he was the former husband of Miss Amelia, a terrible character who returned to the town after a long term in the penitentiary, caused ruin, and then went on his way again. The café has long since been closed, but it is still remembered.
The place was not always a café. Miss Amelia inherited the building from her father, and it was a store that carried mostly feed, guano, and staples such as meal and snuff. Miss Amelia was rich. In addition to the store she operated a still three miles back in the swamp, and ran out the best liquor in the county. She was a dark, tall woman with bones and muscles like a man. Her hair was cut short and brushed back from the forehead, and there was about her sunburned face a tense, haggard quality. She might have been a handsome woman if, even then, she was not slightly cross-eyed. There were those who would have courted her, but Miss Amelia cared nothing for the love of men and was a solitary person. Her marriage had been unlike any other marriage ever contracted in this county -- it was a strange and dangerous marriage, lasting only for ten days, that left the whole town wondering and shocked. Except for this queer marriage, Miss Amelia had lived her life alone. Often she spent whole nights back in her shed in the swamp, dressed in overalls and gum boots, silently guarding the low fire of the still.
2012年11月26日星期一
2012年11月25日星期日
Is there
"Is there?" Janice asks strangely. She does know something. Cunts always know something.
He turns to her directly. "You. I'd think you'd be loyal to Charlie at least."
"More than to my own son?"
"I'll tell you this. I'll tell you all this. If Charlie goes, I go." He ?struggles to stand, but the Barcalounger has a sticky grip.
"Hip, hip hooray," Nelson says, yanking his denim jacket from the clothes tree inside the front door and shrugging it on. He looks humpbacked and mean, a rat going out to be drowned.
"Now he's going out to wreck the Mustang." Harry struggles to his feet and stands, taller than them all.
Ma Springer slaps her knees with open palms. "Well this discussion has ruined my mood. I'm going to heat up water for a cup of tea, the damp has put the devil in my joints."
Janice says, "Harry, say goodnight to Nelson nicely."
He protests, "He hasn't said goodnight nicely to me. I was down here trying to talk nicely to him about college and it was like pulling teeth. What's everything such a secret for? I don't even know what he's majoring in now. First it was pre?med but the chemistry was too hard, then it was anthropology but there was too much to memorize, last I heard he'd switched to social science but it was too much bullshit,Designer Handbags."
"I'm majoring in geography," Nelson admits, nervous by the door, tense to scuttle.
"Geography! That's something they teach in the third grade! I never heard of a grownup studying geography."
"Apparently it's a great specialty out there," Janice says.
"Whadde they do all day, color maps?"
"Mom, I got to split. Where's your car keys?"
"Look in my raincoat pocket."
Harry can't stop getting after him. "Now remember the roads around here are slippery when wet," he says. "If you get lost just call up your geography professor."
"Charlie's taking Melanie out really bugs you, doesn't it?" Nelson says to him.
"Not at all,fake uggs boots. What bugs me is why it doesn't bug you."
"I'm queer," Nelson tells him,link.
` Janice, what have I done to this kid to deserve this?"
She sighs. "Oh, I expect you know."
He is sick of these allusions to his tainted past. "I took care of him, didn't I? While you were off screwing around who was it put his breakfast cereal on the table and got him off to school?"
"My daddy did," Nelson says in a bitter mincing voice.
Janice intervenes. "Nellie, why don't you go now if you're going to go,Replica Designer Handbags? Did you find the keys?"
The child dangles them.
"You're committing automotive suicide," Rabbit tells her. "This kid is a car killer."
"It was just a fucking dent," Nelson cries to the ceiling, "and he's going to make me suffer and suffer." The door slams, having admitted a sharp gust of the aroma of the rain.
"Now who else would like some tea?" Ma Springer calls from the kitchen. They go in to her. Moving from the stuffy overfurnished living room to the kitchen with its clean enamelled surfaces provides a brighter perspective on the world. "Harry, you shouldn't be so hard on the boy," his mother?in?law advises. "He has a lot on his mind."
After a minute or two I asked from the floor whether I was the first man privileged to worship him
After a minute or two I asked from the floor whether I was the first man privileged to worship him. He said that I was and I burst out into gratitude. He was thoughtfully prodding me with the point of his sword in the back of my neck. I thought I was done for.
He said: "I admit I am still in mortal disguise, so it is not remarkable that you did not notice my Divinity at once."
"I don't know how I could have been so blind. Your face shines in this dim light like a lamp."
"Does it,Moncler outlet online store?" he asked with interest. "Get up and give me that mirror." I handed him a polished steel mirror and he agreed that it shone very brightly. In this fit of good humour he began to tell me a good deal about himself.
"I always knew that it would happen," he said. *T never felt anything but Divine. Think of it. At two years old I put down a mutiny of my father's army and so saved Rome. That was prodigious, like the stories told about the God Mercury when a child, or about Hercules who strangled the snakes in his cradle."
"And Mercury only stole a few oxen," I said, "and twanged a note or two on the lyre. That was nothing by comparison."
"And what's more, by the age of eight I had killed, my father. Jove himself never did that. He merely banished the old fellow."
I took this as raving on the same level, but I asked in a matter-of-fact voice, "Why did you do that?"'
"He stood in my way. He tried to discipline me-me, a young God, imagine it,replica gucci handbags. So I frightened him to death. I smuggled dead things into our house at Antioch and hid them under loose tiles; and I scrawled charms, on the walls; and I got a cock in my bedroom to give him his marching orders. And I robbed him of his Hecate. Look, here she is! I always keep her under my pillow*" He held up the green jasper charm. My heart went as cold as ice when I recognized it. I said in a horrified voice: "You were the one then,replica louis vuitton handbags? And it was you who climbed into the bolted room by that tiny window and drew your devices there too?"
He nodded proudly and went rattling on: "Not only did I kill my natural father but I killed my father by adoption too-Tiberius, you know. And whereas Jupiter only lay with one sister of his, Juno, I have lain with all three of mine. Martina told me it was the right thing to do if I wanted to be like Jove."
"You knew Martina well then?"
"Indeed I did. When my parents were in Egypt I used to visit her every night. She was a very wise woman, I'll tell you another thing, Drusilla's Divine too. I'm going to announce it at the same time as I make the announcement about myself. How I love Drusilla! Almost as much as she loves me."
"May I ask what are your sacred intentions? This metamorphosis will surely affect Rome profoundly."
"Certainly. First, I'm going to put the whole world in awe of me. I won't allow myself to be governed by a lot of fussy old men any longer. I'm going to show… but you remember your old grandmother, Livia? That was a joke. Somehow she had got the notion that it was she who was to be the everlasting God about whom everyone has been prophesying in the East for the last thousand years. I think it was Thrasyllus who tricked her into believing that she was meant. Thrasyllus never told lies but he loved misleading people. You see, Livia didn't know the precise terms of the prophecy. The God is to be a man not a woman, and not born in Rome, though he is to reign at Rome (I was born at Antium), and born at a time of profound peace (as I was), but destined to be the cause of innumerable wars after his death. He is to die young and to be at first loved by his people and then hated, and finally to die miserably, forsaken of all. "His servants shall drink his blood." Then after his death he is to rule over all the other Gods of the world, in lands not yet known to us. That can only be myself. Maitina told me that many prodigies had been seen lately in the near East which proved conclusively that the God had been born at last. The Jews were the most excited. They somehow felt themselves peculiarly concerned. I suppose that this was because I once visited their city Jerusalem with my father and gave my first divine manifestation there." He paused,fake montblanc pens.
He said: "I admit I am still in mortal disguise, so it is not remarkable that you did not notice my Divinity at once."
"I don't know how I could have been so blind. Your face shines in this dim light like a lamp."
"Does it,Moncler outlet online store?" he asked with interest. "Get up and give me that mirror." I handed him a polished steel mirror and he agreed that it shone very brightly. In this fit of good humour he began to tell me a good deal about himself.
"I always knew that it would happen," he said. *T never felt anything but Divine. Think of it. At two years old I put down a mutiny of my father's army and so saved Rome. That was prodigious, like the stories told about the God Mercury when a child, or about Hercules who strangled the snakes in his cradle."
"And Mercury only stole a few oxen," I said, "and twanged a note or two on the lyre. That was nothing by comparison."
"And what's more, by the age of eight I had killed, my father. Jove himself never did that. He merely banished the old fellow."
I took this as raving on the same level, but I asked in a matter-of-fact voice, "Why did you do that?"'
"He stood in my way. He tried to discipline me-me, a young God, imagine it,replica gucci handbags. So I frightened him to death. I smuggled dead things into our house at Antioch and hid them under loose tiles; and I scrawled charms, on the walls; and I got a cock in my bedroom to give him his marching orders. And I robbed him of his Hecate. Look, here she is! I always keep her under my pillow*" He held up the green jasper charm. My heart went as cold as ice when I recognized it. I said in a horrified voice: "You were the one then,replica louis vuitton handbags? And it was you who climbed into the bolted room by that tiny window and drew your devices there too?"
He nodded proudly and went rattling on: "Not only did I kill my natural father but I killed my father by adoption too-Tiberius, you know. And whereas Jupiter only lay with one sister of his, Juno, I have lain with all three of mine. Martina told me it was the right thing to do if I wanted to be like Jove."
"You knew Martina well then?"
"Indeed I did. When my parents were in Egypt I used to visit her every night. She was a very wise woman, I'll tell you another thing, Drusilla's Divine too. I'm going to announce it at the same time as I make the announcement about myself. How I love Drusilla! Almost as much as she loves me."
"May I ask what are your sacred intentions? This metamorphosis will surely affect Rome profoundly."
"Certainly. First, I'm going to put the whole world in awe of me. I won't allow myself to be governed by a lot of fussy old men any longer. I'm going to show… but you remember your old grandmother, Livia? That was a joke. Somehow she had got the notion that it was she who was to be the everlasting God about whom everyone has been prophesying in the East for the last thousand years. I think it was Thrasyllus who tricked her into believing that she was meant. Thrasyllus never told lies but he loved misleading people. You see, Livia didn't know the precise terms of the prophecy. The God is to be a man not a woman, and not born in Rome, though he is to reign at Rome (I was born at Antium), and born at a time of profound peace (as I was), but destined to be the cause of innumerable wars after his death. He is to die young and to be at first loved by his people and then hated, and finally to die miserably, forsaken of all. "His servants shall drink his blood." Then after his death he is to rule over all the other Gods of the world, in lands not yet known to us. That can only be myself. Maitina told me that many prodigies had been seen lately in the near East which proved conclusively that the God had been born at last. The Jews were the most excited. They somehow felt themselves peculiarly concerned. I suppose that this was because I once visited their city Jerusalem with my father and gave my first divine manifestation there." He paused,fake montblanc pens.
2012年11月23日星期五
'Conquered by a muffin
'Conquered by a muffin, by Jove!' called Josie after him, exulting inan opportunity to use the classical exclamation forbidden to her sex.
But Ted shot a Parthian arrow as he retired in good order byreplying, with a highly virtuous expression:
'Obedience is a soldier's first duty.'
Bent on her woman's privilege of having the last word, Josie ranafter him, but never uttered the scathing speech upon her lips, for avery brown young man in a blue suit came leaping up the steps with acheery 'Ahoy! ahoy! where is everybody?'
'Emil! Emil!' cried Josie, and in a moment Ted was upon him, and thelate enemies ended their fray in a joyful welcome to the newcomer.
Muffins were forgotten, and towing their cousin like two fussy littletugs with a fine merchantman, the children returned to the parlour,where Emil kissed all the women and shook hands with all the menexcept his uncle; him he embraced in the good old German style, tothe great delight of the observers.
'Didn't think I could get off today, but found I could, and steeredstraight for old Plum. Not a soul there, so I luffed and bore awayfor Parnassus, and here is every man Jack of you. Bless your hearts,how glad I am to see you all!' exclaimed the sailor boy, beaming atthem, as he stood with his legs apart as if he still felt the rockingdeck under his feet.
'You ought to "shiver your timbers", not "bless our hearts", Emil;it's not nautical at all. Oh, how nice and shippy and tarry you dosmell!' said Josie, sniffing at him with great enjoyment of the freshsea odours he brought with him. This was her favourite cousin, andshe was his pet; so she knew that the bulging pockets of the bluejacket contained treasures for her at least.
'Avast, my hearty, and let me take soundings before you dive,'
laughed Emil, understanding her affectionate caresses, and holdingher off with one hand while with the other he rummaged out sundryforeign little boxes and parcels marked with different names, andhanded them round with appropriate remarks, which caused muchlaughter; for Emil was a wag.
'There's a hawser that will hold our little cock-boat still aboutfive minutes,' he said, throwing a necklace of pretty pink coral overJosie's head; 'and here's something the mermaids sent to Undine,' headded, handing Bess a string of pearly shells on a silver chain.
I thought Daisy would like a fiddle, and Nat can find her a beau,'
continued the sailor, with a laugh, as he undid a dainty filigreebrooch in the shape of a violin.
'I know she will, and I'll take it to her,' answered Nat, as hevanished, glad of an errand, and sure that he could find Daisy thoughEmil had missed her.
Emil chuckled, and handed out a quaintly carved bear whose headopened, showing a capacious ink-stand. This he presented, with ascrape, to Aunt Jo.
'Knowing your fondness for these fine animals, I brought this one toyour pen.'
'Very good, Commodore! Try again,' said Mrs Jo, much pleased with hergift, which caused the Professor to prophesy 'works of Shakespeare'
So she went on with her dim light
So she went on with her dim light, almost feeling her way,her heart beating so loud that she fancied she couldhear it. The far-off faint crying went on and led her.
