章节正文
PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK
By JEROME K. JEROME
The neighbourhood of Bloomsbury Square towards four o'clock of a
November afternoon is not so crowded as to secure to the stranger, of
appearance anything out of the common, immunity from observation.
Tibb's boy, screaming at the top of his voice that _she_ was his
honey, stopped suddenly, stepped backwards on to the toes of a voluble
young lady wheeling a perambulator, and remained deaf, apparently, to
the somewhat personal remarks of the voluble young lady. Not until he
had reached the next corner--and then more as a soliloquy than as
information to the street--did Tibb's boy recover sufficient interest
in his own affairs to remark that _he_ was her bee. The voluble young
lady herself, following some half-a-dozen yards behind, forgot her
wrongs in contemplation of the stranger's back. There was this that
was peculiar about the stranger's back: that instead of being flat it
presented a decided curve. "It ain't a 'ump, and it don't look like
kervitcher of the spine," observed the voluble young lady to herself.
"Blimy if I don't believe 'e's taking 'ome 'is washing up his back."
The constable at the corner, trying to seem busy doing nothing,
noticed the stranger's approach with gathering interest. "That's an
odd sort of a walk of yours, young man," thought the constable. "You
take care you don't fall down and tumble over yourself."
"Thought he was a young man," murmured the constable, the stranger
having passed him. "He had a young face right enough."
The daylight was fading. The stranger, finding it impossible to read
the name of the street upon the corner house, turned back.
"Why, 'tis a young man," the constable told himself; "a mere boy."
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger; "but would you mind telling me
my way to Bloomsbury Square."
"This is Bloomsbury Square," explained the constable; "leastways round
the corner is. What number might you be wanting?"
The stranger took from the ticket pocket of his tightly buttoned
overcoat a piece of paper, unfolded it and read it out: "Mrs.
Pennycherry. Number Forty-eight."
"Round to the left," instructed him the constable; "fourth house.
Been recommended there?"
"By--by a friend," replied the stranger. "Thank you very much."
"Ah," muttered the constable to himself; "guess you won't be calling
him that by the end of the week, young--"
"Funny," added the constable, gazing after the retreating figure of
the stranger. "Seen plenty of the other sex as looked young behind
and old in front. This cove looks young in front and old behind.
Guess he'll look old all round if he stops long at mother
Pennycherry's: stingy old cat."
Constables whose beat included Bloomsbury Square had their reasons for
not liking Mrs. Pennycherry. Indeed it might have been difficult to
discover any human being with reasons for liking that sharp-featured
lady. Maybe the keeping of second-rate boarding houses in the
neighbourhood of Bloomsbury does not tend to develop the virtues of
generosity and amiability.
Meanwhile the stranger, proceeding npon his way, had rung the bell of
Number Forty-eight. Mrs. Pennycherry, peeping from the area and
catching a glimpse, above the railings, of a handsome if somewhat
effeminate masculine face, hastened to readjust her widow's cap before
the looking-glass while directing Mary Jane to show the stranger,
should he prove a problematical boarder, into the dining-room, and to
light the gas.
"And don't stop gossiping, and don't you take it upon yourself to
answer questions. Say I'll be up in a minute," were Mrs.
Pennycherry's further instructions, "and mind you hide your hands as
much as you can."
***
"What are you grinning at?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry, a couple of
minutes later, of the dingy Mary Jane.
"Wasn't grinning," explained the meek Mary Jane, "was only smiling to
myself."
"What at?"
"Dunno," admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.
"What's he like then?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.
"'E ain't the usual sort," was Mary Jane's opinion.
"Thank God for that," ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.
"Says 'e's been recommended, by a friend."
"By whom?"
"By a friend. 'E didn't say no name." Mrs. Pennycherry pondered.
"He's not the funny sort, is he?"
Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.
Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered
the room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been simpler
than the stranger's bow, yet there came with it to Mrs. Pennycherry a
rush of old sensations long forgotten. For one brief moment Mrs.
Pennycherry saw herself an amiable well-bred lady, widow of a
solicitor: a visitor had called to see her. It was but a momentary
fancy. The next instant Reality reasserted itself. Mrs. Pennycherry,
a lodging-house keeper, existing precariously upon a daily round of
petty meannesses, was prepared for contest with a possible new
boarder, who fortunately looked an inexperienced young gentleman.
"Someone has recommended me to you," began Mrs. Pennycherry; "may I
ask who?"
But the stranger waved the question aside as immaterial.
"You might not remember--him," he smiled. "He thought that I should
do well to pass the few months I am given--that I have to be in
London, here. You can take me in?"
Mrs. Pennycherry thought that she would be able to take the stranger
in.
