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The Wheels of Chance-Part23_H. G. WELLS (1866-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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She came forward and shook hands with him, looking the while

curiously into his face. "And--Madam?"



"It's a habit," said Mr. Hoopdriver, guiltily. "A bad habit.

Calling ladies Madam. You must put it down to our colonial



roughness. Out there up country--y'know--the ladies--so rare--we

call 'em all Madam."



"You HAVE some funny habits, brother Chris," said Jessie. "Before

you sell your diamond shares and go into society, as you say, and



stand for Parliament--What a fine thing it is to be a man!--you

must cure yourself. That habit of bowing as you do, and rubbing



your hands, and looking expectant."

"It's a habit."



"I know. But I don't think it a good one. You don't mind my

telling you?"



"Not a bit. I'm grateful."

"I'm blessed or afflicted with a trick of observation," said



Jessie, looking at the breakfast table. Mr. Hoopdriver put his

hand to his moustache and then, thinking this might be another



habit, checked his arm and stuck his hand into his pocket. He

felt juiced awkward, to use his private formula. Jessie's eye



wandered to the armchair, where a piece of binding was loose,

and, possibly to carry out her theory of an observant



disposition, she turned and asked him for a pin.

Mr. Hoopdriver's hand fluttered instinctively to his lappel, and



there, planted by habit, were a couple of stray pins he had

impounded.



"What an odd place to put pins!" exclaimed Jessie, taking it.

"It's 'andy," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "I saw a chap in a shop do it



once."

"You must have a careful disposition," she said, over her



shoulder, kneeling down to the chair.

"In the centre of Africa--up country, that is--one learns to



value pins," said Mr. Hoopdriver, after a perceptible pause.

"There weren't over many pins in Africa. They don't lie about on



the ground there." His face was now in a fine, red glow. Where

would the draper break out next? He thrust his hands into his



coat pockets, then took one out again, furtively removed the

second pin and dropped it behind him gently. It fell with a loud



'ping' on the fender. Happily she made no remark, being

preoccupied with the binding of the chair.



Mr. Hoopdriver, instead of sitting down, went up to the table and

stood against it, with his finger-tips upon the cloth. They were



keeping breakfast a tremendous time. He took up his rolled

serviette looked closely and scrutinisingly at the ring, then put



his hand under the fold of the napkin and examined the texture,

and put the thing down again. Then he had a vague impulse to



finger his hollow wisdom tooth--happily checked. He suddenly

discovered he was standing as if the table was a counter, and sat



down forthwith. He drummed with his hand on the table. He felt

dreadfully hot and self-conscious.



"Breakfast is late," said Jessie, standing up.

"Isn't it?"



Conversation was slack. Jessie wanted to know the distance to

Ringwood. Then silence fell again.



Mr. Hoopdriver, very uncomfortable and studying an easy bearing,

looked again at the breakfast things and then idly lifted the



corner of the tablecloth on the ends of his fingers, and regarded

it. "Fifteen three," he thought, privately.



"Why do you do that?" said Jessie.

"WHAT?" said Hoopdriver, dropping the tablecloth convulsively.



"Look at the cloth like that. I saw you do it yesterday, too."

Mr. Hoopdriver's face became quite a bright red. He began pulling



his moustache nervously. "I know," he said. "I know. It's a queer

habit, I know. But out there, you know, there's native servants,



you know, and--it's a queer thing to talk about--but one has to

look at things to see, don't y'know, whether they're quite clean



or not. It's got to be a habit."

"How odd!" said Jessie.



"Isn't it?" mumbled Hoopdriver.

"If I were a Sherlock Holmes," said Jessie, "I suppose I could



have told you were a colonial from little things like that. But

anyhow, I guessed it, didn't I?"



"Yes," said Hoopdriver, in a melancholy tone, "you guessed it."

Why not seize the opportunity for a neat confession, and add,






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