Sometimes it stopped for a moment or so and then began again.
Was this the right corner to turn? She stopped and thought.
Yes it was. Down this passage and then to the left,and then up two broad steps, and then to the right again.
Yes, there was the tapestry door.
She pushed it open very gently and closed it behind her,and she stood in the corridor and could hear the cryingquite plainly, though it was not loud. It was on the otherside of the wall at her left and a few yards farther onthere was a door. She could see a glimmer of light comingfrom beneath it. The Someone was crying in that room,and it was quite a young Someone.
So she walked to the door and pushed it open, and thereshe was standing in the room!
It was a big room with ancient, handsome furniture in it.
There was a low fire glowing faintly on the hearth and anight light burning by the side of a carved four-postedbed hung with brocade, and on the bed was lying a boy,crying fretfully.
Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she hadfallen asleep again and was dreaming without knowing it.
The boy had a sharp, delicate face the color of ivoryand he seemed to have eyes too big for it. He hadalso a lot of hair which tumbled over his foreheadin heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller.
He looked like a boy who had been ill, but he was cryingmore as if he were tired and cross than as if he were in pain.
Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand,holding her breath. Then she crept across the room, and,as she drew nearer, the light attracted the boy's attentionand he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her,his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense.
"Who are you?" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper.
"Are you a ghost?""No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper soundinghalf frightened. "Are you one?"He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not helpnoticing what strange eyes he had. They were agategray and they looked too big for his face because theyhad black lashes all round them.
"No," he replied after waiting a moment or so.
"I am Colin.""Who is Colin?" she faltered.
"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?""I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.""He is my father," said the boy.
"Your father!" gasped Mary. "No one ever told me hehad a boy! Why didn't they?""Come here," he said, still keeping his strange eyesfixed on her with an anxious expression.
She came close to the bed and he put out his handand touched her.
"You are real, aren't you?" he said. "I have such realdreams very often. You might be one of them."Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she lefther room and she put a piece of it between his fingers.
"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is," she said.
"I will pinch you a little if you like, to show you how realI am. For a minute I thought you might be a dream too.""Where did you come from?" he asked.
Sometimes it stopped for a moment or so and then began again.
Was this the right corner to turn? She stopped and thought.
Yes it was. Down this passage and then to the left,and then up two broad steps, and then to the right again.
Yes, there was the tapestry door.
She pushed it open very gently and closed it behind her,and she stood in the corridor and could hear the cryingquite plainly, though it was not loud. It was on the otherside of the wall at her left and a few yards farther onthere was a door. She could see a glimmer of light comingfrom beneath it. The Someone was crying in that room,and it was quite a young Someone.
So she walked to the door and pushed it open, and thereshe was standing in the room!
It was a big room with ancient, handsome furniture in it.
There was a low fire glowing faintly on the hearth and anight light burning by the side of a carved four-postedbed hung with brocade, and on the bed was lying a boy,crying fretfully.
Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she hadfallen asleep again and was dreaming without knowing it.
The boy had a sharp, delicate face the color of ivoryand he seemed to have eyes too big for it. He hadalso a lot of hair which tumbled over his foreheadin heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller.
He looked like a boy who had been ill, but he was cryingmore as if he were tired and cross than as if he were in pain.
Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand,holding her breath. Then she crept across the room, and,as she drew nearer, the light attracted the boy's attentionand he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her,his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense.
"Who are you?" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper.
"Are you a ghost?""No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper soundinghalf frightened. "Are you one?"He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not helpnoticing what strange eyes he had. They were agategray and they looked too big for his face because theyhad black lashes all round them.
"No," he replied after waiting a moment or so.
"I am Colin.""Who is Colin?" she faltered.
"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?""I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.""He is my father," said the boy.
"Your father!" gasped Mary. "No one ever told me hehad a boy! Why didn't they?""Come here," he said, still keeping his strange eyesfixed on her with an anxious expression.
She came close to the bed and he put out his handand touched her.
"You are real, aren't you?" he said. "I have such realdreams very often. You might be one of them."Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she lefther room and she put a piece of it between his fingers.
"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is," she said.
"I will pinch you a little if you like, to show you how realI am. For a minute I thought you might be a dream too.""Where did you come from?" he asked.
2012年11月22日星期四
I had the embarrassing duty assigned to me of going to France
I had the embarrassing duty assigned to me of going to France, at the head of an embassy of four ex-Consuls, to congratulate Caligula on his suppression of the conspiracy. This was my first visit to France since my infancy arid I wished I was not making it. I had to take money from Calpurnia for travelling expenses, for my estate and home had not yet found a buyer, and I could not count on Caligula's being pleased to see me. I went by sea from Ostia, landing at Marseilles. It appears that after banishing my nieces Caligula had auctioned the jewellery and ornaments and clothes they had brought with them. These fetched such high prices that he also sold their slaves and then their freedmen, pretending that these were slaves too. The bids were made by rich provincials who wanted the glory of saying, "Yes, such and such belonged to the Emperor's sister. I bought it from him personally!" This gave Caligula a new idea. The old Palace where Livia had lived was now shut up. It was full of valuable furniture and pictures and relics of Augustus. Caligula sent for all this stuff to Rome and made me responsible for its safe and prompt arrival at Lyons. He wrote: "Send it by road, not by sea. I have a quarrel on with Neptune." The letter arrived only the day before I sailed, so I put Pallas in charge of the job. The difficulty was that all the surplus horses and carts had already been commandeered for the transport of Caligula's army. But Caligula had given the order, and horses and conveyances had somehow to be found. Pallas went to the Consuls and showed them Caligula's orders. They were forced to commandeer public mail-coaches and bakers' vans and the horses that turned the corn-mills, which was a great inconvenience to the public.
So it happened that one evening in May just before sunset Caligula, sitting on the bridge at Lyons engaged in imaginary conversation with the local river-god, saw me coming along the road in the distance. He recognized my sedan by the dice-board I have fitted across it: I beguile long journeys by throwing dice with myself. He called out angrily: "Hey. you sir, where are the carts? Why haven't you brought the carts?"
I called back: "Heaven bless your Majesty! The carts won't be here for a few days yet, I fear. They are coming by land, through Genoa. My colleagues and I have come by water."
"Then back by water you'll go, my man,” he said. "Come here!"
When I reached the bridge I was pulled out of my sedan by two German soldiers and carried to the parapet above the middle arch, where they sat me with my back to the river. Caligula rushed forward and pushed me over. I turned two back-somersaults and fell what seemed like a thousand feet before I struck the water. I remember saying to myself: "Born at Lyons, died at Lyons!" The river Rhone is very cold, very deep and very swift. My heavy robe entangled my arms and legs, but somehow I managed to keep afloat, and to clamber ashore behind some boats about half a mile down-stream, out of sight of the bridge. I am a much better swimmer than I am a walker: I am strong in the arms and being rather fat from not being able to take exercise and from liking my meals I float like a cork. By the way, Caligula couldn't swim a stroke.
So it happened that one evening in May just before sunset Caligula, sitting on the bridge at Lyons engaged in imaginary conversation with the local river-god, saw me coming along the road in the distance. He recognized my sedan by the dice-board I have fitted across it: I beguile long journeys by throwing dice with myself. He called out angrily: "Hey. you sir, where are the carts? Why haven't you brought the carts?"
I called back: "Heaven bless your Majesty! The carts won't be here for a few days yet, I fear. They are coming by land, through Genoa. My colleagues and I have come by water."
"Then back by water you'll go, my man,” he said. "Come here!"
When I reached the bridge I was pulled out of my sedan by two German soldiers and carried to the parapet above the middle arch, where they sat me with my back to the river. Caligula rushed forward and pushed me over. I turned two back-somersaults and fell what seemed like a thousand feet before I struck the water. I remember saying to myself: "Born at Lyons, died at Lyons!" The river Rhone is very cold, very deep and very swift. My heavy robe entangled my arms and legs, but somehow I managed to keep afloat, and to clamber ashore behind some boats about half a mile down-stream, out of sight of the bridge. I am a much better swimmer than I am a walker: I am strong in the arms and being rather fat from not being able to take exercise and from liking my meals I float like a cork. By the way, Caligula couldn't swim a stroke.
Before Agrippina went to her island he had her before him and asked her mocking questions about how
Before Agrippina went to her island he had her before him and asked her mocking questions about how she proposed to govern the mighty kingdom which she had just inherited from her mother (his virtuous late wife), and whether she would send ambassadors to her son, Nero, in his new kingdom, and enter into a grand military alliance with him. She did not answer a word. He grew angry and roared at her to answer, and when she still kept silent he told a captain of the guard to strike her over the shoulders. Then at last she spoke. "Blood-soaked Mud is your name. That's what Theodoras the Gadarene called you, I'm told, when you attended his rhetoric classes at Rhodes." Tiberius seized the vine branch from the captain and thrashed her about the body and head until she was insensible. She lost the sight of an eye as a result of this dreadful beating.
Soon Drusus too was accused of intriguing with the Rhine regiments. Sejanus produced letters in proof, which he said that he had intercepted, -but which were really forged, and also the written testimony of Lepida, Drusus's wife (with whom he had a secret affair), that Drusus had asked her to get in touch with the sailors of Ostia, who, he hoped, would remember that Nero and he were Agrippa's grandsons. Drusus was handed over by the Senate to Tiberius to deal with and Tiberius had him confined to a remote attic of the Palace under Sejanus's supervision.
Callus was the next victim. Tiberius wrote to the Senate that Callus was jealous of Sejanus and had done all that he could to bring him into disfavour with his Emperor by ironical praises and other malicious methods. The Senate were so upset by the news of the suicide of the Recorder, which reached them the same day, that they immediately sent a magistrate to arrest Callus. When the magistrate went to Callus's house he was told that Callus was out of the City, at Baiaa. At Baiaa he was directed to Tiberius's villa and, sure enough, he came on him there at dinner with Tiberius. Tiberius was pledging Callus in a cup of wine and Callus was responding loyally, and there seemed such an air of good humour and jollity in the dining-hall that the magistrate was embarrassed and did not know what to say. Tiberius asked him why he had come. "To arrest one of your guests, Caesar, by order of the Senate."
"Which guest?" asked Tiberius. "Asinius Callus," replied the magistrate, "but it seems to be a mistake." Tiberius pretended to look grave; "If the Senate have anything against you, Gallus, and have sent this officer to arrest you, I'm afraid our pleasant evening must come to an end. I can't go against the Senate, you know. But I'll tell you what I'll do, now that you and I have come to such a friendly understanding: I'll write to ask the Senate, as a personal favour, not to take any action in your case until they hear from me. That will mean that you will be under simple arrest, in the charge of the Consuls-no fetters or anything degrading. I'll arrange to secure your acquittal as soon as I can."
Gallus felt bound to thank Tiberius for his magnanimity, but was sure that there was a catch somewhere, that Tiberius was paying back irony with irony; and he was right. He was taken to Rome and put in an underground room in the Senate House. He was not allowed to see anyone, not even a servant, or send any messages to his friends or family. Food was given him every day through a grille. The room was dark except for the poor light coming through the grille and unfurnished except for a mattress. He was told that these quarters were only temporary ones and that Tiberius would soon come to settle his case. But the days drew on into months, and months into years, and still he stayed there. The food was very poor-carefully calculated by Tiberius to keep him always hungry but never actually starving. He was allowed no knife to cut it up with, for fear he might use it to kill himself, or any other sharp weapon, or anything to distract himself with, such as writing materials or books or dice. He was given very little water to drink, none to wash in. If ever there was talk about him in Tiberius's presence the old man would say, grinning: "I have not yet made my peace with Gallus."
Soon Drusus too was accused of intriguing with the Rhine regiments. Sejanus produced letters in proof, which he said that he had intercepted, -but which were really forged, and also the written testimony of Lepida, Drusus's wife (with whom he had a secret affair), that Drusus had asked her to get in touch with the sailors of Ostia, who, he hoped, would remember that Nero and he were Agrippa's grandsons. Drusus was handed over by the Senate to Tiberius to deal with and Tiberius had him confined to a remote attic of the Palace under Sejanus's supervision.
Callus was the next victim. Tiberius wrote to the Senate that Callus was jealous of Sejanus and had done all that he could to bring him into disfavour with his Emperor by ironical praises and other malicious methods. The Senate were so upset by the news of the suicide of the Recorder, which reached them the same day, that they immediately sent a magistrate to arrest Callus. When the magistrate went to Callus's house he was told that Callus was out of the City, at Baiaa. At Baiaa he was directed to Tiberius's villa and, sure enough, he came on him there at dinner with Tiberius. Tiberius was pledging Callus in a cup of wine and Callus was responding loyally, and there seemed such an air of good humour and jollity in the dining-hall that the magistrate was embarrassed and did not know what to say. Tiberius asked him why he had come. "To arrest one of your guests, Caesar, by order of the Senate."
"Which guest?" asked Tiberius. "Asinius Callus," replied the magistrate, "but it seems to be a mistake." Tiberius pretended to look grave; "If the Senate have anything against you, Gallus, and have sent this officer to arrest you, I'm afraid our pleasant evening must come to an end. I can't go against the Senate, you know. But I'll tell you what I'll do, now that you and I have come to such a friendly understanding: I'll write to ask the Senate, as a personal favour, not to take any action in your case until they hear from me. That will mean that you will be under simple arrest, in the charge of the Consuls-no fetters or anything degrading. I'll arrange to secure your acquittal as soon as I can."