"A room to sleep in," explained the stranger, "--any room will
do--with food and drink sufficient for a man, is all that I require."
"For breakfast," began Mrs. Pennycherry, "I always give--"
"What is right and proper, I am convinced," interrupted the stranger.
"Pray do not trouble to go into detail, Mrs. Pennycherry. With
whatever it is I shall be content."
Mrs. Pennycherry, puzzled, shot a quick glance at the stranger, but
his face, though the gentle eyes were smiling, was frank and serious.
"At all events you will see the room," suggested Mrs. Pennycherry,
"before we discuss terms."
"Certainly," agreed the stranger. "I am a little tired and shall be
glad to rest there."
Mrs. Pennycherry led the way upward; on the landing of the third
floor, paused a moment undecided, then opened the door of the back
bedroom.
"It is very comfortable," commented the stranger.
"For this room," stated Mrs. Pennycherry, "together with full board,
consisting of--"
"Of everything needful. It goes without saying," again interrupted
the stranger with his quiet grave smile.
"I have generally asked," continued Mrs. Pennycherry, "four pounds a
week. To you--" Mrs. Pennycherry's voice, unknown to her, took to
itself the note of aggressive generosity--"seeing you have been
recommended here, say three pounds ten."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "that is kind of you. As you have
divined, I am not a rich man. If it be not imposing upon you I accept
your reduction with gratitude."
Again Mrs. Pennycherry, familiar with the satirical method, shot a
suspicious glance upon the stranger, but not a line was there, upon
that smooth fair face, to which a sneer could for a moment have clung.
Clearly he was as simple as he looked.
"Gas, of course, extra."
"Of course," agreed the Stranger.
"Coals--"
"We shall not quarrel," for a third time the stranger interrupted.
"You have been very considerate to me as it is. I feel, Mrs.
Pennycherry, I can leave myself entirely in your hands."
The stranger appeared anxious to be alone. Mrs. Pennycherry, having
put a match to the stranger's fire, turned to depart. And at this
point it was that Mrs. Pennycherry, the holderhitherto of an unbroken
record for sanity, behaved in a manner she herself, five minutes
earlier in her career, would have deemed impossible--that no living
soul who had ever known her would have believed, even had Mrs.
Pennycherry gone down upon her knees and sworn it to them.
"Did I say three pound ten?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the
stranger, her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling
cross, with the stranger, with herself--particularly with herself.
"You were kind enough to reduce it to that amount," replied the
stranger; "but if upon reflection you find yourself unable--"
"I was making a mistake," said Mrs. Pennycherry, "it should have been
two pound ten."
"I cannot--I will not accept such sacrifice," exclaimed the stranger;
"the three pound ten I can well afford."
"Two pound ten are my terms," snapped Mrs. Pennycherry. "If you are
bent on paying more, you can go elsewhere. You'll find plenty to
oblige you."
Her vehemence must have impressed the stranger. "We will not contend
further," he smiled. "I was merely afraid that in the goodness of
your heart--"
"Oh, it isn't as good as all that," growled Mrs. Pennycherry.
"I am not so sure," returned the stranger. "I am somewhat suspicious
of you. But wilful woman must, I suppose, have her way."
The stranger held out his hand, and to Mrs. Pennycherry, at that
moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take it as if
it had been the hand of an old friend and to end the interview with a
pleasant laugh--though laughing was an exercise not often indulged in
by Mrs. Pennycherry.
Mary Jane was standing by the window, her hands folded in front of
her, when Mrs. Pennycherry re-entered the kitchen. By standing close
to the window one caught a glimpse of the trees in Bloomsbury Square
and through their bare branches of the sky beyond.
"There's nothing much to do for the next half hour, till Cook comes
back. I'll see to the door if you'd like a run out?" suggested Mrs.
Pennycherry.
"It would be nice," agreed the girl so soon as she had recovered power
of speech; "it's just the time of day I like."
"Don't be longer than the half hour," added Mrs. Pennycherry.
Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the
drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness
characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.
"Not what I call a smart young man," was the opinion of Augustus
Longcord, who was something in the City.
"Thpeaking for mythelf," commented his partner Isidore, "hav'n'th
any uthe for the thmart young man. Too many of him, ath it ith."
"Must be pretty smart if he's one too many for you," laughed his
partner.
There was this to be said for the repartee of Forty-eight Bloomsbury
Square: it was simple of construction and easy of comprehension.
"Well it made me feel good just looking at him," declared Miss Kite,
the highly coloured. "It was his clothes, I suppose--made me think of
Noah and the ark--all that sort of thing."
