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Three Men in a Boat-Part9_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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called it, and he said he didn't know. He didn't think there was a name

for the colour. The man had told him it was an Oriental design. George



put it on, and asked us what we thought of it. Harris said that, as an

object to hang over a flower-bed in early spring to frighten the birds



away, he should respect it; but that, considered as an article of dress

for any human being, except a Margate nigger, it made him ill. George



got quite huffy; but, as Harris said, if he didn't want his opinion, why

did he ask for it?



What troubles Harris and myself, with regard to it, is that we are afraid

it will attract attention to the boat.



Girls, also, don't look half bad in a boat, if prettily dressed. Nothing

is more fetching, to my thinking, than a tasteful boating costume. But a



"boating costume," it would be as well if all ladies would understand,

ought to be a costume that can be worn in a boat, and not merely under a



glass-case. It utterly spoils an excursion if you have folk in the boat

who are thinking all the time a good deal more of their dress than of the



trip. It was my misfortune once to go for a water picnic with two ladies

of this kind. We did have a lively time!



They were both beautifully got up - all lace and silky stuff, and

flowers, and ribbons, and dainty shoes, and light gloves. But they were



dressed for a photographicstudio, not for a river picnic. They were the

"boating costumes" of a French fashion-plate. It was ridiculous, fooling



about in them anywhere near real earth, air, and water.

The first thing was that they thought the boat was not clean. We dusted



all the seats for them, and then assured them that it was, but they

didn't believe us. One of them rubbed the cushion with the forefinger of



her glove, and showed the result to the other, and they both sighed, and

sat down, with the air of early Christian martyrs trying to make



themselves comfortable up against the stake. You are liable to

occasionally splash a little when sculling, and it appeared that a drop



of water ruined those costumes. The mark never came out, and a stain was

left on the dress for ever.



I was stroke. I did my best. I feathered some two feet high, and I

paused at the end of each stroke to let the blades drip before returning



them, and I picked out a smooth bit of water to drop them into again each

time. (Bow said, after a while, that he did not feel himself a



sufficiently accomplished oarsman to pull with me, but that he would sit

still, if I would allow him, and study my stroke. He said it interested



him.) But, notwithstanding all this, and try as I would, I could not

help an occasionalflicker of water from going over those dresses.



The girls did not complain, but they huddled up close together, and set

their lips firm, and every time a drop touched them, they visibly shrank



and shuddered. It was a noble sight to see them suffering thus in

silence, but it unnerved me altogether. I am too sensitive. I got wild



and fitful in my rowing, and splashed more and more, the harder I tried

not to.



I gave it up at last; I said I'd row bow. Bow thought the arrangement

would be better too, and we changed places. The ladies gave an



involuntary sigh of relief when they saw me go, and quite brightened up

for a moment. Poor girls! they had better have put up with me. The man



they had got now was a jolly, light-hearted, thick-headed sort of a chap,

with about as much sensitiveness in him as there might be in a



Newfoundland puppy. You might look daggers at him for an hour and he

would not notice it, and it would not trouble him if he did. He set a



good, rollicking, dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the

boat like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no



time. When he spread more than pint of water over one of those dresses,

he would give a pleasant little laugh, and say:



"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;" and offer them his handkerchief to wipe it

off with.



"Oh, it's of no consequence," the poor girls would murmur in reply, and

covertly draw rugs and coats over themselves, and try and protect



themselves with their lace parasols.

At lunch they had a very bad time of it. People wanted them to sit on



the grass, and the grass was dusty; and the tree-trunks, against which

they were invited to lean, did not appear to have been brushed for weeks;



so they spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and sat on those, bolt

upright. Somebody, in walking about with a plate of beef-steak pie,



tripped up over a root, and sent the pie flying. None of it went over

them, fortunately, but the accident suggested a fresh danger to them, and



agitated them; and, whenever anybody moved about, after that, with

anything in his hand that could fall and make a mess, they watched that



person with growing anxiety until he sat down again.

"Now then, you girls," said our friend Bow to them, cheerily, after it



was all over, "come along, you've got to wash up!"

They didn't understand him at first. When they grasped the idea, they



said they feared they did not know how to wash up.

"Oh, I'll soon show you," he cried; "it's rare fun! You lie down on your






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