Gallus felt bound to thank Tiberius for his magnanimity, but was sure that there was a catch somewhere, that Tiberius was paying back irony with irony; and he was right. He was taken to Rome and put in an underground room in the Senate House. He was not allowed to see anyone, not even a servant, or send any messages to his friends or family. Food was given him every day through a grille. The room was dark except for the poor light coming through the grille and unfurnished except for a mattress. He was told that these quarters were only temporary ones and that Tiberius would soon come to settle his case. But the days drew on into months, and months into years, and still he stayed there. The food was very poor-carefully calculated by Tiberius to keep him always hungry but never actually starving. He was allowed no knife to cut it up with, for fear he might use it to kill himself, or any other sharp weapon, or anything to distract himself with, such as writing materials or books or dice. He was given very little water to drink, none to wash in. If ever there was talk about him in Tiberius's presence the old man would say, grinning: "I have not yet made my peace with Gallus."
Purpose of units
Purpose of units? - To root out undesirable elements. Nature of such elements? - Sneaky, well-disguised, could-be-anyone. Known intentions of same? - To be abhorred: destruction of family life, murder of God, expropriation of landowners, abolition of film-censorship. To what ends? - Annihilation of the State, anarchy, foreign domination. Accentuating causes of concern? - Forthcoming elections; and subsequently, civilian rule. (Political prisoners have been are being freed. All types of hooligans are abroad.) Precise duties of units? -To obey unquestioningly; to seek unflaggingly; to arrest remorselessly.
Mode of procedure? - Covert; efficient; quick. Legal basis of such detentions? - Defence of Pakistan Rules, permitting the pick-up of undesirables, who may be held incommunicado for a period of six months. Footnote: a renewable period of six months. Any questions? - No. Good. You are CUTIA Unit 22. She-dog badges will be sewn to lapels. The acronym CUTIA, of course, means bitch.
And the man-dog?
Cross-legged, blue-eyed, staring into space, he sits beneath a tree. Bodhi trees do not grow at this altitude; he makes do with a chinar. His nose: bulbous, cucumbery, tip blue with cold. And on his head a monk's tonsure where once Mr Zagallo's hand. And a mutilated finger whose missing segment fell at Masha Miovic's feet after Glandy Keith had slammed. And stains on his face like a map ... 'Ekkkhh-thoo!' (He spits.)
His teeth are stained; betel-juice reddens his gums. A red stream of expectorated paan-fluid leaves his lips, to hit, with commendable accuracy, a beautifully-wrought silver spittoon, which sits before him on the ground. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq are staring in amazement. 'Don't try to get it away from him," Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin indicates the spittoon, 'It sends him wild.' Ayooba begins, 'Sir sir I thought you said three persons and a -', but Najmuddin barks, 'No questions! Obedience without queries! This is your tracker; that's that.
Dismiss.'
At that time, Ayooba and Farooq were sixteen and a half years old. Shaheed (who had lied about his age) was perhaps a year younger. Because they were so young, and had not had time to acquire the type of memories which give men a firm hold on reality, such as memories of love or famine, the boy soldiers were highly susceptible to the influence of legends and gossip. Within twenty-four hours, in the course of mess-hall conversations with other CUTIA units, the man-dog had been fully mythologized ... 'From a really important family, man!' - 'The idiot child, they put him in the Army to make a man of him!' - 'Had a war accident in '65, yaar, can't won't remember a thing about it!' - 'Listen, I heard he was the brother of - 'No, man, that's crazy, she is good, you know, so simple and holy, how would she leave her brother?' - 'Anyway he refuses to talk about it.' - 'I heard one terrible thing, she hated him, man, that's why she!' - 'No memory, not interested in people, lives like a dog!' - 'But the tracking business is true all right! You see that nose on him?' - 'Yah, man, he can follow any trail on earth!' - 'Through water, baba, across rocks! Such a tracker, you never saw!' - 'And he can't feel a thing! That's right! Numb, I swear; head-to-foot numb! You touch him, he wouldn't know - only by smell he knows you're there!' - 'Must be the war wound!' - 'But that spittoon, man, who knows? Carries it everywhere like a love-token!' - 'I tell you, I'm glad it's you three; he gives me the creeps, yaar, it's those blue eyes.' - 'You know how they found out about his nose? He just wandered into a minefield, man, I swear, just picked his way through, like he could smell the damn mines!' - 'O, no, man, what are you talking, that's an old story, that was that first dog in the whole CUTIA operation, that Bonzo, man, don't mix us up!' - Hey, you Ayooba, you better watch your step, they say V.I.P.s are keeping their eyes on him!' - 'Yah, like I told you, Jamila Singer ..." - 'O, keep your mouth shut, we all heard enough of your fairy-tales!'
Mode of procedure? - Covert; efficient; quick. Legal basis of such detentions? - Defence of Pakistan Rules, permitting the pick-up of undesirables, who may be held incommunicado for a period of six months. Footnote: a renewable period of six months. Any questions? - No. Good. You are CUTIA Unit 22. She-dog badges will be sewn to lapels. The acronym CUTIA, of course, means bitch.
And the man-dog?
Cross-legged, blue-eyed, staring into space, he sits beneath a tree. Bodhi trees do not grow at this altitude; he makes do with a chinar. His nose: bulbous, cucumbery, tip blue with cold. And on his head a monk's tonsure where once Mr Zagallo's hand. And a mutilated finger whose missing segment fell at Masha Miovic's feet after Glandy Keith had slammed. And stains on his face like a map ... 'Ekkkhh-thoo!' (He spits.)
His teeth are stained; betel-juice reddens his gums. A red stream of expectorated paan-fluid leaves his lips, to hit, with commendable accuracy, a beautifully-wrought silver spittoon, which sits before him on the ground. Ayooba Shaheed Farooq are staring in amazement. 'Don't try to get it away from him," Sgt-Mjr Najmuddin indicates the spittoon, 'It sends him wild.' Ayooba begins, 'Sir sir I thought you said three persons and a -', but Najmuddin barks, 'No questions! Obedience without queries! This is your tracker; that's that.
Dismiss.'
At that time, Ayooba and Farooq were sixteen and a half years old. Shaheed (who had lied about his age) was perhaps a year younger. Because they were so young, and had not had time to acquire the type of memories which give men a firm hold on reality, such as memories of love or famine, the boy soldiers were highly susceptible to the influence of legends and gossip. Within twenty-four hours, in the course of mess-hall conversations with other CUTIA units, the man-dog had been fully mythologized ... 'From a really important family, man!' - 'The idiot child, they put him in the Army to make a man of him!' - 'Had a war accident in '65, yaar, can't won't remember a thing about it!' - 'Listen, I heard he was the brother of - 'No, man, that's crazy, she is good, you know, so simple and holy, how would she leave her brother?' - 'Anyway he refuses to talk about it.' - 'I heard one terrible thing, she hated him, man, that's why she!' - 'No memory, not interested in people, lives like a dog!' - 'But the tracking business is true all right! You see that nose on him?' - 'Yah, man, he can follow any trail on earth!' - 'Through water, baba, across rocks! Such a tracker, you never saw!' - 'And he can't feel a thing! That's right! Numb, I swear; head-to-foot numb! You touch him, he wouldn't know - only by smell he knows you're there!' - 'Must be the war wound!' - 'But that spittoon, man, who knows? Carries it everywhere like a love-token!' - 'I tell you, I'm glad it's you three; he gives me the creeps, yaar, it's those blue eyes.' - 'You know how they found out about his nose? He just wandered into a minefield, man, I swear, just picked his way through, like he could smell the damn mines!' - 'O, no, man, what are you talking, that's an old story, that was that first dog in the whole CUTIA operation, that Bonzo, man, don't mix us up!' - Hey, you Ayooba, you better watch your step, they say V.I.P.s are keeping their eyes on him!' - 'Yah, like I told you, Jamila Singer ..." - 'O, keep your mouth shut, we all heard enough of your fairy-tales!'
2012年11月21日星期三
'Afternoon
"'Afternoon!' says I to him. 'You now ride with a equestrian who is commonly called Dead-Moral-Certainty Judson, on account of the way I shoot. When I want a stranger to know me I always introduce myself before the draw, for I never did like to shake hands with ghosts.'
"'Ah,' says he, just like that--'Ah, I'm glad to know you, Mr. Judson. I'm Jackson Bird, from over at Mired Mule Ranch.'
"Just then one of my eyes saw a roadrunner skipping down the hill with a young tarantula in his bill, and the other eye noticed a rabbit-hawk sitting on a dead limb in a water-elm. I popped over one after the other with my forty-five, just to show him. 'Two out of three,' says I. 'Birds just naturally seem to draw my fire wherever I go.'
"'Nice shooting,' says the sheep man, without a flutter. 'But don't you sometimes ever miss the third shot? Elegant fine rain that was last week for the young grass, Mr. Judson?' says he.
"'Willie,' says I, riding over close to his palfrey, 'your infatuated parents may have denounced you by the name of Jackson, but you sure moulted into a twittering Willie--let us slough off this here analysis of rain and the elements, and get down to talk that is outside the vocabulary of parrots. That is a bad habit you have got of riding with young ladies over at Pimienta. I've known birds,' says I, 'to be served on toast for less than that. Miss Willella,' says I, 'don't ever want any nest made out of sheep's wool by a tomtit of the Jacksonian branch of ornithology. Now, are you going to quit, or do you wish for to gallop up against this Dead-Moral-Certainty attachment to my name, which is good for two hyphens and at least one set of funeral obsequies?'
"Jackson Bird flushed up some, and then he laughed.
"'Why, Mr. Judson,' says he, 'you've got the wrong idea. I've called on Miss Learight a few times; but not for the purpose you imagine. My object is purely a gastronomical one.'
"I reached for my gun.
"'Any coyote,' says I, 'that would boast of dishonourable--'
"'Wait a minute,' says this Bird, 'till I explain. What would I do with a wife? If you ever saw that ranch of mine! I do my own cooking and mending. Eating--that's all the pleasure I get out of sheep raising. Mr. Judson, did you ever taste the pancakes that Miss Learight makes?'
"'Me? No,' I told him. 'I never was advised that she was up to any culinary manoeuvres.'
"'They're golden sunshine,' says he, 'honey-browned by the ambrosial fires of Epicurus. I'd give two years of my life to get the recipe for making them pancakes. That's what I went to see Miss Learight for,' says Jackson Bird, 'but I haven't been able to get it from her. It's an old recipe that's been in the family for seventy-five years. They hand it down from one generation to another, but they don't give it away to outsiders. If I could get that recipe, so I could make them pancakes for myself on my ranch, I'd be a happy man,' says Bird.
"'Are you sure,' I says to him, 'that it ain't the hand that mixes the pancakes that you're after?'
"'Sure,' says Jackson. 'Miss Learight is a mighty nice girl, but I can assure you my intentions go no further than the gastro--' but he seen my hand going down to my holster and he changed his similitude--'than the desire to procure a copy of the pancake recipe,' he finishes.
"'Ah,' says he, just like that--'Ah, I'm glad to know you, Mr. Judson. I'm Jackson Bird, from over at Mired Mule Ranch.'
"Just then one of my eyes saw a roadrunner skipping down the hill with a young tarantula in his bill, and the other eye noticed a rabbit-hawk sitting on a dead limb in a water-elm. I popped over one after the other with my forty-five, just to show him. 'Two out of three,' says I. 'Birds just naturally seem to draw my fire wherever I go.'
"'Nice shooting,' says the sheep man, without a flutter. 'But don't you sometimes ever miss the third shot? Elegant fine rain that was last week for the young grass, Mr. Judson?' says he.
"'Willie,' says I, riding over close to his palfrey, 'your infatuated parents may have denounced you by the name of Jackson, but you sure moulted into a twittering Willie--let us slough off this here analysis of rain and the elements, and get down to talk that is outside the vocabulary of parrots. That is a bad habit you have got of riding with young ladies over at Pimienta. I've known birds,' says I, 'to be served on toast for less than that. Miss Willella,' says I, 'don't ever want any nest made out of sheep's wool by a tomtit of the Jacksonian branch of ornithology. Now, are you going to quit, or do you wish for to gallop up against this Dead-Moral-Certainty attachment to my name, which is good for two hyphens and at least one set of funeral obsequies?'
"Jackson Bird flushed up some, and then he laughed.
"'Why, Mr. Judson,' says he, 'you've got the wrong idea. I've called on Miss Learight a few times; but not for the purpose you imagine. My object is purely a gastronomical one.'
"I reached for my gun.
"'Any coyote,' says I, 'that would boast of dishonourable--'
"'Wait a minute,' says this Bird, 'till I explain. What would I do with a wife? If you ever saw that ranch of mine! I do my own cooking and mending. Eating--that's all the pleasure I get out of sheep raising. Mr. Judson, did you ever taste the pancakes that Miss Learight makes?'
"'Me? No,' I told him. 'I never was advised that she was up to any culinary manoeuvres.'
"'They're golden sunshine,' says he, 'honey-browned by the ambrosial fires of Epicurus. I'd give two years of my life to get the recipe for making them pancakes. That's what I went to see Miss Learight for,' says Jackson Bird, 'but I haven't been able to get it from her. It's an old recipe that's been in the family for seventy-five years. They hand it down from one generation to another, but they don't give it away to outsiders. If I could get that recipe, so I could make them pancakes for myself on my ranch, I'd be a happy man,' says Bird.
