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Three Men in a Boat-Part1_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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to laziness.



"Why, you skulking little devil, you," they would say, "get up and do

something for your living, can't you?" - not knowing, of course, that I



was ill.

And they didn't give me pills; they gave me clumps on the side of the



head. And, strange as it may appear, those clumps on the head often

cured me - for the time being. I have known one clump on the head have



more effect upon my liver, and make me feel more anxious to go straight

away then and there, and do what was wanted to be done, without further



loss of time, than a whole box of pills does now.

You know, it often is so - those simple, old-fashioned remedies are



sometimes more efficacious than all the dispensary stuff.

We sat there for half-an-hour, describing to each other our maladies. I



explained to George and William Harris how I felt when I got up in the

morning, and William Harris told us how he felt when he went to bed; and



George stood on the hearth-rug, and gave us a clever and powerful piece

of acting, illustrative of how he felt in the night.



George FANCIES he is ill; but there's never anything really the matter

with him, you know.



At this point, Mrs. Poppets knocked at the door to know if we were ready

for supper. We smiled sadly at one another, and said we supposed we had



better try to swallow a bit. Harris said a little something in one's

stomach often kept the disease in check; and Mrs. Poppets brought the



tray in, and we drew up to the table, and toyed with a little steak and

onions, and some rhubarb tart.



I must have been very weak at the time; because I know, after the first

half-hour or so, I seemed to take no interest whatever in my food - an



unusual thing for me - and I didn't want any cheese.

This duty done, we refilled our glasses, lit our pipes, and resumed the



discussion upon our state of health. What it was that was actually the

matter with us, we none of us could be sure of; but the unanimous opinion



was that it - whatever it was - had been brought on by overwork.

"What we want is rest," said Harris.



"Rest and a complete change," said George. "The overstrain upon our

brains has produced a general depression throughout the system. Change



of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the

mental equilibrium."



George has a cousin, who is usually described in the charge-sheet as a

medical student, so that he naturally has a somewhat family-physicianary



way of putting things.

I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired



and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny

week among its drowsy lanes - some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by



the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world - some quaint-perched eyrie

on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth



century would sound far-off and faint.

Harris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of



place I meant; where everybody went to bed at eight o'clock, and you

couldn't get a REFEREE for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to



get your baccy.

"No," said Harris, "if you want rest and change, you can't beat a sea



trip."

I objected to the sea trip strongly. A sea trip does you good when you



are going to have a couple of months of it, but, for a week, it is

wicked.



You start on Monday with the idea implanted in your bosom that you are

going to enjoy yourself. You wave an airy adieu to the boys on shore,



light your biggest pipe, and swagger about the deck as if you were

Captain Cook, Sir Francis Drake, and Christopher Columbus all rolled into



one. On Tuesday, you wish you hadn't come. On Wednesday, Thursday, and

Friday, you wish you were dead. On Saturday, you are able to swallow a



little beef tea, and to sit up on deck, and answer with a wan, sweet

smile when kind-hearted people ask you how you feel now. On Sunday, you



begin to walk about again, and take solid food. And on Monday morning,

as, with your bag and umbrella in your hand, you stand by the gunwale,



waiting to step ashore, you begin to thoroughly like it.

I remember my brother-in-law going for a short sea trip once, for the



benefit of his health. He took a return berth from London to Liverpool;

and when he got to Liverpool, the only thing he was anxious about was to



sell that return ticket.

It was offered round the town at a tremendousreduction, so I am told;



and was eventually sold for eighteenpence to a bilious-looking youth who

had just been advised by his medical men to go to the sea-side, and take



exercise.

"Sea-side!" said my brother-in-law, pressing the ticket affectionately






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