"It would be clothes that would make you think--if anything," drawled
the languid Miss Devine. She was a tall, handsome girl, engaged at
the moment in futile efforts to recline with elegance and comfort
combined upon a horsehair sofa. Miss Kite, by reason of having
secured the only easy-chair, was unpopular that evening; so that Miss
Devine's remark received from the rest of the company more approbation
than perhaps it merited.
"Is that intended to be clever, dear, or only rude?" Miss Kite
requested to be informed.
"Both," claimed Miss Devine.
"Myself? I must confess," shouted the tall young lady's father,
commonly called the Colonel, "I found him a fool."
"I noticed you seemed to be getting on very well together," purred his
wife, a plump, smiling little lady.
"Possibly we were," retorted the Colonel. "Fate has accustomed me to
the society of fools."
By JEROME K. JEROME
The neighbourhood of Bloomsbury Square towards four o'clock of a
November afternoon is not so crowded as to secure to the stranger, of
appearance anything out of the common, immunity from observation.
Tibb's boy, screaming at the top of his voice that _she_ was his
honey, stopped suddenly, stepped backwards on to the toes of a voluble
young lady wheeling a perambulator, and remained deaf, apparently, to
the somewhat personal remarks of the voluble young lady. Not until he
had reached the next corner--and then more as a soliloquy than as
information to the street--did Tibb's boy recover sufficient interest
in his own affairs to remark that _he_ was her bee. The voluble young
lady herself, following some half-a-dozen yards behind, forgot her
wrongs in contemplation of the stranger's back. There was this that
was peculiar about the stranger's back: that instead of being flat it
presented a decided curve. "It ain't a 'ump, and it don't look like
kervitcher of the spine," observed the voluble young lady to herself.
"Blimy if I don't believe 'e's taking 'ome 'is washing up his back."
The constable at the corner, trying to seem busy doing nothing,
noticed the stranger's approach with gathering interest. "That's an
odd sort of a walk of yours, young man," thought the constable. "You
take care you don't fall down and tumble over yourself."
"Thought he was a young man," murmured the constable, the stranger
having passed him. "He had a young face right enough."
The daylight was fading. The stranger, finding it impossible to read
the name of the street upon the corner house, turned back.
"Why, 'tis a young man," the constable told himself; "a mere boy."
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger; "but would you mind telling me
my way to Bloomsbury Square."
"This is Bloomsbury Square," explained the constable; "leastways round
the corner is. What number might you be wanting?"
The stranger took from the ticket pocket of his tightly buttoned
overcoat a piece of paper, unfolded it and read it out: "Mrs.
Pennycherry. Number Forty-eight."
"Round to the left," instructed him the constable; "fourth house.
Been recommended there?"
"By--by a friend," replied the stranger. "Thank you very much."
"Ah," muttered the constable to himself; "guess you won't be calling
him that by the end of the week, young--"
"Funny," added the constable, gazing after the retreating figure of
the stranger. "Seen plenty of the other sex as looked young behind
and old in front. This cove looks young in front and old behind.
Guess he'll look old all round if he stops long at mother
Pennycherry's: stingy old cat."
Constables whose beat included Bloomsbury Square had their reasons for
not liking Mrs. Pennycherry. Indeed it might have been difficult to
discover any human being with reasons for liking that sharp-featured
lady. Maybe the keeping of second-rate boarding houses in the
neighbourhood of Bloomsbury does not tend to develop the virtues of
generosity and amiability.
Meanwhile the stranger, proceeding npon his way, had rung the bell of
Number Forty-eight. Mrs. Pennycherry, peeping from the area and
catching a glimpse, above the railings, of a handsome if somewhat
effeminate masculine face, hastened to readjust her widow's cap before
the looking-glass while directing Mary Jane to show the stranger,
should he prove a problematical boarder, into the dining-room, and to
light the gas.
"And don't stop gossiping, and don't you take it upon yourself to
answer questions. Say I'll be up in a minute," were Mrs.
Pennycherry's further instructions, "and mind you hide your hands as
much as you can."
***
"What are you grinning at?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry, a couple of
minutes later, of the dingy Mary Jane.
"Wasn't grinning," explained the meek Mary Jane, "was only smiling to
myself."
"What at?"
"Dunno," admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.
"What's he like then?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.
"'E ain't the usual sort," was Mary Jane's opinion.
"Thank God for that," ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.
"Says 'e's been recommended, by a friend."
"By whom?"
"By a friend. 'E didn't say no name." Mrs. Pennycherry pondered.
"He's not the funny sort, is he?"
Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.
Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered
the room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been simpler
than the stranger's bow, yet there came with it to Mrs. Pennycherry a
rush of old sensations long forgotten. For one brief moment Mrs.