"'Are you sure,' I says to him, 'that it ain't the hand that mixes the pancakes that you're after?'
"'Sure,' says Jackson. 'Miss Learight is a mighty nice girl, but I can assure you my intentions go no further than the gastro--' but he seen my hand going down to my holster and he changed his similitude--'than the desire to procure a copy of the pancake recipe,' he finishes.
The young man
The young man, even though in a v/indow seat, did his best to edge away. Takeshi went on, "Here, you want to try one of these? Huh,Designer Handbags? they — they're really good. Evoex, ever heard of them? Something new!"
"There's a hidden camera somewhere, right? This is a commercial,Moncler Outlet?" The question rang almost prayerfully in these surroundings, the moonlit childhood-picture-book clouds out the rounded toy windows, the lambent fall of electric light on faces and documents, the affectless music in the earphones, the possibly otherworldly origins of Takeshi's madness. . . .
"You'd be — real interested in this!" Takeshi began, "maybe even — tell me what you think I should do — because frankly, I'm at my wit's end!" proceeding then to rattle out the whole story, sparing no medical detail. The suit-wearing juvenile was more than willing to listen to anything, as long as it delayed the moment, easily imagined, when Takeshi would produce a weapon and begin to run amok in the aisles.
When Takeshi paused at last, the American tried to be sympathetic. "What can you expect? A woman."
"No, no! Somebody thought I was — somebody else." "Hmm. Maybe you thought she was somebody else." Takeshi grew instantiy paranoid, assuming, for some reason, that the young man was talking about his ex-
Chapter 7
THEY blasted down to L.A., heading back to the barn only semivisible and near as anybody could tell unobserved, Manuel and his auto alchemy team at Zero Profile Paint & Body of Santa Rosa having come up with a proprietary lacquer of a crystalline microstructure able to vary its index of refraction so that even had there been surveillance, the Trans-Am could easily, except for a few iridescent fringes, have been taken for empty roadway.
If Prairie had been expecting an old-movie private eye's office, seedy and picturesque, she wouldn't be getting it today. The Fu-mimota suite was located in a basic L.A. business/shopping complex of high-rises that stood on a piece of former movie-studio lot. Space devoted to make-believe had, it was thought, been reclaimed by the serious activities of the World of Reality. A lot of old-time oaters had been lensed here — she'd watched some, Saturday mornings on the Tube — but where stagecoaches had rolled and posses thundered,replica gucci wallets, now stockbrokers whispered romantically about issues and futures into tiny telephone mikes no bigger than M&M's, crowds dressed to impress came and shopped and sat on tile patios eating lunch,fake montblanc pens, deals were made high overhead in legal offices that weren't always legal, sharing these altitudes with city falcons who hunted pigeons in the booming prisms of sun and shadow below.
Prairie still had no idea of what "karmic adjustment" was supposed to be, but for the first time it began to seem plausible to her that Takeshi, if not what he said he was, at least might be more than the nose-twister and eye-poker he appeared. The place was full of computer terminals, facsimile machines, all-band transmitter/receivers, not to mention components scattered all over, printed circuits, laser units, DIP's, disk drives, power supplies, and test equipment —
"There's a hidden camera somewhere, right? This is a commercial,Moncler Outlet?" The question rang almost prayerfully in these surroundings, the moonlit childhood-picture-book clouds out the rounded toy windows, the lambent fall of electric light on faces and documents, the affectless music in the earphones, the possibly otherworldly origins of Takeshi's madness. . . .
"You'd be — real interested in this!" Takeshi began, "maybe even — tell me what you think I should do — because frankly, I'm at my wit's end!" proceeding then to rattle out the whole story, sparing no medical detail. The suit-wearing juvenile was more than willing to listen to anything, as long as it delayed the moment, easily imagined, when Takeshi would produce a weapon and begin to run amok in the aisles.
When Takeshi paused at last, the American tried to be sympathetic. "What can you expect? A woman."
"No, no! Somebody thought I was — somebody else." "Hmm. Maybe you thought she was somebody else." Takeshi grew instantiy paranoid, assuming, for some reason, that the young man was talking about his ex-
Chapter 7
THEY blasted down to L.A., heading back to the barn only semivisible and near as anybody could tell unobserved, Manuel and his auto alchemy team at Zero Profile Paint & Body of Santa Rosa having come up with a proprietary lacquer of a crystalline microstructure able to vary its index of refraction so that even had there been surveillance, the Trans-Am could easily, except for a few iridescent fringes, have been taken for empty roadway.
If Prairie had been expecting an old-movie private eye's office, seedy and picturesque, she wouldn't be getting it today. The Fu-mimota suite was located in a basic L.A. business/shopping complex of high-rises that stood on a piece of former movie-studio lot. Space devoted to make-believe had, it was thought, been reclaimed by the serious activities of the World of Reality. A lot of old-time oaters had been lensed here — she'd watched some, Saturday mornings on the Tube — but where stagecoaches had rolled and posses thundered,replica gucci wallets, now stockbrokers whispered romantically about issues and futures into tiny telephone mikes no bigger than M&M's, crowds dressed to impress came and shopped and sat on tile patios eating lunch,fake montblanc pens, deals were made high overhead in legal offices that weren't always legal, sharing these altitudes with city falcons who hunted pigeons in the booming prisms of sun and shadow below.
Prairie still had no idea of what "karmic adjustment" was supposed to be, but for the first time it began to seem plausible to her that Takeshi, if not what he said he was, at least might be more than the nose-twister and eye-poker he appeared. The place was full of computer terminals, facsimile machines, all-band transmitter/receivers, not to mention components scattered all over, printed circuits, laser units, DIP's, disk drives, power supplies, and test equipment —
You know what I mean
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know." He shrugged. "Look, if you want me to help you get him out to the truck, I'd be glad to do it."
She stared at Kevin for a moment, listening to his deep, even breaths. He looked dead to the world.
"Well, maybe one night wouldn't hurt," she relented, and Garrett winked.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Now don't forget your promise to be a perfect gentleman."
"I won't."
"You sound so sure about it."
"Hey . . . a promise is a promise."
She gently closed the door and put her arms around Garrett's neck. She kissed him, biting him teasingly on the lip. "That's good, because if it was just up to me, I don't think I could control myself."
He winced. "You really know how to make it tough on a guy, don't you?"
"Does that mean you think I'm a tease?"
"No," he said quietly. "It means I think you're perfect."
* * *
Instead of watching the second movie, Garrett and Theresa sat on the couch, sipping wine and talking. Theresa checked on Kevin a couple of times, making sure he was still asleep. He looked as if he hadn't moved at all.
By midnight Theresa was yawning steadily, and Garrett suggested that she get some sleep.
"But I came down here to see you," she protested drowsily.
"But if you don't get your sleep, I'll look blurry."
"I'm fine, really," she said before yawning again. Garrett rose and went to the closet. He pulled out a sheet, blanket,replica gucci handbags, and pillow and brought them to the couch.
"I insist. Try to get some sleep. We have the next few days to see each other."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
She helped Garrett get the couch ready and went to the bedroom. "If you don't want to sleep in your clothes, there are some sweats in the second drawer," he said,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots.
She kissed him again. "I had a wonderful day today," she said.
"So did I."
"I'm sorry for being so tired."
"You've done a lot today. It's completely understandable."
With their arms entwined,moncler jackets women, she whispered in his ear, "Are you always this easy to get along with?"
"I try."
"Well, you're doing a heck of a job."
* * *
A few hours later Garrett woke to the sensation of someone nudging him in the ribs. Opening his eyes, he saw Theresa sitting next to him. She was wearing the sweats he'd mentioned earlier.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting up.
"I'm fine," she whispered, stroking his arm.
"What time is it?"
"A little after three."
"Is Kevin still sleeping?"
"Like a rock."
"Can I ask why you got out of bed?"
"I had a dream and I couldn't fall back to sleep."
He rubbed his eyes. "What was the dream about?"
"You," she said in hushed tones.
"Was it a good dream?" he asked.
"Oh, yes . . ." She trailed off. She leaned over to kiss his chest, and Garrett pulled her closer,moncler jackets men. He glanced toward the bedroom door. She had closed it behind her.
"Aren't you worried about Kevin?" he asked.
"A little, but I'm going to trust you to be as quiet as possible."
She reached under the blanket and ran her fingers across his belly. Her touch was electric.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Uh-huh," she said.
They made love tenderly, quietly, and afterward they lay beside each other. For a long time, neither of them spoke. When the faintest hint of light began to brush the horizon, they kissed good night and she returned to the bedroom. Within a few minutes she was sleeping soundly, and Garrett watched her from the doorway.
"Yeah, I know." He shrugged. "Look, if you want me to help you get him out to the truck, I'd be glad to do it."
She stared at Kevin for a moment, listening to his deep, even breaths. He looked dead to the world.
"Well, maybe one night wouldn't hurt," she relented, and Garrett winked.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Now don't forget your promise to be a perfect gentleman."
"I won't."
"You sound so sure about it."
"Hey . . . a promise is a promise."
She gently closed the door and put her arms around Garrett's neck. She kissed him, biting him teasingly on the lip. "That's good, because if it was just up to me, I don't think I could control myself."
He winced. "You really know how to make it tough on a guy, don't you?"
"Does that mean you think I'm a tease?"
"No," he said quietly. "It means I think you're perfect."
* * *
Instead of watching the second movie, Garrett and Theresa sat on the couch, sipping wine and talking. Theresa checked on Kevin a couple of times, making sure he was still asleep. He looked as if he hadn't moved at all.
By midnight Theresa was yawning steadily, and Garrett suggested that she get some sleep.
"But I came down here to see you," she protested drowsily.
"But if you don't get your sleep, I'll look blurry."
"I'm fine, really," she said before yawning again. Garrett rose and went to the closet. He pulled out a sheet, blanket,replica gucci handbags, and pillow and brought them to the couch.
"I insist. Try to get some sleep. We have the next few days to see each other."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
She helped Garrett get the couch ready and went to the bedroom. "If you don't want to sleep in your clothes, there are some sweats in the second drawer," he said,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots.
She kissed him again. "I had a wonderful day today," she said.
"So did I."
"I'm sorry for being so tired."
"You've done a lot today. It's completely understandable."
With their arms entwined,moncler jackets women, she whispered in his ear, "Are you always this easy to get along with?"
"I try."
"Well, you're doing a heck of a job."
* * *
A few hours later Garrett woke to the sensation of someone nudging him in the ribs. Opening his eyes, he saw Theresa sitting next to him. She was wearing the sweats he'd mentioned earlier.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting up.
"I'm fine," she whispered, stroking his arm.
"What time is it?"
"A little after three."
"Is Kevin still sleeping?"
"Like a rock."
"Can I ask why you got out of bed?"
"I had a dream and I couldn't fall back to sleep."
He rubbed his eyes. "What was the dream about?"
"You," she said in hushed tones.
"Was it a good dream?" he asked.
"Oh, yes . . ." She trailed off. She leaned over to kiss his chest, and Garrett pulled her closer,moncler jackets men. He glanced toward the bedroom door. She had closed it behind her.
"Aren't you worried about Kevin?" he asked.
"A little, but I'm going to trust you to be as quiet as possible."
She reached under the blanket and ran her fingers across his belly. Her touch was electric.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Uh-huh," she said.
They made love tenderly, quietly, and afterward they lay beside each other. For a long time, neither of them spoke. When the faintest hint of light began to brush the horizon, they kissed good night and she returned to the bedroom. Within a few minutes she was sleeping soundly, and Garrett watched her from the doorway.
I thought about that as Sunset sloped upward and the 405 on-ramp appeared
I thought about that as Sunset sloped upward and the 405 on-ramp appeared. Milo pushed down harder on the accelerator, and the unmarked kicked, shuddered, and jammed into high gear.
"Maybe Jane hasn't called back because she's gone into seclusion," I said.
"With Mel? Where? They both check into some rest home? So that's my answer, huh? Don't waste my time in the Valley."
"I can't think of anything."
"Fair enough." His hands were white around the wheel as he sped onto the freeway, narrowly passing a Jaguar sedan and eliciting angry honks. "Fuck you too," he told the rearview mirror,nike shox torch ii. "Alex, let's say there is no big family issue. But what if Lauren got hold of juicy info on Dug-ger or Duke or whoever and passed it along to Jane? Maybe Jane reacted strongly—told her to keep her mouth shut, whatever, and that was the control thing Lauren talked about to Salander."
"Lauren had been out of the house for years," I said. "Had just reconnected with Jane. Their relationship was still thawing,shox torch 2. That doesn't mesh with her confiding something explosive, but maybe. When times get rough sometimes the chicks return to roost."
"So maybe Jane hasn't been in touch with me because she's scared. Has an idea what led to Lauren's death and is worried it could be dangerous for her too. That would be enough to get her to hold back on a lead to Lauren's murder— I know, I know, now it's me who's hypothesizing. But when I'm finished with Dugger, I definitely want another try at her."
"Makes sense," I said.
He grinned fiercely. "Makes no sense evidence-wise, but thanks for theemotional validation. I'm flopping around like a fish on the pier— I know you like Dugger, but he just doesn't bother me. I don't pick up any guilt vibe. Sure, he reacted strongly to the news of Lauren's death, but my immediate impression was it was just that: news. Okay, he was sweating, and maybe he and Lauren were doing the dirty— Let's see if any of those Newport restaurants remember serious smooching. But still, he doesn't give off any of that fear-hormone stink. He's depressed, not spooked. . . . What the hell, he could be a primary psychopath—hog-tied her, shot her, dumped her, and ate a candy bar afterward, and I'm being played like a cheap harmonica. Have you seen anything that points to that level of disturbance? I mean, you should've heard the ex-wife—ready to beatify the guy."
