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Beauty and The Beast-Part23_Bayard Taylor(1825-1878)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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of May 27th, 1858. Indeed, he does it every night (Sundays



excepted), for that matter; but as this story refers especially to

Mr. J. Edward Johnson, who was a passenger on that train, on the



aforesaid evening, I make special mention of the fact. Mr.

Johnson, carpet-bag in hand, jumped upon the platform, entered the



office, purchased a ticket for Waterbury, and was soon whirling in

the Naugatuck train towards his destination.



On reaching Waterbury, in the soft spring twilight, Mr. Johnson

walked up and down in front of the station, curiously scanning the



faces of the assembled crowd. Presently he noticed a gentleman who

was performing the same operation upon the faces of the alighting



passengers. Throwing himself directly in the way of the latter,

the two exchanged a steady gaze.



"Is your name Billings?" "Is your name Johnson?" were

simultaneous questions, followed by the simultaneous exclamations--



"Ned!" "Enos!"

Then there was a crushing grasp of hands, repeated after a pause,



in testimony of ancient friendship, and Mr. Billings, returning to

practical life, asked--



"Is that all your baggage? Come, I have a buggy here: Eunice has

heard the whistle, and she'll be impatient to welcome you."



The impatience of Eunice (Mrs. Billings, of course,) was not of

long duration, for in five minutes thereafter she stood at the door



of her husband's chocolate-colored villa, receiving his friend.

While these three persons are comfortably seated at the tea-table,



enjoying their waffles, cold tongue, and canned peaches, and asking

and answering questions helter-skelter in the delightful confusion



of reunion after long separation, let us briefly inform the reader

who and what they are.



Mr. Enos Billings, then, was part owner of a manufactory of metal

buttons, forty years old, of middling height, ordinarily quiet and



rather shy, but with a large share of latentwarmth and enthusiasm

in his nature. His hair was brown, slightly streaked with gray,



his eyes a soft, dark hazel, forehead square, eyebrows straight,

nose of no very marked character, and a mouth moderately full, with



a tendency to twitch a little at the corners. His voice was

undertoned, but mellow and agreeable.



Mrs. Eunice Billings, of nearly equal age, was a good specimen of

the wide-awake New-England woman. Her face had a piquant smartness



of expression, which might have been refined into a sharp

edge, but for her natural hearty good-humor. Her head was smoothly



formed, her face a full oval, her hair and eyes blond and blue in

a strong light, but brown and steel-gray at other times, and her



complexion of that ripe fairness into which a ruddier color will

sometimes fade. Her form, neither plump nor square, had yet a



firm, elastic compactness, and her slightest movement conveyed a

certain impression of decision and self-reliance.



As for J. Edward Johnson, it is enough to say that he was a tall,

thin gentleman of forty-five, with an aquiline nose, narrow face,



and military whiskers, which swooped upwards and met under his nose

in a glossy black mustache. His complexion was dark, from the



bronzing of fifteen summers in New Orleans. He was a member of a

wholesale hardware firm in that city, and had now revisited his



native North for the first time since his departure. A year

before, some letters relating to invoices of metal buttons signed,



"Foster, Kirkup, & Co., per Enos Billings," had accidentally

revealed to him the whereabouts of the old friend of his youth,



with whom we now find him domiciled. The first thing he did, after

attending to some necessary business matters in New York, was to



take the train for Waterbury.

"Enos," said he, as he stretched out his hand for the third cup of



tea (which he had taken only for the purpose of prolonging the

pleasant table-chat), "I wonder which of us is most changed."



"You, of course," said Mr. Billings, "with your brown face and

big mustache. Your own brother wouldn't have known you if he had



seen you last, as I did, with smooth cheeks and hair of unmerciful

length. Why, not even your voice is the same!"



"That is easily accounted for," replied Mr. Johnson. "But in your

case, Enos, I am puzzled to find where the difference lies. Your






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