Pennycherry saw herself an amiable well-bred lady, widow of a
solicitor: a visitor had called to see her. It was but a momentary
fancy. The next instant Reality reasserted itself. Mrs. Pennycherry,
a lodging-house keeper, existing precariously upon a daily round of
petty meannesses, was prepared for contest with a possible new
boarder, who fortunately looked an inexperienced young gentleman.
"Someone has recommended me to you," began Mrs. Pennycherry; "may I
ask who?"
But the stranger waved the question aside as immaterial.
"You might not remember--him," he smiled. "He thought that I should
do well to pass the few months I am given--that I have to be in
London, here. You can take me in?"
Mrs. Pennycherry thought that she would be able to take the stranger
in.
"A room to sleep in," explained the stranger, "--any room will
do--with food and drink sufficient for a man, is all that I require."
"For breakfast," began Mrs. Pennycherry, "I always give--"
"What is right and proper, I am convinced," interrupted the stranger.
"Pray do not trouble to go into detail, Mrs. Pennycherry. With
whatever it is I shall be content."
Mrs. Pennycherry, puzzled, shot a quick glance at the stranger, but
his face, though the gentle eyes were smiling, was frank and serious.
"At all events you will see the room," suggested Mrs. Pennycherry,
"before we discuss terms."
"Certainly," agreed the stranger. "I am a little tired and shall be
glad to rest there."
Mrs. Pennycherry led the way upward; on the landing of the third
floor, paused a moment undecided, then opened the door of the back
bedroom.
"It is very comfortable," commented the stranger.
"For this room," stated Mrs. Pennycherry, "together with full board,
consisting of--"
"Of everything needful. It goes without saying," again interrupted
the stranger with his quiet grave smile.
"I have generally asked," continued Mrs. Pennycherry, "four pounds a
week. To you--" Mrs. Pennycherry's voice, unknown to her, took to
itself the note of aggressive generosity--"seeing you have been
recommended here, say three pounds ten."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "that is kind of you. As you have
divined, I am not a rich man. If it be not imposing upon you I accept
your reduction with gratitude."
Again Mrs. Pennycherry, familiar with the satirical method, shot a
suspicious glance upon the stranger, but not a line was there, upon
that smooth fair face, to which a sneer could for a moment have clung.
Clearly he was as simple as he looked.
"Gas, of course, extra."
"Of course," agreed the Stranger.
"Coals--"
"We shall not quarrel," for a third time the stranger interrupted.
"You have been very considerate to me as it is. I feel, Mrs.
Pennycherry, I can leave myself entirely in your hands."
The stranger appeared anxious to be alone. Mrs. Pennycherry, having
put a match to the stranger's fire, turned to depart. And at this
point it was that Mrs. Pennycherry, the holderhitherto of an unbroken
record for sanity, behaved in a manner she herself, five minutes
earlier in her career, would have deemed impossible--that no living
soul who had ever known her would have believed, even had Mrs.
Pennycherry gone down upon her knees and sworn it to them.
"Did I say three pound ten?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the
stranger, her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling
cross, with the stranger, with herself--particularly with herself.
"You were kind enough to reduce it to that amount," replied the
stranger; "but if upon reflection you find yourself unable--"
"I was making a mistake," said Mrs. Pennycherry, "it should have been
two pound ten."
"I cannot--I will not accept such sacrifice," exclaimed the stranger;
"the three pound ten I can well afford."
"Two pound ten are my terms," snapped Mrs. Pennycherry. "If you are
bent on paying more, you can go elsewhere. You'll find plenty to
oblige you."
Her vehemence must have impressed the stranger. "We will not contend
further," he smiled. "I was merely afraid that in the goodness of
your heart--"
"Oh, it isn't as good as all that," growled Mrs. Pennycherry.
"I am not so sure," returned the stranger. "I am somewhat suspicious
of you. But wilful woman must, I suppose, have her way."
The stranger held out his hand, and to Mrs. Pennycherry, at that
moment, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take it as if
it had been the hand of an old friend and to end the interview with a
pleasant laugh--though laughing was an exercise not often indulged in
by Mrs. Pennycherry.
Mary Jane was standing by the window, her hands folded in front of
her, when Mrs. Pennycherry re-entered the kitchen. By standing close
to the window one caught a glimpse of the trees in Bloomsbury Square
and through their bare branches of the sky beyond.
"There's nothing much to do for the next half hour, till Cook comes
back. I'll see to the door if you'd like a run out?" suggested Mrs.
Pennycherry.
"It would be nice," agreed the girl so soon as she had recovered power
of speech; "it's just the time of day I like."