"Psychopaths don't get anxious, but they do get depressed,replica gucci wallets. Let's take a closer look at him today."
Milo frowned, rubbed his face. "Sure. What the hell, at least we'll get another trip to the beach."
Just before LAX the freeway clogged. We rolled slowly toward El Segundo, and when the clog gave way Milo said, "What do you think Tony Duke's worth—couple of hundred million?"
"The magazine's not what it used to be,fake uggs online store," I said, "but sure, that wouldn't surprise me. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking. Big stakes if something Dugger did do placed the old man in jeopardy. As in sexual violence. 'Cause Duke's image is good, clean licentiousness, right?"
A few miles later: "Think about it, Alex: John Wayne Airport. . . . The guy spent World War II on the Warner's lot and he's a combat hero. . . . Welcome to the land of illusion."
"Maybe Jane hasn't called back because she's gone into seclusion," I said.
"With Mel? Where? They both check into some rest home? So that's my answer, huh? Don't waste my time in the Valley."
"I can't think of anything."
"Fair enough." His hands were white around the wheel as he sped onto the freeway, narrowly passing a Jaguar sedan and eliciting angry honks. "Fuck you too," he told the rearview mirror,nike shox torch ii. "Alex, let's say there is no big family issue. But what if Lauren got hold of juicy info on Dug-ger or Duke or whoever and passed it along to Jane? Maybe Jane reacted strongly—told her to keep her mouth shut, whatever, and that was the control thing Lauren talked about to Salander."
"Lauren had been out of the house for years," I said. "Had just reconnected with Jane. Their relationship was still thawing,shox torch 2. That doesn't mesh with her confiding something explosive, but maybe. When times get rough sometimes the chicks return to roost."
"So maybe Jane hasn't been in touch with me because she's scared. Has an idea what led to Lauren's death and is worried it could be dangerous for her too. That would be enough to get her to hold back on a lead to Lauren's murder— I know, I know, now it's me who's hypothesizing. But when I'm finished with Dugger, I definitely want another try at her."
"Makes sense," I said.
He grinned fiercely. "Makes no sense evidence-wise, but thanks for theemotional validation. I'm flopping around like a fish on the pier— I know you like Dugger, but he just doesn't bother me. I don't pick up any guilt vibe. Sure, he reacted strongly to the news of Lauren's death, but my immediate impression was it was just that: news. Okay, he was sweating, and maybe he and Lauren were doing the dirty— Let's see if any of those Newport restaurants remember serious smooching. But still, he doesn't give off any of that fear-hormone stink. He's depressed, not spooked. . . . What the hell, he could be a primary psychopath—hog-tied her, shot her, dumped her, and ate a candy bar afterward, and I'm being played like a cheap harmonica. Have you seen anything that points to that level of disturbance? I mean, you should've heard the ex-wife—ready to beatify the guy."
"Psychopaths don't get anxious, but they do get depressed,replica gucci wallets. Let's take a closer look at him today."
Milo frowned, rubbed his face. "Sure. What the hell, at least we'll get another trip to the beach."
Just before LAX the freeway clogged. We rolled slowly toward El Segundo, and when the clog gave way Milo said, "What do you think Tony Duke's worth—couple of hundred million?"
"The magazine's not what it used to be,fake uggs online store," I said, "but sure, that wouldn't surprise me. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking. Big stakes if something Dugger did do placed the old man in jeopardy. As in sexual violence. 'Cause Duke's image is good, clean licentiousness, right?"
A few miles later: "Think about it, Alex: John Wayne Airport. . . . The guy spent World War II on the Warner's lot and he's a combat hero. . . . Welcome to the land of illusion."
Before the onslaught of questions
Before the onslaught of questions, Robbie stepped to the bar and took the hand of Roberta Drumm. She rose and walked stiffly to the podium, Robbie by her side. She pulled the microphone down a bit closer and said, "My name is Roberta Drumm. Donte was my son. I have little to say at this moment. My family is grieving. We are in shock. But I beg of you, I plead with the people of this town, to stop the violence. Stop the fires and the rock throwing, the fighting, the threats. Please stop it,replica gucci wallets. It does no good. Yes, we are angry. Yes,Designer Handbags, we are wounded. But the violence serves no purpose. I call on my people to lay down your arms, to respect everyone, and to get off the streets. The violence does nothing but harm the honor of my son."
Robbie led her back to her seat, then smiled at the crowd and said, "Now, does anyone have a question?"
Chapter 35
Matthew Burns joined the Schroeder family for a late breakfast of pancakes and sausage. The boys ate quickly and returned to their video games. Dana made more coffee and began clearing the table. They discussed the press conference, Robbie's brilliant presentation of the case, and Roberta's poignant remarks. Matthew was curious about Slone,Fake Designer Handbags, the fires and violence, but Keith had seen little of it. He had felt the tension, smelled the smoke, heard the police helicopter hovering overhead, but he had not seen much of the town.
With fresh coffee, the three sat at the table and talked about Keith's improbable journey and the whereabouts of Travis Boyette. Keith, though, was growing weary of the details. He had other issues, and Matthew was prepared for the conversation.
"So, Counselor, how much trouble could I be in?" Keith asked.
"The law is not real clear. There is no specific prohibition against aiding a convicted felon in his efforts to violate the terms of his parole. But it's still against the law. The applicable code section deals with obstruction of justice, which is a huge net for a lot of behavior that would otherwise be difficult to classify. By driving Boyette out of this jurisdiction, and with the knowledge that it was a violation of his parole, you violated the law."
"How serious?"
Matthew shrugged, grimaced, stirred his coffee with a spoon. "It's a felony, but not a serious one. And it's not the type of violation that we get excited about."
"We?" Dana asked.
"As in prosecutors. The district attorney would have jurisdiction, a different office. I'm with the city."
"A felony?" Keith asked.
"Probably. It appears that your trip to Texas has gone unnoticed here in Topeka. You managed to avoid the cameras, and I have yet to see your name in print."
"But you know about it, Matthew," Dana said.
"I do, and I suppose that, technically,fake montblanc pens, I'm expected to inform the police, to turn you in. But it doesn't work that way. We can process only so much crime. We're forced to pick and choose. This is not a violation that any prosecutor would want to deal with."
"But Boyette is a famous guy right now," Dana said. "It's just a matter of time before a reporter here picks up on the story. He jumped parole, took off to Texas, and we've seen his face for three days now."
Robbie led her back to her seat, then smiled at the crowd and said, "Now, does anyone have a question?"
Chapter 35
Matthew Burns joined the Schroeder family for a late breakfast of pancakes and sausage. The boys ate quickly and returned to their video games. Dana made more coffee and began clearing the table. They discussed the press conference, Robbie's brilliant presentation of the case, and Roberta's poignant remarks. Matthew was curious about Slone,Fake Designer Handbags, the fires and violence, but Keith had seen little of it. He had felt the tension, smelled the smoke, heard the police helicopter hovering overhead, but he had not seen much of the town.
With fresh coffee, the three sat at the table and talked about Keith's improbable journey and the whereabouts of Travis Boyette. Keith, though, was growing weary of the details. He had other issues, and Matthew was prepared for the conversation.
"So, Counselor, how much trouble could I be in?" Keith asked.
"The law is not real clear. There is no specific prohibition against aiding a convicted felon in his efforts to violate the terms of his parole. But it's still against the law. The applicable code section deals with obstruction of justice, which is a huge net for a lot of behavior that would otherwise be difficult to classify. By driving Boyette out of this jurisdiction, and with the knowledge that it was a violation of his parole, you violated the law."
"How serious?"
Matthew shrugged, grimaced, stirred his coffee with a spoon. "It's a felony, but not a serious one. And it's not the type of violation that we get excited about."
"We?" Dana asked.
"As in prosecutors. The district attorney would have jurisdiction, a different office. I'm with the city."
"A felony?" Keith asked.
"Probably. It appears that your trip to Texas has gone unnoticed here in Topeka. You managed to avoid the cameras, and I have yet to see your name in print."
"But you know about it, Matthew," Dana said.
"I do, and I suppose that, technically,fake montblanc pens, I'm expected to inform the police, to turn you in. But it doesn't work that way. We can process only so much crime. We're forced to pick and choose. This is not a violation that any prosecutor would want to deal with."
"But Boyette is a famous guy right now," Dana said. "It's just a matter of time before a reporter here picks up on the story. He jumped parole, took off to Texas, and we've seen his face for three days now."
2012年11月19日星期一
“I’ve asked him not to
“I’ve asked him not to,” Ethan said. “We don’t have anywhere near enough manpower to police a media mob like that, and they don’t like being policed.”
“He’ll stop,” Fric predicted. “Bet you a million bucks to a pile of cow flop,nike shox torch ii. What limousine is he in?”
“Number five out of seven.”
The second limo cruised through the gate.
“He’ll have a new girlfriend,” Fric worried.
“You’ll do fine with her.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got the perfect ice breaker.”
“What’s that?”
“The blimp.”
Fric brightened. “Yeah.”
The third limousine appeared.
“Just remember what we agreed. We’re not going to tell anyone about ... the stranger parts of it all.”
“I sure won’t,” Fric said. “I don’t want to be booby-hatched.”
The fourth limousine entered, but the fifth paused outside the gates. From this distance, without binoculars,fake uggs, Ethan could not see [606] that Channing Manheim had in fact gotten out of the limo to meet the cameras and charm the press, but he was nevertheless morally certain that he owed Fric a pile of cow flop.
“Doesn’t seem like Christmas Eve,” Fric said quietly.
“It will,” Ethan promised.
Christmas morning, in his study, Ethan listened yet again to all fifty-six messages that had been recorded on Line 24.
Before Manheim and Ming du Lac had returned to Palazzo Rospo, Ethan had loaded the enhanced recordings onto a CD. Then he erased them from the computer in the white room and removed them from the phone logs. Only he would ever know that they had been received.
These messages were his, and his alone, one heart speaking to another across eternity.
In some of them, Hannah solved every element of the maniac’s riddles. In others, she only repeated Ethan’s name, sometimes with yearning, sometimes with gentle affection.
He played Call 31 more times than he could remember. In that one, she reminded him that she loved him,moncler jackets men, and when he listened to her, five years seemed no time at all, and even cancer had no power, or the grave.
He was opening a box of cookies left by Mrs. McBee when his phone rang.
Fric always set the alarm clock early on Christmas morning, not because he was eager to discover what had been left under the tree for him but because he wanted to open the stupid gifts and be done with it.
He knew what the fancy wrappings concealed: everything on the list that he had been required to give to Mrs. McBee on the fifth of December. He had never been denied the things for which he’d asked, [607] and each time that he asked for less, he had been required to amend his list until it was at least as long as the list from the previous year. Downstairs, under the drawing-room tree would be a shitload of fabulous stuff,replica gucci handbags, and no surprises.
On this Christmas morning, however, he woke to a sight that he had never seen before. While he had slept, someone had crept into his room and left a gift on his nightstand, beside the clock.
A small box wrapped in white with a white bow.
The card was bigger than the box. No one had signed it, but the sender had written these words: This be magic. If there be no blink, you will have great adventures. If there be no tear shed, you will have a long and happy life. If there be no sleeping of it, you will grow up to be the man you want to be.
“He’ll stop,” Fric predicted. “Bet you a million bucks to a pile of cow flop,nike shox torch ii. What limousine is he in?”
“Number five out of seven.”
The second limo cruised through the gate.
“He’ll have a new girlfriend,” Fric worried.
“You’ll do fine with her.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got the perfect ice breaker.”
“What’s that?”
“The blimp.”
Fric brightened. “Yeah.”
The third limousine appeared.
“Just remember what we agreed. We’re not going to tell anyone about ... the stranger parts of it all.”
“I sure won’t,” Fric said. “I don’t want to be booby-hatched.”
The fourth limousine entered, but the fifth paused outside the gates. From this distance, without binoculars,fake uggs, Ethan could not see [606] that Channing Manheim had in fact gotten out of the limo to meet the cameras and charm the press, but he was nevertheless morally certain that he owed Fric a pile of cow flop.
“Doesn’t seem like Christmas Eve,” Fric said quietly.
“It will,” Ethan promised.
Christmas morning, in his study, Ethan listened yet again to all fifty-six messages that had been recorded on Line 24.
Before Manheim and Ming du Lac had returned to Palazzo Rospo, Ethan had loaded the enhanced recordings onto a CD. Then he erased them from the computer in the white room and removed them from the phone logs. Only he would ever know that they had been received.
These messages were his, and his alone, one heart speaking to another across eternity.
In some of them, Hannah solved every element of the maniac’s riddles. In others, she only repeated Ethan’s name, sometimes with yearning, sometimes with gentle affection.
He played Call 31 more times than he could remember. In that one, she reminded him that she loved him,moncler jackets men, and when he listened to her, five years seemed no time at all, and even cancer had no power, or the grave.
He was opening a box of cookies left by Mrs. McBee when his phone rang.
Fric always set the alarm clock early on Christmas morning, not because he was eager to discover what had been left under the tree for him but because he wanted to open the stupid gifts and be done with it.
He knew what the fancy wrappings concealed: everything on the list that he had been required to give to Mrs. McBee on the fifth of December. He had never been denied the things for which he’d asked, [607] and each time that he asked for less, he had been required to amend his list until it was at least as long as the list from the previous year. Downstairs, under the drawing-room tree would be a shitload of fabulous stuff,replica gucci handbags, and no surprises.
On this Christmas morning, however, he woke to a sight that he had never seen before. While he had slept, someone had crept into his room and left a gift on his nightstand, beside the clock.
A small box wrapped in white with a white bow.
The card was bigger than the box. No one had signed it, but the sender had written these words: This be magic. If there be no blink, you will have great adventures. If there be no tear shed, you will have a long and happy life. If there be no sleeping of it, you will grow up to be the man you want to be.
2012年11月7日星期三
'Not bad
'Not bad. Boxing takes it out of you more than footer or a race. I was in good footer training long before I started to get fit for Aldershot. But I think I ought to get along fairly well. Any idea who's in against us?'
'Harrow, Felsted, Wellington. That's all, I think.'
'St Paul's?'
'No.'
'Good. Well, I hope your first man mops you up. I've a conscientious objection to scrapping with you.'
Allen laughed. 'You'd be all right,' he said, 'if you weren't so beastly slow with your guard. Why don't you wake up? You hit like blazes.'
'I think I shall start guarding two seconds before you lead. By the way, don't have any false delicacy about spoiling my aristocratic features. On the ground of relationship, you know.'
'Rather not. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. I'm not Thomson for the present. I'm Rugby.'
'Just so, and I'm St Austin's. Personally, I'm going for the knock-out. You won't feel hurt?'
This was in the days before the Headmasters' Conference had abolished the knock-out blow, and a boxer might still pay attentions to the point of his opponent's jaw with an easy conscience.
'I probably shall if it comes off,' said Allen. 'I say, it occurs to me that we shall be weighing-in in a couple of minutes, and I haven't started to change yet. Good, I've not brought evening dress or somebody else's footer clothes, as usually happens on these festive occasions.'
He was just pulling on his last boot when a Gymnasium official appeared in the doorway.
'Will all those who are entering for the boxing get ready for the weighing-in, please?' he said, and a general exodus ensued.
The weighing-in at the Public Schools' Boxing Competition is something in the nature of a religious ceremony, but even religious ceremonies come to an end, and after a quarter of an hour or so Tony was weighed in the balance and found correct. He strolled off on a tour of inspection.
After a time he lighted upon the St Austin's Gym Instructor, whom he had not seen since they had parted that morning, the one on his way to the dressing-room, the other to the refreshment-bar for a modest quencher.
'Well, Mr Graham?'
'Hullo, Dawkins. What time does this show start? Do you know when the middle-weights come on?'
'Well, you can't say for certain. They may keep 'em back a bit or they may make a start with 'em first thing. No, the light-weights are going to start. What number did you draw, sir?'
'One.'
'Then you'll be in the first middle-weight pair. That'll be after these two gentlemen.'
'These two gentlemen', the first of the light-weights, were by this time in the middle of a warmish opening round. Tony watched them with interest and envy. 'How beastly nippy they are,' he said.
'Wish I could duck like that,' he added.
'Well, the 'ole thing there is you 'ave to watch the other man's eyes. But light-weights is always quicker at the duck than what heavier men are. You get the best boxing in the light-weights, though the feathers spar quicker.'
Soon afterwards the contest finished, amidst volleys of applause. It had been a spirited battle, and an exceedingly close thing. The umpires disagreed. After a short consultation, the referee gave it as his opinion that on the whole R. Cloverdale, of Bedford, had had a shade the worse of the exchanges, and that in consequence J. Robinson, of St Paul's, was the victor. This was what he meant. What he said was, 'Robinson wins,' in a sharp voice, as if somebody were arguing about it. The pair then shook hands and retired.
'Harrow, Felsted, Wellington. That's all, I think.'
'St Paul's?'
'No.'
'Good. Well, I hope your first man mops you up. I've a conscientious objection to scrapping with you.'
Allen laughed. 'You'd be all right,' he said, 'if you weren't so beastly slow with your guard. Why don't you wake up? You hit like blazes.'
'I think I shall start guarding two seconds before you lead. By the way, don't have any false delicacy about spoiling my aristocratic features. On the ground of relationship, you know.'
'Rather not. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. I'm not Thomson for the present. I'm Rugby.'
'Just so, and I'm St Austin's. Personally, I'm going for the knock-out. You won't feel hurt?'
This was in the days before the Headmasters' Conference had abolished the knock-out blow, and a boxer might still pay attentions to the point of his opponent's jaw with an easy conscience.
'I probably shall if it comes off,' said Allen. 'I say, it occurs to me that we shall be weighing-in in a couple of minutes, and I haven't started to change yet. Good, I've not brought evening dress or somebody else's footer clothes, as usually happens on these festive occasions.'
He was just pulling on his last boot when a Gymnasium official appeared in the doorway.
'Will all those who are entering for the boxing get ready for the weighing-in, please?' he said, and a general exodus ensued.
The weighing-in at the Public Schools' Boxing Competition is something in the nature of a religious ceremony, but even religious ceremonies come to an end, and after a quarter of an hour or so Tony was weighed in the balance and found correct. He strolled off on a tour of inspection.
After a time he lighted upon the St Austin's Gym Instructor, whom he had not seen since they had parted that morning, the one on his way to the dressing-room, the other to the refreshment-bar for a modest quencher.
'Well, Mr Graham?'
'Hullo, Dawkins. What time does this show start? Do you know when the middle-weights come on?'
'Well, you can't say for certain. They may keep 'em back a bit or they may make a start with 'em first thing. No, the light-weights are going to start. What number did you draw, sir?'
'One.'
'Then you'll be in the first middle-weight pair. That'll be after these two gentlemen.'
'These two gentlemen', the first of the light-weights, were by this time in the middle of a warmish opening round. Tony watched them with interest and envy. 'How beastly nippy they are,' he said.
'Wish I could duck like that,' he added.
'Well, the 'ole thing there is you 'ave to watch the other man's eyes. But light-weights is always quicker at the duck than what heavier men are. You get the best boxing in the light-weights, though the feathers spar quicker.'
Soon afterwards the contest finished, amidst volleys of applause. It had been a spirited battle, and an exceedingly close thing. The umpires disagreed. After a short consultation, the referee gave it as his opinion that on the whole R. Cloverdale, of Bedford, had had a shade the worse of the exchanges, and that in consequence J. Robinson, of St Paul's, was the victor. This was what he meant. What he said was, 'Robinson wins,' in a sharp voice, as if somebody were arguing about it. The pair then shook hands and retired.
If the reader has followed me from the beginning
If the reader has followed me from the beginning, he will recollect a letter, parts of which I quoted, from a correspondent who spoke of Montgomery's history, giving passages in which a fair and adequate recognition of Pitt and our English sympathizers and their opposition to George III is made. This would seem to indicate a revision of the work since Mr. Altschul published his lists, and to substantiate the hope I expressed in my original article, and which I here repeat. Surely the publishers of these books will revise them! Surely any patriotic American publisher and any patriotic board of education, school principal, or educator, will watch and resist all propaganda and other sinister influence tending to perpetuate this error of these school histories! Whatever excuse they once had, be it the explanation I have offered above, or some other, there is no excuse to-day. These books have laid the foundation from which has sprung the popular prejudice against England. It has descended from father to son. It has been further solidified by many tales for boys and girls, written by men and women who acquired their inaccurate knowledge at our schools. And it plays straight into the hands of our enemies.
Chapter 9 Concerning a Complex
All of these books, history and fiction, drop into the American mind during its early springtime the seed of antagonism, establish in fact an anti-English "complex." It is as pretty a case of complex on the wholesale as could well be found by either historian or psychologist. It is not so violent as the complex which has been planted in the German people by forty years of very adroitly and carefully planned training: they were taught to distrust and hate everybody and to consider themselves so superior to anybody that their sacred duty as they saw it in 1914 was to enslave the world in order to force upon the world the priceless benefits of their Kultur. Under the shock of war that complex dilated into a form of real hysteria or insanity. Our anti-English com-plex is fortunately milder than that; but none the less does it savor slightly, as any nerve specialist or psychological doctor would tell you---it savors slightly of hysteria, that hundreds of thousands of American men and women of every grade of education and ignorance should automatically exclaim whenever the right button is pressed, "England is a land-grabber," and "What has England done in the War?"
The word complex has been in our dictionary for a long while. This familiar adjective has been made by certain scientific people into a noun, and for brevity and convenience employed to denote something that almost all of us harbor in some form or other. These complexes, these lumps of ideas or impressions that match each other, that are of the same pattern, and that are also invariably tinctured with either a pleasurable or painful emotion, lie buried in our minds, unthought-of but alive, and lurk always ready to set up a ferment, whenever some new thing from outside that matches them enters the mind and hence starts them off. The "suppressed complex" I need not describe, as our English complex is by no means suppressed. Known to us all, probably, is the political complex. Year after year we have been excited about elections and candidates and policies, preferring one party to the other. If this preference has been very marked, or even violent, you know how disinclined we are to give credit to the other party for any act or policy, no matter how excellent in itself, which, had our own party been its sponsor, we should have been heart and soul for. You know how easily we forget the good deeds of the opposite party and how easily we remember its bad deeds. That's a good simple ordinary example of a complex. Its workings can be discerned in the experience of us all. In our present discussion it is very much to the point.
Chapter 9 Concerning a Complex
All of these books, history and fiction, drop into the American mind during its early springtime the seed of antagonism, establish in fact an anti-English "complex." It is as pretty a case of complex on the wholesale as could well be found by either historian or psychologist. It is not so violent as the complex which has been planted in the German people by forty years of very adroitly and carefully planned training: they were taught to distrust and hate everybody and to consider themselves so superior to anybody that their sacred duty as they saw it in 1914 was to enslave the world in order to force upon the world the priceless benefits of their Kultur. Under the shock of war that complex dilated into a form of real hysteria or insanity. Our anti-English com-plex is fortunately milder than that; but none the less does it savor slightly, as any nerve specialist or psychological doctor would tell you---it savors slightly of hysteria, that hundreds of thousands of American men and women of every grade of education and ignorance should automatically exclaim whenever the right button is pressed, "England is a land-grabber," and "What has England done in the War?"
The word complex has been in our dictionary for a long while. This familiar adjective has been made by certain scientific people into a noun, and for brevity and convenience employed to denote something that almost all of us harbor in some form or other. These complexes, these lumps of ideas or impressions that match each other, that are of the same pattern, and that are also invariably tinctured with either a pleasurable or painful emotion, lie buried in our minds, unthought-of but alive, and lurk always ready to set up a ferment, whenever some new thing from outside that matches them enters the mind and hence starts them off. The "suppressed complex" I need not describe, as our English complex is by no means suppressed. Known to us all, probably, is the political complex. Year after year we have been excited about elections and candidates and policies, preferring one party to the other. If this preference has been very marked, or even violent, you know how disinclined we are to give credit to the other party for any act or policy, no matter how excellent in itself, which, had our own party been its sponsor, we should have been heart and soul for. You know how easily we forget the good deeds of the opposite party and how easily we remember its bad deeds. That's a good simple ordinary example of a complex. Its workings can be discerned in the experience of us all. In our present discussion it is very much to the point.
2012年11月3日星期六
“Here they are in brief
“Here they are in brief,” he answered. “The world, as thou knewest in thy —” and he stopped.
“Thy earlier wanderings there,” she suggested.
“Yes — thy earlier wanderings there, has set up gold as the standard of its wealth. On it all civilizations are founded. Make it as common as it seems thou canst, and these must fall to pieces. Credit will fail and, like their savage forefathers, men must once more take to barter to supply their needs as they do in Kaloon today.”
“Why not?” she asked. “It would be more simple and bring them closer to the time when they were good and knew not luxury and greed.”
“And smashed in each other’s heads with stone axes,” added Leo.
“Who now pierce each other’s hearts with steel, or those leaden missiles of which thou hast told me. Oh! Leo, when the nations are beggared and their golden god is down; when the usurer and the fat merchant tremble and turn white as chalk because their hoards are but useless dross; when I have made the bankrupt Exchanges of the world my mock, and laugh across the ruin of its richest markets, why, then, will not true worth come to its heritage again?
“What of it if I do discomfort those who think more of pelf than of courage and of virtue; those who, as that Hebrew prophet wrote, lay field to field and house to house, until the wretched whom they have robbed find no place left whereon to dwell? What if I proved your sagest chapmen fools, and gorge your greedy moneychangers with the gold that they desire until they loathe its very sight and touch? What if I uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed against the ravening lusts of Mammon? Why, will not this world of yours be happier then?”
“I do not know,” answered Leo. “All that I know is that it would be a different world, one shaped upon a new plan, governed by untried laws and seeking other ends. In so strange a place who can say what might or might not chance?”
“That we shall learn in its season, Leo. Or, rather, if it be against thy wish, we will not turn this hidden page. Since thou dost desire it, that old evil, the love of lucre, shall still hold its mastery upon the earth. Let the peoples keep their yellow king, I’ll not crown another in his place, as I was minded — such as that living Strength thou sawest burning eternally but now; that Power whereof I am the mistress, which can give health to men, or even change the character of metals, and in truth, if I so desire, obedient to my word, destroy a city or rend this Mountain from its roots.
“But see, Holly is wearied with much wondering and needs his rest. Oh, Holly! thou wast born a critic of things done, not a doer of them. I know thy tribe for even in my day the colleges of Alexandria echoed with their wranglings and already the winds blew thick with the dust of their forgotten bones. Holly, I tell thee that at times those who create and act are impatient of such petty doubts and cavillings. Yet fear not, old friend, nor take my anger ill. Already thy heart is gold without alloy, so what need have I to gild thy bones?”