"Don't be longer than the half hour," added Mrs. Pennycherry.
Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the
drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness
characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.
"Not what I call a smart young man," was the opinion of Augustus
Longcord, who was something in the City.
"Thpeaking for mythelf," commented his partner Isidore, "hav'n'th
any uthe for the thmart young man. Too many of him, ath it ith."
"Must be pretty smart if he's one too many for you," laughed his
partner.
There was this to be said for the repartee of Forty-eight Bloomsbury
Square: it was simple of construction and easy of comprehension.
"Well it made me feel good just looking at him," declared Miss Kite,
the highly coloured. "It was his clothes, I suppose--made me think of
Noah and the ark--all that sort of thing."
"It would be clothes that would make you think--if anything," drawled
the languid Miss Devine. She was a tall, handsome girl, engaged at
the moment in futile efforts to recline with elegance and comfort
combined upon a horsehair sofa. Miss Kite, by reason of having
secured the only easy-chair, was unpopular that evening; so that Miss
Devine's remark received from the rest of the company more approbation
than perhaps it merited.
"Is that intended to be clever, dear, or only rude?" Miss Kite
requested to be informed.
"Both," claimed Miss Devine.
"Myself? I must confess," shouted the tall young lady's father,
commonly called the Colonel, "I found him a fool."
"I noticed you seemed to be getting on very well together," purred his
wife, a plump, smiling little lady.
"Possibly we were," retorted the Colonel. "Fate has accustomed me to
the society of fools."
- peculiar [pi´kju:liə]
a.特有的；奇异的 (初中英语单词) - daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- visitor [´vizitə] n.访问者；来宾；参观者 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- reality [ri´æliti] n.现实(性)；真实；逼真 (初中英语单词)
- keeper [´ki:pə] n.管理人；看守；保管人 (初中英语单词)
- contest [kən´test, ´kɔntest] v.争辩 n.争夺；竞赛 (初中英语单词)
- upward [´ʌpwəd] a.&ad.向上(的)；以上 (初中英语单词)
- reduction [ri´dʌkʃən] n.减少；缩小；降低 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- career [kə´riə] n.经历；生涯；职业 (初中英语单词)
- reflection [ri´flekʃən] n.反射；映象；想法 (初中英语单词)
- elsewhere [,elsweə] ad.在别处；向别处 (初中英语单词)
- goodness [´gudnis] n.优良；美德；精华 (初中英语单词)
- interview [´intəvju:] n.&vt.接见；会见；交谈 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- partner [´pɑ:tnə] n.伙伴 v.同....合作 (初中英语单词)
- construction [kən´strʌkʃən] n.建设；修建；结构 (初中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- constable [´kʌnstəbəl] n.警察；警官 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- proceeding [prə´si:diŋ] n.程序；进程；行动 (高中英语单词)
- fortunately [´fɔ:tʃənətli] ad.幸运地 (高中英语单词)
- holder [´həuldə] n.所有物；土地；股份 (高中英语单词)
- hitherto [,hiðə´tu:] ad.至今，迄今 (高中英语单词)
- colonel [´kə:nəl] n.海(陆)军上校 (高中英语单词)
- contemplation [,kɔntem´pleiʃən] n.注视；冥想；打算 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- masculine [´mæ:skjulin] a.男性的 n.男子 (英语四级单词)
- boarder [´bɔ:də] n.搭伙者；寄宿者 (英语四级单词)
- amiable [´eimiəbəl] a.亲切的，温和的 (英语四级单词)
- aggressive [ə´gresiv] a.进攻的；侵略的 (英语四级单词)
- futile [´fju:tail] a.无用的，无益的 (英语四级单词)
- immunity [i´mju:niti] n.免疫；免除 (英语六级单词)
- backwards [´bækwədz] ad.向后 a.向后的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- liking [´laikiŋ] n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 (英语六级单词)
- inexperienced [,iniks´piəriənst] a.缺乏经验的 (英语六级单词)
- landing [´lændiŋ] n.登陆；降落；楼梯平台 (英语六级单词)
- imposing [im´pəuziŋ] a.壮丽的，堂皇的 (英语六级单词)
- considerate [kən´sidərit] a.考虑周到的；体谅的 (英语六级单词)
- vehemence [´vi:iməns] n.激烈，猛烈；热烈 (英语六级单词)
- languid [´læŋgwid] a.精神不振的 (英语六级单词)
- recline [ri´klain] v.(使)斜倚；躺；向后靠 (英语六级单词)
- elegance [´eligəns] n.优雅；优美；精美 (英语六级单词)
- unpopular [ʌn´pɔpjulə] a.不受欢迎的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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