I thanked Ayesha for her compliment, and went to my bed wondering which was real, her kindness or her wrath, or if both were but assumed. Also I wondered in what way she had fallen foul of the critics of Alexandria. Perhaps once she had published a poem or a system of philosophy and been roughly handled by them! It is quite possible, only if Ayesha had ever written poetry I think that it would have endured, like Sappho’s.
“Thy earlier wanderings there,” she suggested.
“Yes — thy earlier wanderings there, has set up gold as the standard of its wealth. On it all civilizations are founded. Make it as common as it seems thou canst, and these must fall to pieces. Credit will fail and, like their savage forefathers, men must once more take to barter to supply their needs as they do in Kaloon today.”
“Why not?” she asked. “It would be more simple and bring them closer to the time when they were good and knew not luxury and greed.”
“And smashed in each other’s heads with stone axes,” added Leo.
“Who now pierce each other’s hearts with steel, or those leaden missiles of which thou hast told me. Oh! Leo, when the nations are beggared and their golden god is down; when the usurer and the fat merchant tremble and turn white as chalk because their hoards are but useless dross; when I have made the bankrupt Exchanges of the world my mock, and laugh across the ruin of its richest markets, why, then, will not true worth come to its heritage again?
“What of it if I do discomfort those who think more of pelf than of courage and of virtue; those who, as that Hebrew prophet wrote, lay field to field and house to house, until the wretched whom they have robbed find no place left whereon to dwell? What if I proved your sagest chapmen fools, and gorge your greedy moneychangers with the gold that they desire until they loathe its very sight and touch? What if I uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed against the ravening lusts of Mammon? Why, will not this world of yours be happier then?”
“I do not know,” answered Leo. “All that I know is that it would be a different world, one shaped upon a new plan, governed by untried laws and seeking other ends. In so strange a place who can say what might or might not chance?”
“That we shall learn in its season, Leo. Or, rather, if it be against thy wish, we will not turn this hidden page. Since thou dost desire it, that old evil, the love of lucre, shall still hold its mastery upon the earth. Let the peoples keep their yellow king, I’ll not crown another in his place, as I was minded — such as that living Strength thou sawest burning eternally but now; that Power whereof I am the mistress, which can give health to men, or even change the character of metals, and in truth, if I so desire, obedient to my word, destroy a city or rend this Mountain from its roots.
“But see, Holly is wearied with much wondering and needs his rest. Oh, Holly! thou wast born a critic of things done, not a doer of them. I know thy tribe for even in my day the colleges of Alexandria echoed with their wranglings and already the winds blew thick with the dust of their forgotten bones. Holly, I tell thee that at times those who create and act are impatient of such petty doubts and cavillings. Yet fear not, old friend, nor take my anger ill. Already thy heart is gold without alloy, so what need have I to gild thy bones?”
I thanked Ayesha for her compliment, and went to my bed wondering which was real, her kindness or her wrath, or if both were but assumed. Also I wondered in what way she had fallen foul of the critics of Alexandria. Perhaps once she had published a poem or a system of philosophy and been roughly handled by them! It is quite possible, only if Ayesha had ever written poetry I think that it would have endured, like Sappho’s.
Chapter 292 The Travelers and the Plane-Tree TWO TRAVELERS
Chapter 292 The Travelers and the Plane-Tree
TWO TRAVELERS, worn out by the heat of the summer’s sun, laid themselves down at noon under the widespreading branches of a Plane-Tree. As they rested under its shade, one of the Travelers said to the other, “What a singularly useless tree is the Plane! It bears no fruit, and is not of the least service to man.” The Plane-Tree, interrupting him, said, “You ungrateful fellows! Do you, while receiving benefits from me and resting under my shade, dare to describe me as useless, and unprofitable?’
Some men underrate their best blessings.
Chapter 293 The Hares and the Frogs
THE HARES, oppressed by their own exceeding timidity and weary of the perpetual alarm to which they were exposed, with one accord determined to put an end to themselves and their troubles by jumping from a lofty precipice into a deep lake below. As they scampered off in large numbers to carry out their resolve, the Frogs lying on the banks of the lake heard the noise of their feet and rushed helter-skelter to the deep water for safety. On seeing the rapid disappearance of the Frogs, one of the Hares cried out to his companions: “Stay, my friends, do not do as you intended; for you now see that there are creatures who are still more timid than ourselves.”
Chapter 294 The Lion, Jupiter, and the Elephant
THE LION wearied Jupiter with his frequent complaints. “It is true, O Jupiter!” he said, “that I am gigantic in strength, handsome in shape, and powerful in attack. I have jaws well provided with teeth, and feet furnished with claws, and I lord it over all the beasts of the forest, and what a disgrace it is, that being such as I am, I should be frightened by the crowing of a cock.” Jupiter replied, “Why do you blame me without a cause? I have given you all the attributes which I possess myself, and your courage never fails you except in this one instance.” On hearing this the Lion groaned and lamented very much and, reproaching himself with his cowardice, wished that he might die. As these thoughts passed through his mind, he met an Elephant and came close to hold a conversation with him. After a time he observed that the Elephant shook his ears very often, and he inquired what was the matter and why his ears moved with such a tremor every now and then. Just at that moment a Gnat settled on the head of the Elephant, and he replied, “Do you see that little buzzing insect? If it enters my ear, my fate is sealed. I should die presently.” The Lion said, “Well, since so huge a beast is afraid of a tiny gnat, I will no more complain, nor wish myself dead. I find myself, even as I am, better off than the Elephant.”
Chapter 295 The Lamb and the Wolf
A WOLF pursued a Lamb, which fled for refuge to a certain Temple. The Wolf called out to him and said, “The Priest will slay you in sacrifice, if he should catch you.” On which the Lamb replied, “It would be better for me to be sacrificed in the Temple than to be eaten by you.”
Chapter 296 The Rich Man and the Tanner
A RICH MAN lived near a Tanner, and not being able to bear the unpleasant smell of the tan-yard, he pressed his neighbor to go away. The Tanner put off his departure from time to time, saying that he would leave soon. But as he still continued to stay, as time went on, the rich man became accustomed to the smell, and feeling no manner of inconvenience, made no further complaints.
TWO TRAVELERS, worn out by the heat of the summer’s sun, laid themselves down at noon under the widespreading branches of a Plane-Tree. As they rested under its shade, one of the Travelers said to the other, “What a singularly useless tree is the Plane! It bears no fruit, and is not of the least service to man.” The Plane-Tree, interrupting him, said, “You ungrateful fellows! Do you, while receiving benefits from me and resting under my shade, dare to describe me as useless, and unprofitable?’
Some men underrate their best blessings.
Chapter 293 The Hares and the Frogs
THE HARES, oppressed by their own exceeding timidity and weary of the perpetual alarm to which they were exposed, with one accord determined to put an end to themselves and their troubles by jumping from a lofty precipice into a deep lake below. As they scampered off in large numbers to carry out their resolve, the Frogs lying on the banks of the lake heard the noise of their feet and rushed helter-skelter to the deep water for safety. On seeing the rapid disappearance of the Frogs, one of the Hares cried out to his companions: “Stay, my friends, do not do as you intended; for you now see that there are creatures who are still more timid than ourselves.”
Chapter 294 The Lion, Jupiter, and the Elephant
THE LION wearied Jupiter with his frequent complaints. “It is true, O Jupiter!” he said, “that I am gigantic in strength, handsome in shape, and powerful in attack. I have jaws well provided with teeth, and feet furnished with claws, and I lord it over all the beasts of the forest, and what a disgrace it is, that being such as I am, I should be frightened by the crowing of a cock.” Jupiter replied, “Why do you blame me without a cause? I have given you all the attributes which I possess myself, and your courage never fails you except in this one instance.” On hearing this the Lion groaned and lamented very much and, reproaching himself with his cowardice, wished that he might die. As these thoughts passed through his mind, he met an Elephant and came close to hold a conversation with him. After a time he observed that the Elephant shook his ears very often, and he inquired what was the matter and why his ears moved with such a tremor every now and then. Just at that moment a Gnat settled on the head of the Elephant, and he replied, “Do you see that little buzzing insect? If it enters my ear, my fate is sealed. I should die presently.” The Lion said, “Well, since so huge a beast is afraid of a tiny gnat, I will no more complain, nor wish myself dead. I find myself, even as I am, better off than the Elephant.”
Chapter 295 The Lamb and the Wolf
A WOLF pursued a Lamb, which fled for refuge to a certain Temple. The Wolf called out to him and said, “The Priest will slay you in sacrifice, if he should catch you.” On which the Lamb replied, “It would be better for me to be sacrificed in the Temple than to be eaten by you.”
Chapter 296 The Rich Man and the Tanner
A RICH MAN lived near a Tanner, and not being able to bear the unpleasant smell of the tan-yard, he pressed his neighbor to go away. The Tanner put off his departure from time to time, saying that he would leave soon. But as he still continued to stay, as time went on, the rich man became accustomed to the smell, and feeling no manner of inconvenience, made no further complaints.
When the council closed the Indians filed out of the lodge
When the council closed the Indians filed out of the lodge, and one, a tall old man, fantastically attired in skins, entered the medicine lodge alone, carefully closing the entrance after him to exclude any ray of light.
Immediately drum beats were heard within the tent, accompanied by a low groaning and moaning, which gradually increased in volume and pitch until presently it became a high, penetrating, blood-curdling screech. This continued for perhaps half an hour, the drum beats never ceasing their monotonous rat-tat-tat.
The shaman, or medicine man, thus working himself into a frenzy, at length believed he saw within the lodge the ghostly form of the particular Matchi Manitu, or evil spirit, responsible for the disappearance of the caribou and the resulting famine.
This spirit's wrath it was believed had for some reason unknown to the Indians been aroused against them. Only the shaman could get into communication with the spirit, and learn from it what course the Indians would be required to pursue to placate its wrath, and remove its curse.
When the appearance of the spirit was announced, the shaman began to supplicate and implore the Matchi Manitu to withdraw from the people the pursuit of Famine; to return the caribou to the land; and to preserve the lives of the dying.
Presently in tones of joy the shaman announced that he had succeeded in enlisting the services of the Matchi Manitu, and with the announcement the din within the lodge ceased, and for several minutes mysterious whisperings were heard.
Suddenly the shaman threw over the lodge, and in a state of exhaustion tottered forward. Still under the influence of the paroxysms into which he had worked himself, he delivered in a wandering, disconnected jumble of meaningless sentences the demands of the Matchi Manitu. These consisted of many unreasonable and impossible feats that the people were required to accomplish before the Spirit of Starvation--the Gaunt Gray Wolf--would cease to follow upon their trail.
The Indians began at once to break camp. Sishetakushin had reported no caribou to the southward. Their only remaining hope was to reach the haven of Ungava post to the northward; and they were to begin the life-and-death struggle northward at once--a struggle in which many were to fall.
A sense of vast relief was experienced by Shad when Sishetakushin resumed the march. Famished and weak as he was, this was inexpressibly preferable to a continuance with the starving crowd, and he turned his back upon the camp, little caring whence their trail led.
For a while they continued northward upon the frozen bed of a stream, which they had been following for several days, then a sharp turn was made to the eastward, and as the sun was setting they came upon the ice of a wide lake.
At the end of a half-hour of slow plodding across an arm of the lake, they entered the edge of sparsely wooded forest and halted. Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn began at once to remove the snow from the top of what appeared to be a high drift, and a little below the surface uncovered the roof of a cache similar to the one they had made on the shores of the Great Lake of the Indians, where Shad and Ungava Bob had found them.
Immediately drum beats were heard within the tent, accompanied by a low groaning and moaning, which gradually increased in volume and pitch until presently it became a high, penetrating, blood-curdling screech. This continued for perhaps half an hour, the drum beats never ceasing their monotonous rat-tat-tat.
The shaman, or medicine man, thus working himself into a frenzy, at length believed he saw within the lodge the ghostly form of the particular Matchi Manitu, or evil spirit, responsible for the disappearance of the caribou and the resulting famine.
This spirit's wrath it was believed had for some reason unknown to the Indians been aroused against them. Only the shaman could get into communication with the spirit, and learn from it what course the Indians would be required to pursue to placate its wrath, and remove its curse.
When the appearance of the spirit was announced, the shaman began to supplicate and implore the Matchi Manitu to withdraw from the people the pursuit of Famine; to return the caribou to the land; and to preserve the lives of the dying.
Presently in tones of joy the shaman announced that he had succeeded in enlisting the services of the Matchi Manitu, and with the announcement the din within the lodge ceased, and for several minutes mysterious whisperings were heard.
Suddenly the shaman threw over the lodge, and in a state of exhaustion tottered forward. Still under the influence of the paroxysms into which he had worked himself, he delivered in a wandering, disconnected jumble of meaningless sentences the demands of the Matchi Manitu. These consisted of many unreasonable and impossible feats that the people were required to accomplish before the Spirit of Starvation--the Gaunt Gray Wolf--would cease to follow upon their trail.
The Indians began at once to break camp. Sishetakushin had reported no caribou to the southward. Their only remaining hope was to reach the haven of Ungava post to the northward; and they were to begin the life-and-death struggle northward at once--a struggle in which many were to fall.
A sense of vast relief was experienced by Shad when Sishetakushin resumed the march. Famished and weak as he was, this was inexpressibly preferable to a continuance with the starving crowd, and he turned his back upon the camp, little caring whence their trail led.
For a while they continued northward upon the frozen bed of a stream, which they had been following for several days, then a sharp turn was made to the eastward, and as the sun was setting they came upon the ice of a wide lake.
At the end of a half-hour of slow plodding across an arm of the lake, they entered the edge of sparsely wooded forest and halted. Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn began at once to remove the snow from the top of what appeared to be a high drift, and a little below the surface uncovered the roof of a cache similar to the one they had made on the shores of the Great Lake of the Indians, where Shad and Ungava Bob had found them.
2012年11月2日星期五
Sam Tompkins
"Sam Tompkins!" cried Jack, "of course. He's trying to throw suspicion on us, but I guess he knows a lot more about it than we do."
"I think you have hit it, Jack," agreed the judge. "I believe that is a clue worth following up."
"But what about the tools?" asked the officer.
"Oh, yes," continued the judge, "I had forgotten about them. Do you know anything about these tools, Dick?"
"Yes, sir; they came from our shop," he answered.
"Ah! that's what I thought," said the officer to himself. "It isn't going to end here."
"They were taken from there," went on Dick. "We missed them several days before the robbery, but I don't know who took them."
"Then they must have been taken by some one around here," concluded the judge. "It seems to me that the farther we go the more mysterious it gets. Jack, I think that you had better set your wits to work and see if you can't clear it up."
"Very well, Judge," answered Jack, who had been going over the matter in his mind. "I think I have a clue that I am going to follow up and see what comes of it."
"Good," commented the judge. "While I do not believe for an instant that any of you young gentlemen had anything to do with the robbery, I would like to see it brought home to those who did it."
"And I, too," added the colonel.
"Good night, boys," continued the judge. "You have had rather an exciting day, and I think you had better be getting home. I think you want to look out for Pepper so that nothing more happens to him to-night."
"Good night, Judge," responded the boys, Jack adding as they went out, "I won't leave him out of sight until I have him safe in the house."
Chapter 19 A Narrow Escape
"Row, brothers, row," said Gerald "Kape it up, you're doin' fine."
"How are we going?" asked Rand.
"Almost as fasht as Oi c'ud walk," replied Gerald in his richest brogue. "Av ye hit it up a bit mebbe ye c'ud be in toime to see the ind av it to-morrow, Oi dunno."
"But truly, Geraid," asked Donald, "how are we doing?"
"As weil as c'ud be ixpected av a lot of farmers," replied the irrepressible Gerald. "Ye moight do worse, Oi dunno. Mebbe av ye tho't ye were hoeing potatoes ye c'ud do betther. Can't ye hit up a bit?"
"I guess we can; a little," replied Rand, who was rowing stroke, slightly increasing his effort. "How is that?"
"Betther," responded the other, and the boat shot ahead a little faster.
The Uncas crew were out for a final spin over the course before the race, which had been set for the following day. Beside the Uncas and the Highpoint, the Alton, from farther up the river, had also entered. It was not thought, even by their friends, that the Uncas had much chance against the others, whose crews, particularly the Alton's, were much heavier and stronger.
"Is that better?" asked Rand, after they had rowed a short time.
"'Tis a thrifle betther," replied Gerald. "Av ye do as well to-morrow, mebbe we won't be disgraced intirely, Oi dunno."
"Come now, Gerald," pleaded Jack, "tell us how we are doing?"
"Shure, Oi don't want to discourage ye intirely," replied Gerald, "but ye didn't do any betther than three minutes in the lasht moile."
"I think you have hit it, Jack," agreed the judge. "I believe that is a clue worth following up."
"But what about the tools?" asked the officer.
"Oh, yes," continued the judge, "I had forgotten about them. Do you know anything about these tools, Dick?"
"Yes, sir; they came from our shop," he answered.
"Ah! that's what I thought," said the officer to himself. "It isn't going to end here."
"They were taken from there," went on Dick. "We missed them several days before the robbery, but I don't know who took them."
"Then they must have been taken by some one around here," concluded the judge. "It seems to me that the farther we go the more mysterious it gets. Jack, I think that you had better set your wits to work and see if you can't clear it up."
"Very well, Judge," answered Jack, who had been going over the matter in his mind. "I think I have a clue that I am going to follow up and see what comes of it."
"Good," commented the judge. "While I do not believe for an instant that any of you young gentlemen had anything to do with the robbery, I would like to see it brought home to those who did it."
"And I, too," added the colonel.
"Good night, boys," continued the judge. "You have had rather an exciting day, and I think you had better be getting home. I think you want to look out for Pepper so that nothing more happens to him to-night."
"Good night, Judge," responded the boys, Jack adding as they went out, "I won't leave him out of sight until I have him safe in the house."
Chapter 19 A Narrow Escape
"Row, brothers, row," said Gerald "Kape it up, you're doin' fine."
"How are we going?" asked Rand.
"Almost as fasht as Oi c'ud walk," replied Gerald in his richest brogue. "Av ye hit it up a bit mebbe ye c'ud be in toime to see the ind av it to-morrow, Oi dunno."
"But truly, Geraid," asked Donald, "how are we doing?"
"As weil as c'ud be ixpected av a lot of farmers," replied the irrepressible Gerald. "Ye moight do worse, Oi dunno. Mebbe av ye tho't ye were hoeing potatoes ye c'ud do betther. Can't ye hit up a bit?"
"I guess we can; a little," replied Rand, who was rowing stroke, slightly increasing his effort. "How is that?"
"Betther," responded the other, and the boat shot ahead a little faster.
The Uncas crew were out for a final spin over the course before the race, which had been set for the following day. Beside the Uncas and the Highpoint, the Alton, from farther up the river, had also entered. It was not thought, even by their friends, that the Uncas had much chance against the others, whose crews, particularly the Alton's, were much heavier and stronger.
"Is that better?" asked Rand, after they had rowed a short time.
"'Tis a thrifle betther," replied Gerald. "Av ye do as well to-morrow, mebbe we won't be disgraced intirely, Oi dunno."
"Come now, Gerald," pleaded Jack, "tell us how we are doing?"
"Shure, Oi don't want to discourage ye intirely," replied Gerald, "but ye didn't do any betther than three minutes in the lasht moile."
“And so
“And so, Miss Nugent,” said he, not daring, with all his assurance, to address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony, “and so, Miss Nugent, you are going to have great doings, I’m told, and a wonderful grand gala. There’s nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good handsome crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle, that was before I left Dublin, Miss Nugent, the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady lieutenant, was so throng — so throng — that I remember very well, in the doorway, a lady — and a very genteel woman she was, too — though a stranger to me, saying to me, ‘Sir, your finger’s in my ear.’—‘I know it, madam,” says I; ‘but I can’t take it out till the crowd give me elbow-room.’
“But it’s the gala I’m thinking of now — I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won’t you?”
“Sir!”
This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. “The golden Venus!— sure, Miss Nugent, you that are so quick, can’t but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that is — but that won’t be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I hope you won’t be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that’s washing of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool — ye may, when he tells you truth — the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.”
“Heaven above!— Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?” interrupted Lord Clonbrony.
“Do I?— Don’t I?” replied Terry. “Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses fit— and that the Hippomenes was about golden apples — and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?— and did not the pious ?neas himself take a golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?” said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.
“Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before we quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus’s famous girdle, now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what was it but a girdle of sterling gold, I’ll engage?— for gold is the only true thing for a young man to look after in a wife.”
Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued.
“Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and Graces — Minerva may sing odes and dythambrics, or whatsoever her wisdomship pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she’ll never get a husband, in this world or the other, without she had a good thumping fortin, and then she’d go off like wildfire.”
“No, no, Terry, there you’re out: Minerva has too bad a character for learning to be a favourite with gentlemen,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“But it’s the gala I’m thinking of now — I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won’t you?”
“Sir!”
This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. “The golden Venus!— sure, Miss Nugent, you that are so quick, can’t but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that is — but that won’t be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I hope you won’t be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that’s washing of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool — ye may, when he tells you truth — the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.”
“Heaven above!— Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?” interrupted Lord Clonbrony.
“Do I?— Don’t I?” replied Terry. “Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses fit— and that the Hippomenes was about golden apples — and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?— and did not the pious ?neas himself take a golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?” said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.
“Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before we quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus’s famous girdle, now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what was it but a girdle of sterling gold, I’ll engage?— for gold is the only true thing for a young man to look after in a wife.”
Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued.
“Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and Graces — Minerva may sing odes and dythambrics, or whatsoever her wisdomship pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she’ll never get a husband, in this world or the other, without she had a good thumping fortin, and then she’d go off like wildfire.”
“No, no, Terry, there you’re out: Minerva has too bad a character for learning to be a favourite with gentlemen,” said Lord Clonbrony.
While we were talking our men were vigorously pulling to the time of a rousing song
While we were talking our men were vigorously pulling to the time of a rousing song, one line of which was sung by one man, the others joining in the refrain at the end. Their voices were not unpleasant, and the air had a monotonous rhythm that was very fascinating.
We landed at a well-built pier and walked up the finely-cut, white-stone steps from the boat to the land. Instantly we were surrounded by half-clad black people, all of whom, after the manner of hack-drivers at railway stations, were clamoring for our favor. They were not all drivers, however. Mingling with the drivers were merchants with jewelry, ostrich plumes and boas to sell, runners for hotels, beggars, cripples and guides. This conglomeration besought us to listen to every individual one of them until a native policeman, in the Queen’s uniform, came forward and pushed the black fellows back with his hands, sometimes hastening their retreat with his boot.
A large board occupied a prominent position on the pier. On it was marked the prices that should be paid drivers, boatmen, and like people. It was, indeed, a praiseworthy thoughtfulness that caused the erection of that board, for it prevented tourists being robbed. I looked at it, and thought that even in that land there was more precaution taken to protect helpless and ignorant strangers than in New York city, where the usual custom of night hack-men is to demand exorbitant prices, and if they are not forthcoming, to pull off their coats and fight for it.
Perched on the side of this bleak, bare mountain is a majestic white building, reached by a fine road cut in the stone that forms the mountain. It is a club house, erected for the benefit of the English soldiers who are stationed on this barren spot. In the harbor lay an English man-of-war, and near a point where the land was most level, numbers of white tents were pitched for soldiers.
From the highest peak of the black, rocky mountain, probably 1700 feet above sea level, floated the English flag. As I traveled on and realized more than ever before how the English have stolen almost all, if not all, desirable sea-ports, I felt an increased respect for the level-headedness of the English government, and I cease to marvel at the pride with which Englishmen view their flag floating in so many different climes and over so many different nationalities.
Near the pier were shops run by Parsees. A hotel, post-office and telegraph office are located in the same place. The town of Aden is five miles distant. We hired a carriage and started at a good pace, on a wide, smooth road that took us along the beach for a way, passing low rows of houses, where we saw many miserable, dirty-looking natives; passed a large graveyard, liberally filled, which looked like the rest of that stony point, bleak, black and bare, the graves often being shaped by cobblestones.
The roads at Aden are a marvel of beauty. They are wide and as smooth as hardwood, and as they twist and wind in pleasing curves up the mountain, they are made secure by a high, smooth wall against mishap. Otherwise their steepness might result in giving tourists a serious roll down a rough mountain-side.
We landed at a well-built pier and walked up the finely-cut, white-stone steps from the boat to the land. Instantly we were surrounded by half-clad black people, all of whom, after the manner of hack-drivers at railway stations, were clamoring for our favor. They were not all drivers, however. Mingling with the drivers were merchants with jewelry, ostrich plumes and boas to sell, runners for hotels, beggars, cripples and guides. This conglomeration besought us to listen to every individual one of them until a native policeman, in the Queen’s uniform, came forward and pushed the black fellows back with his hands, sometimes hastening their retreat with his boot.
A large board occupied a prominent position on the pier. On it was marked the prices that should be paid drivers, boatmen, and like people. It was, indeed, a praiseworthy thoughtfulness that caused the erection of that board, for it prevented tourists being robbed. I looked at it, and thought that even in that land there was more precaution taken to protect helpless and ignorant strangers than in New York city, where the usual custom of night hack-men is to demand exorbitant prices, and if they are not forthcoming, to pull off their coats and fight for it.
Perched on the side of this bleak, bare mountain is a majestic white building, reached by a fine road cut in the stone that forms the mountain. It is a club house, erected for the benefit of the English soldiers who are stationed on this barren spot. In the harbor lay an English man-of-war, and near a point where the land was most level, numbers of white tents were pitched for soldiers.
From the highest peak of the black, rocky mountain, probably 1700 feet above sea level, floated the English flag. As I traveled on and realized more than ever before how the English have stolen almost all, if not all, desirable sea-ports, I felt an increased respect for the level-headedness of the English government, and I cease to marvel at the pride with which Englishmen view their flag floating in so many different climes and over so many different nationalities.
Near the pier were shops run by Parsees. A hotel, post-office and telegraph office are located in the same place. The town of Aden is five miles distant. We hired a carriage and started at a good pace, on a wide, smooth road that took us along the beach for a way, passing low rows of houses, where we saw many miserable, dirty-looking natives; passed a large graveyard, liberally filled, which looked like the rest of that stony point, bleak, black and bare, the graves often being shaped by cobblestones.
The roads at Aden are a marvel of beauty. They are wide and as smooth as hardwood, and as they twist and wind in pleasing curves up the mountain, they are made secure by a high, smooth wall against mishap. Otherwise their steepness might result in giving tourists a serious roll down a rough mountain-side.
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